Sear

Save this recipe for late February, when spring garlic first appears in markets. For this dish, it’s best to use larger heads, planning on one large or two small heads per serving. Piecing out the squab makes for much easier eating and allows you to cook the different parts perfectly, with the added bonus that the wings and body add incredible depth and flavor to the sauce. If you think your knife skills aren’t up to par, you can ask your butcher to do it for you, but be sure to reserve all the pieces. If your guests are big eaters, you might want to double the recipe to allow for one squab per person and serve as an entrée. Lentils would make a nice side.

When you buy your quail, try to get the biggest ones you can find, and make sure they’re semi-boneless, meaning only the drumsticks and wings are left intact for the shape of the finished bird. When you’re working with a bird this tiny, having someone else bone it is helpful. If you have mad knife skills, go for it. Using foil strips like huge twist ties helps set the shape of the quail as they cook, resulting in a pleasingly plump little package. Soft Polenta (page 66) and braised greens are the perfect accompaniments.

This is a very rustic dish, the meat and potatoes redolent with rosemary and garlic and bathed in butter and pork fat. But as rich as all of that sounds, the best part might be the front legs that end up crispy and delicious; as you gnaw the bones, you’ll be reminded more than a little of fried chicken, and that’s never a bad thing. I portion out the rabbit so that the darker pieces get a little more cooking and the loin receives nothing more than a quick sear. As with Braised Rabbit Paws with Radiatore (page 89), make sure you ask the butcher for the smaller and more tender fryers, not roasters.

Veal cheeks make the most delicate braise. Using a combination of water and wine for the braising liquid allows the sweet, subtle taste of the veal to really shine through. As a side, you need nothing more than the spring’s first ramps and some gorgeous porcini, kissed by the grill. Some years, it just so happens that the ramp season runs long, or perhaps the porcini season starts early, or both. When the two magically coincide, some amazing things happen. Using foil as insulation for the delicate ramp tops gives the vegetables a simple char on the grill. The veal needs time to become fork-tender, a few hours in all, so plan accordingly.

For those of you who crave the ubiquitous duck breast all dressed up for company, I offer you my version, the little ducky paired with sweet-and-sour roasted figs and given a little edge from the arugula. I won’t lie—it’s good. However, in exchange for my providing a traditional duck breast recipe, you must promise me that you will try either Party Tripe on Soft Polenta (page 159) or maybe Geoduck Crudo with Fennel and Radish (page 24). Do what scares you.

After a rugged weekend of deer hunting, this is the dish I celebrate with . . . okay, not really. I buy farmed venison, just as you will. The nice thing, other than not having to don your camo and risk getting ticks, is that farmed venison is less intense than wild deer meat, with a rich, sophisticated flavor that is perfectly accented with a simple agrodolce. Forget about beef tenderloin and serve this instead—I promise the luscious texture and wild essence will win you over. As with tenderloin, though, make sure you serve the venison rare.

The much-maligned mélange gets its name from the undeserved yet pervasive bad reps held by each of the three principal ingredients in this delectable side: turnips, Brussels sprouts, and chestnuts. But I guarantee you’ll find that baby turnips are sweet and juicy and bear no resemblance to the bitter root vegetable you think you know. Gently sautéing wedges of fresh Brussels sprouts renders them crisp-tender and nutty, while browning chestnuts in a cast-iron pan makes removing their skins a snap, giving you unfettered access to the earthiness inside. Pork jowls, as the name implies, are pig cheeks. When cured, jowls become guanciale; braised, they offer amazing versatility and can then be sautéed, grilled, or added to soups. Like pork belly, jowls have tons of flavor and are very rich. I find that braising helps tame them a bit and makes the cut a little less intense. You’ll probably need to special order this cut from your butcher, but it’s worth it. You’ll need to start this recipe one day ahead.

This is a very grown-up salad and my idea of a fantastic lunch. It also happens to be a great way to use loins left over when you’ve braised or stewed the richer, darker pieces of your rabbit. Like pork tenderloin or filet mignon, rabbit loin can’t take that sort of cooking. Give it a quick sear instead, and toss it with crisp pancetta and frisée in a Chianti vinaigrette. You’ll find yourself making rabbit more often just to end up with spare loins.

As a kid, one of the things I looked forward to each fall was the arrival of the West Tennessee State Fair, which was held in Madison, my home county. Like all fairs, this one was chock-full of good, greasy things to eat, but I happily skipped past the corn dogs, turkey legs, and pulled pig in favor of the juicy griddle-fried hamburgers that flew like hotcakes from a booth lined with long, low benches. I top my version with tangy, creamy Pimiento Cheese for extra Southern flavor. If you don’t have a griddle, a cast-iron skillet will work just fine.

