Flour

I learned this recipe when I spent the summer in the kitchen of the Hotel Sofitel in Paris, some twenty-five years ago. Roland Durand, the chef, graciously accepted me as a stagiare, or apprentice, and I was able to work in all sections of the kitchen, including the butcher shop and bake shop. I love this cake for its texture, which is moist and rich-looking but very light, and for its versatility. It goes with so many different things, but it’s also delicious all by itself. I like to dress it up with a Pistachio Crème Anglaise and some raspberries or tart cherries.

This is a scrumptious home-style Greek dessert that you won’t find in many restaurants. Galaktaboureko, which might be easier to prepare than pronounce, is made by baking semolina custard in a crispy phyllo package and then drizzling it with sweet syrup. The syrup is traditionally made with sugar and water, but I couldn’t resist the urge to infuse it with a little lemon and cinnamon.

As almost any southerner will confirm, you can’t underestimate the allure of a warm, moist spoon bread. Sometimes the desire for it is downright urgent. Take my first recollection of the dish: when I was five years old, I invited one of my girlfriends to spend the night, and she woke up in the middle of the night wailing for spoon bread. My parents ended up having to take her home, as she would not be consoled. I can relate to the craving. When Hurricane Katrina forced us to evacuate to Jackson, I had the good sense to throw a pork roast in a cooler. Our first night in exile, we had dinner with our in-laws, and my mom made her spoon bread—served with the pork roast, it was a nice taste of home. My mom’s recipe, the one I grew up on (but never demanded at the home of my friends), is simple and delicious. At Bayona we couldn’t resist jazzing up her version to go alongside our grilled double-cut pork chops—a match made in heaven!

I created this soufflé for a magazine article about Thanksgiving in New Orleans. I wanted a side dish that was seasonal and distinctly southern—and this filled the bill. Imagine how nice it would look on your table in your prettiest casserole or soufflé dish. This soufflé dresses up a simple roast chicken or pork loin. But I’d encourage you to try it with Roasted Duckling with Orange-Cane Syrup Sauce (p. 262).

This may be the all-time favorite Bayona family meal, created by Greg Collier, aka “Hoss,” one of my all-time favorite sous chefs (he’s now executive chef of Redfish Grill, which is also in the French Quarter). Hoss adapted his family’s chicken and dumplin’ recipe, and the staff still clamors for it whenever there’s a chill in the air. This recipe takes a little time, but it’s worth it. For this preparation, the “dumplin’s” are baked atop a thickened stew (rather than boiled or steamed in broth). Because we use mainly the hind legs and backstrap, or tenders, of the rabbit for the menu, we end up with lots of forelegs and breast meat to use for other things, such as sausage, confit, and crew food. (Naturally, we use the bones to make stock.) You can prepare the meat and stew up to a day ahead, then reheat gently and bake it with the dumplin’s. If you just can’t eat bunnies, chicken may be substituted.

One day while cooking a pot of red beans, I noticed that the juice had a beautiful, silky sheen. It occurred to me that the beans might make a good sauce if pureed really smoothly with their cooking liquid. An idea was born—really: that’s all it takes! I played around with seasonings and decided I liked the warm hint of cinnamon married with the spicy flavors of poblano and chipotle. Adding fresh lime juice at the end of the process brightens up the earthiness of the puree. The light coating of cornmeal gives the fish a nice crunch to contrast with the creamy sauce (which, incidentally, is wonderful with grilled fish of any kind—trout, redfish, or snapper are particularly good). A side of Green Rice (p. 309) is a perfect accompaniment.

This is another dish that Ashley taught me. It’s too good not to share. Cornmeal-coated oysters are crisp-fried and placed atop a salad of black-eyed peas, scallions, and red peppers. A chiffonade of spinach and celery root adds additional flavor and crunch (but it’s the killer sweet, hot Jalapeño Dressing that steals the show). Feel free to add a few more handfuls of greens to make this a more substantial salad. This is a great lunch salad with a fat wedge of corn bread and a cold beer.

There’s a reason Hank Williams was inspired to write and sing “Jambalaya and a crawfish pie and filé gumbo…” Crayfish (pronounced “craw-fish” in Louisiana) pies are a beloved New Orleans snack, and this recipe has more vibrant flavor than traditional versions. With a spicy, savory filling encased in slightly sweet cornmeal dough, these crispy little pies are a somewhat refined take on one of my favorite Jazz Fest treats. Serve them with plenty of cold beer.

Browning the chicken seals in the juices and keeps the inside moist and flavorful. This recipe can be made with pork cutlets instead of chicken. For an earthier flavor, substitute shiitake, cremini, or wild mushrooms for the white mushrooms.

