Dill

A great dressing is the key to an outstanding potato salad. And let me tell you: in our version, this German lady is wearing a nice dress. Y’all know Gina dresses well, too, and once she adds her signature “pig,” this salad is a stand-out, even among the best potato salads in Memphis.

Rich pink dressing and lovely greens give this salad a splash of color. Remember: what the eye sees translates to greater taste and greater overall pleasure.

My dad used to make these crisp and vinegary dilly beans every summer, in those fleeting moments between the time the bean bushes bear fruit and the grazing deer eat their fill. My sister has since taken over this tradition, and the few precious jars she gives us each year are worth their weight in gold.

My dad’s crunchy, garlicky dills accompanied the majority of the sandwiches I ate as a child. They were perfectly crisp every time—that satisfying snapping sound accompanying each bite was one of the best things about them—a feat my dad achieved simply by using small, firm, freshly picked cucumbers. Try to pick cucumbers that are already short enough to fit easily in the jar, about 4 inches long for pint jars. Or, for unexpected shape, taste, and color, make them using round yellow lemon cucumbers cut into wedges.

Many Southerners keep a steady supply of no-fuss cucumber pickles like these in the fridge all through the summer. They’re great because you don’t even have to turn on the stove: just toss everything together, let it all marinate for a few hours, and you’re good to go. Mild and crunchy, they are sort of a cross between cucumber salad and dill pickles, meaning they’re perfect scattered over a simple green salad with Buttermilk Green Goddess Dressing (page 284), layered in Pimiento Cheese Burgers (page 187) or Pickled Jalapeño Meatloaf (page 191) sandwiches, or placed in a little dish and added to a relish tray.

I use buttery Yukon Gold potatoes and a sprinkling of fresh dill in my version of my mom’s classic picnic-style potato salad. It’s best before being refrigerated, when it’s still slightly warm and extra creamy, so try to make it just before serving, if time allows.

This dish contains all the flavor and crunch you expect from fried chicken, but with all the health benefits of using boneless, skinless chicken breast. Plus, you get bonus points for scattering the cutlets over a tender arugula salad bursting with fresh herbs and drizzled with tarragon-infused Buttermilk Green Goddess Dressing.

With their outsize flavor and perfectly bite-size proportions, deviled eggs never go out of style. The best part is that they’re one of the few dishes fit for entertaining that’s also so simple, you can probably throw them together on a moment’s notice without even going to the grocery store. All you need are some eggs and a little something to give them zip, from chopped pickles or pickle relish to cayenne pepper or spicy pepper relish. I like this version, which is topped with fresh herbs and cornichons or other pickled vegetables, like okra or asparagus.

Gravlax is surprisingly easy to make at home, and you can vary the herbs or add spices to suit your taste. Once you become comfortable with the process, you’ll want to have this around for easy lunches and snacks.

When riêu is brought to the table, expect a full-bodied soup laced with rich-tasting seafood and tangy tomato. Viet cooks prepare a fish riêu like this one as an everyday canh, or the more extravagant crab and shrimp riêu noodle soup (page 215) for a special occasion. Carp is the fish typically used in this soup, but since it is not commonly available at regular markets, my family switched to salmon, which has the fattiness to pair perfectly with the tomato, dill, and garlic of a classic riêu. We used salmon steaks for years because the bones and skin enriched the broth. But steaks can be difficult to handle during cooking and later on in the bowl, so I now use salmon fillet. In the classic northern Vietnamese tradition, the fish is seared first to firm its flesh. The searing not only helps the fish hold its shape, but also provides a nice textural contrast in the finished soup.

This Northern Vietnamese boodle dish hits all five major taste sensations: salty, sour, sweet, bitter, and umami (savory). The unusual ingredient combination includes galangal, shrimp sauce, sesame rice crackers, and sour cream, the last standing in for me, the same mash of fermented cooked rice traditionally used in mock turtle stew (page 153). For many Vietnamese, the definitive cha ca is the rather complicated version served at the landmark Hanoi restaurant Cha Ca La Vong. There, the fish is cooked partially on a grill and then finished at the table in a skillet of oil, scallion, and dill. While that restaurant rendition is delicious, my family takes an easier path to making the dish. We broil the fish and then enrich it with scallion and dill seared in hot oil. The fish can also be grilled over a medium-hot fire, but the small pieces can be difficult to manage on a grill.

Soft shell crab season is short and sweet. When it’s here, you want to make the most of it. Highlighting the flavor of the crab is what matters, and I employ a secret weapon to help me do just that. Wondra flour is a superfinely milled (“instant”) flour that creates a very thin, almost stealthlike coating around the crabs. What you taste is crisp soft shell crab unadulterated by any thick batter. Simply hit some nutty browned butter with tart lemon juice and anise-flavored dill (an herb that I think is too often forgotten) for an easy and delicious sauce. Soft shell crabs make their appearance in summer, so it’s only fitting to pair them with some of summer’s best: fresh lima beans, beefsteak tomatoes (I like local Jersey tomatoes, myself), and of course, corn. This succotash recipe should be considered a guide; try it with whichever fresh vegetables catch your eye at the market.

Impress your Jewish grandma with gravlax, or just impress yourself. Actually, my Nana preferred the cold-smoked cousin, lox, but gravlax is an incredibly easy, positively delicious way to cure salmon. The name comes from any number of Nordic fish dishes inspired by the openly morbid technique of burying in the ground (grave) your salmon (lax) with some salt cure. I like this dish because it yields a particularly moist, delicate, and lightly salted gravlax, since the salinity of the salt block does not migrate as readily into the fish flesh as a packed cure of loose salt. Also, because you don’t need plates and weights, and because the salt blocks can be reused over and over again, the method boasts a certain elegance and economy of tools. See page 267 for more about salt blocks.

The ideal here would be the pale, plump zucchini varieties you find in Middle Eastern markets. I visit one near London’s Edgware Road that even has them ready prepared, their seeds removed for stuffing, and packed into little plastic crates. If these torpedo-shaped squashes escape me, and they often do, then I use the ubiquitous type, halve them lengthwise and scatter the filling loosely over the top rather than making a clumsy attempt to stuff them. The classic zucchini stuffings of the Middle East vary from family to family but usually include cooked rice or ground lamb, or occasionally walnuts, pine nuts, or hazelnuts, stirred into softened onion and then lightly seasoned with allspice, tomato paste, and parsley. The effect is a moist filling of elegance and pleasing predictability. I sometimes want something more unusual. A stuffing that intrigues as much as it pleases.