Forget the grill; Southerners have been pan-searing steak in cast-iron skillets since what seems like the beginning of time. That’s true enough in my family, where “let’s fix a steak” translates directly to “put the skillet on.” According to my brother-in-law, Pat, the best way to eat said pan-seared steak is hot out of the skillet with a fat knob of butter melting away on top. He’s right, of course, and this dish—embellished with a profusion of fresh green herbs—is for him.

Guinea hens are birds, related to pheasants, and are an excellent and highly flavorful alternative to chicken. Because they’re smaller—usually two or three pounds—even whole birds cook quickly and yield just the right amount of meat for one meal. If you can’t find guinea hen, a small chicken will do the trick nicely.

The inspiration for this dish came from Paula Wolfert’s excellent version of “chicken under a brick,” and from my brand-new, heavy-bottomed cast-iron skillet. Chicken under a brick—what Wolfert calls Italian fried chicken—is a traditional Tuscan preparation in which chicken is weighted with a clay slab over dry heat. The weight of the slab drives the juices and rendered fat back into the chicken as it cooks, resulting in succulent meat with crackly, golden-brown skin. Well, I soon put two and two together, and chicken under a skillet was born. Just think of it as Southern fried chicken’s long-lost Italian cousin. Note that you’ll want to let the meat marinate for several hours prior to cooking to get the big flavors that make this simple dish shine.

The two-step cooking process here yields perfectly moist and flavorful results: First, you put a nice sear on the chicken in a skillet. Next, you finish it off in the oven, slow-cooking it in a wonderful pot likker of seasonal vegetables and country ham. That’s it. Once you get the hang of this basic method, you can use it to make endless variations.

Red-eye gravy—which for most Southerners is the only acceptable sauce for country ham—is a savory and slightly bitter mixture of black coffee and the pan drippings left behind from frying country ham. I’m not sure how the coffee first made its way into the pan, but I like to imagine it was one of those happy accidents born of necessity. It rings true, anyway, because Southerners love gravy so much that they will find a way to eke some out of a greasy pan no matter what. I lighten my version of this quintessentially Southern dish with a bright shock of fresh, green asparagus, which plays perfectly off the saltiness of the red-eye gravy and the richness of the runny egg yolks.

Like many Southerners, I have a fig tree—huge, old, gnarled, and prized—that bears bucketfuls of plump, grassy-sweet figs each summer. So sweet, in fact, that they draw not only the usual birds and squirrels, but also a certain stealthy neighbor who must surely keep as close a watch on the fruits’ ripening as we do. Shake it up with a SAZERAC (see page 28)

This sumptuous steak dish makes for a spectacular celebration meal. Beef tenderloin steaks are stuffed with a garlicky cream cheese mixture, seared in a hot skillet, and served with a warm, fragrant red wine sauce. The trick is chilling the stuffed steaks to firm up the cream cheese so it stays put while the steaks are cooking. All this meal needs is your favorite potato dish (simple roasted new potatoes with herbs would be my choice), a simple salad, and a lusty bottle of red wine. I suggest drinking the same style of wine that you use to make the sauce. If you are short on time, these steaks are great without the sauce too.

This is a recipe I created to celebrate satsuma season. Satsumas are sweet, juicy tangerines that flourish in Louisiana during the winter. (If you can’t find them in your area, any tangerine will do.) You can certainly make the marmalade in larger quantities—it keeps well and is terrific with any grilled or roasted meat, served hot or cold. Try it with grilled quail, duck breast, or even smoked pork sausage or ham. Brining is a technique that serves many purposes. It tenderizes, flavors, and keeps meat juicy. This brine can be used with chicken, turkey breast (I’d leave the soy out), and pork loin or tenderloin. You can throw in herbs or spices appropriate to the dish, but you’ll want to keep the salt/sugar ratio the same. Green beans with shallots make the perfect accompaniment to this dish.

Every once in a while I crave an old-school, crispy-skin roasted duck with a fruity but not-too-sweet sauce to drizzle over the top. Most of the fat will render out during the roasting process if you are patient and let it cook long enough. Cane syrup, which is made from sugar cane and has a deep, bittersweet flavor, is a Louisiana twist, but maple syrup or honey will work just as well. This duck is delicious with simple sides like wild or pecan rice, haricots verts, or sugar snap peas, or, on the fancier side, warm Butternut Squash Spoon Bread Soufflé (p. 316).

A sweet, hot pepper glaze is just the thing to complement the rich flavor of duck. In this recipe, the duck breast is scored, rubbed with herbs, and pan-seared. Be sure to get the pan nice and hot before adding the duck, to ensure a crispy, well-browned skin. A fine dice of jalapeño adds a bit more fire to the sauce, while red bell pepper offers sweetness. This dish can be served with any number of sides, from Honey-glazed Carrots and Turnips (p. 294) to Wild and Dirty Rice (p. 311).