Dairy

This vibrant smoothie is full of vitamins and antioxidants.

This smoothie has all the familiar flavors of carrot cake: sweet coconut, buttery walnuts, fragrant cinnamon, and warm vanilla.

I've worked on my fried chicken for many years, researching every recipe that I could lay my hands on, from early antebellum instructions to the Kentucky Colonel's secret technique. This recipe uses five fats, and each one contributes to the flavor of the result. To do the chicken right, you need an old black cast-iron skillet with a lid. Sure, you can make it in a deep fryer (like we do at the restaurant), but I prefer the old-fashioned way, which is nearly impossible to pull off in a restaurant. The skillets take up so much stove space that you can't make more than ten orders at a time. So this isn't the fried chicken you're going to eat at Husk. This is the way grandmas cook fried chicken in the South, and it's the way everyone should be making fried chicken at home. This recipe takes a lot of time and attention, way more than most conventional approaches (the chicken must be brined for 12 hours, so plan ahead). But it's good. Be sure to ask your butcher for the chicken skins to render for fat and to save the cooking fat, which makes mighty fine gravy. I've thrown that recipe in here too, to complete the meal just like my grandma would have.

Prep the savory hash and refrigerate in individual ramekins for a quick and 
easy breakfast; just top with an egg and bake.

For perfectly browned tops, cook one pan at a time on the topmost oven rack.

This bread is also perfect with chili.

If using large mustard greens, remove the tough stems and tear leaves into bite-size pieces. Smaller leaves can be left whole.

These sausage-studded cheese puffs are a Cajun take on a classic French appetizer.

Indulgent raspberry cream cheese makes homemade brownies even better.

Feta, Kalamata olives, oregano, and a squeeze of fresh lemon juice give this grilled-squash pizza its unmistakably Greek flavor. I use a panini press to grill the slices of yellow squash and zucchini because I love the look and slightly charred flavor this method produces. You can also cook the squash in the oven or on a grill or stove-top grill pan. Grilling the cut face of a lemon half in the same way gives it a beautiful appearance and tones down its acidity a bit.

Mmm. Fried dough. On a trip to Rimini, a resort town on Italy's Adriatic coast, I had a memorable fried pizza topped with cheese and ham. To re-create it, I came up with this shallow-fry method in which you fry the dough, then flip it, top it with mozzarella, and cover it with a lid to melt the cheese. In honor of Rimini, I've topped this one with the region's famous squacquerone cheese, which is as deliciously soft and runny as it is difficult to pronounce. If you can't find it, you can use crescenza (also known as stracchino). It goes on after frying and quickly melts on the hot crust. I also add thin slices of the cooked ham sold in Italian delis as prosciutto cotto. Not to be confused with prosciutto, which is cured but not cooked, this is what we know as ham, but it's a bit paler, less smoky, and more delicate than typical American deli ham. For this method, it's really helpful to roll your dough out as close to the stove top as possible and to have everything set up before you start cooking: your skillet on the stove top, a lid within easy reach, your cheeses and toppings measured out, and a plate lined with paper towels right next to the stove. Keep a close eye on the heat as you fry and adjust it as needed so the dough cooks all the way through without burning on the outside.

When my wife, Julie, and I got married, we knew there was only one place to go for our honeymoon: Italy. I was excited to take her to Gombitelli, the tiny town in the mountains near Lucca where my dad's side of the family came from. My great-grandparents, Angelo and Olimpia Gemignani, had left Gombitelli for America at the turn of the last century, and my Grandpa Frank was born right after they got off the boat. We meandered through the Tuscan countryside, following increasingly sketchy gravel roads and finally ending up on a narrow donkey trail that wound up the side of a steep mountain. I remembered this road from a visit I'd made seven years earlier. Since then, it seemed to have eroded and gotten even narrower. It was barely wide enough for a car, with a sheer drop along one side and, naturally, no guardrail. We came to a dead end, the front of the car facing a deep ravine, and an old man came out of his house, waving violently and screaming at us in Italian. I rolled down the window and said "Gemignani?" His expression changed from rage to joy as he motioned to follow him and raced off, back down the road, yelling "Gemignani! Gemignani!" I made the most terrifying U-turn of my life and followed him. The minute I saw the little house and farm, I had the same overwhelming feeling I'd had the first time I'd been there. It was like stepping into my grandpa's farm in California. Although he'd never even been to Italy, he had the blood of a Tuscan contadino—and there in front of me was his backyard in every detail: the same flowers, the lemon tree, the dogwood, the fava beans, the big wine jugs wrapped in straw, the rusty tools scattered around. That California farm and my grandpa are long gone, but in that moment, I was home again. My cousins had decided there was one thing they absolutely had to serve us for our welcome meal: pizza, of course. And this is the one they made. It was quite thin, almost like a toasted flatbread, and I've replicated that in this recipe by rolling the dough out and docking it, so you get a light, crisp crust that's just right with the gutsy puttanesca-style combination of crushed tomatoes, olives, garlic, and anchovies.

In 2006, I packed up my gear and traveled to the Mall of America for the Food Network Pizza Champions Challenge. Over the course of a very grueling day, we competed for three Guinness World Records in front of a big audience and a panel of famous judges. I won two of the world-record rounds: Biggest Pizza Continuously Spinning for Two Minutes, and Most Consecutive Rolls Across the Shoulders in 30 Seconds. By comparison, round three, the cooking challenge, felt as easy as pie. Four of us gathered at our stations to get our marching orders: create a gourmet pizza in ten minutes using none of the top ten toppings—no pepperoni, no sausage, you get the idea. So, my instinct was to combine two of my favorite pizza worlds, California and Italy. I grabbed five totally traditional Italian ingredients: prosciutto, fig jam, Gorgonzola, Asiago, and balsamic vinegar. They're classic, but the thing is, you'd never find them on a pizza in Italy, at least not all together. But to us "why not?" Californians, the combination makes perfect sense as a pizza topping, and it made sense to the judges, too.

In 2013, I was a judge at a big pizza competition in Paris. In two days, I tasted seventy-three pizzas, most of them too rich and fussy for my taste. Let's just say that almost every entry featured smoked fish, foie gras, gold leaf, or edible flowers. But one extravagant ingredient that I thought really did work was truffles, and that inspired me to come up with this pizza that makes the most of truffle paste, wild mushrooms, and two of my favorite French cheeses: nutty Comté and triple-cream Saint André. If you like, you can top the fully baked pizza with paper-thin slices of prosciutto or speck. And if you can get your hands on a fresh truffle, shave it on top right at the table. That's the kind of simple, earthy luxury I can really get behind.

Two Halloween favorites—candy corn and pumpkins—meet in these irresistible blondies.

Prettiest when not piled too high; divide the salad over two platters and put one at each end of the table.

You will fight your own relatives for the bits of cheesy goodness stuck to the bottom of the pan.