In Vietnam, the delicate anchovies (ca com) used for making fish sauce are also fried and enjoyed as a snack like a Spanish tapa or as part of a meal along with a simple soup, boiled or stir-fried vegetable, and rice. Even though these small fish are sold frozen at Viet markets, I like to use smelts, which are the perfect North American substitute. Delicate and sweet, they have soft, edible bones that allow you to “eat them like French fries,” as a fishmonger once told me. And the batter remains crispy long after the last fish is fried. Use the freshest smelts you can find or substitute other small fish available in your area, such as fresh anchovies.

In this classic cold sweet soup, maroon adzuki beans and chewy clear tapioca noodles, jokingly called worms in Vietnamese because they are slippery and sticky, swim in rich coconut milk. I usually prepare all the ingredients in advance and then bring everything together at the last minute. The beans and coconut milk base may be prepared a few days ahead and refrigerated until serving time, and the sugar syrup keeps in a jar in the refrigerator indefinitely. The noodles, however, are best if readied only a few hours ahead. Adzuki beans are sold at Asian markets and health-food stores. Once you have made this version, you may substitute other beans, such as black beans, hulled mung beans, or black-eyed peas. You may also blend the beans for a mixture of colors and flavors.

Golden orange and crispy, this Hanoi specialty blends the fragrance and crunch of sweet potatoes with the brininess of shrimp. The fritters, which look like roughly formed nests on which whole shrimp rest, are cut into bite-sized pieces and bundled in lettuce with fresh herbs and cucumber. My mother taught me to soak the potatoes with a bit of slaked lime (calcium hydroxide), which Southeast Asian and Indian cooks use to crisp ingredients for frying and pickling. It is basically moistened food-grade slaked lime powder, the same compound used to treat corn for making Mexican masa. The Vietnamese call it voi and it is sold in small, round plastic containers in Chinese, Thai, and Viet markets, usually stocked in the flour aisle. Two varieties are available, red and white. I prefer the white one, though the red one, which has been colored by the heartwood of the cutch tree and is traditionally chewed with betel leaf, may also be used. A small container of slaked lime lasts for a long time because only a little is needed.

These nearly translucent, soft steamed rice crepes are served plain with slices of gio lua (sausage), or they are filled and shaped into small rolls, as they are here. Finished with cilantro, shallots, thit rouc bông (cotton pork), and a little sauce, these rolls were one of my father’s favorite foods to prepare for our family when I was growing up. In Vietnam, making bánh cuon was usually left to professional cooks who had mastered the technique of steaming a thin rice batter on fabric stretched over a pot of boiling water. In the 1970s, Vietnamese expatriates devised an easier method of making the crepes in a nonstick skillet. For the batter, they blended cake flour (very fine, soft Thai rice flour was not readily available then) with tapioca starch and cornstarch. While that approach works fine, I prefer to use Thai rice flour in place of the cake flour because it yields a more delicate result that is closer to the original version. The tapioca starch and cornstarch help the batter set up nicely and contribute to achieving the tender yet chewy texture of the traditional crepes.

Made of a simple rice flour batter, these dainty and rich rice pancakes are akin to blini. Bánh bèo are eaten all over Vietnam and boast a number of regional variations. They come in sweet (ngot) and savory (man) varieties, and in sizes ranging from 1 1/2 to 3 inches in diameter. They may be served directly from the small ceramic dish in which they are steamed or transferred to a serving platter. This recipe for savory bánh bèo features a classic topping of fragrant bits of briny shrimp, rich scallion oil, and mildly sweet chile sauce. I use small, inexpensive dipping sauce dishes for the molds. Look for them at Asian housewares and restaurant-supply stores and at some Asian markets.

Here , simple dough made of glutinous rice flour, water, and salt is shaped into small, round disks and steamed on banana leaf circles, which impart fragrance and prevent sticking. The result is bánh day, eggshell-white cakes that are eaten in pairs with slices of Viet sausage slipped between them. The cakes are sweet and chewy, while the sausage provides a savory counterpoint. If you don’t have time to make the sausage at home, pick some up at a Viet market or deli.

Eggplants are prepared in many ways by Viet cooks, but my two favorites are deep-fried, as in this recipe, and grilled or roasted until smoky and soft , as in Grilled Eggplant with Seared Scallion (page 184). Here, I coat thickish eggplant slices with a thin batter, which yields deep-fried pieces with a moist interior and a delicate crust that remains crisp well after frying. For the best results, use slender, firm, blemish-free Chinese, Italian, or Japanese eggplants. They have an appealing meatiness and fry better than large globe eggplants.

Nutty cracked wheat (okay, it’s technically bulgur) adds a welcome touch of texture to these waffles. Made with whole wheat flour, the waffles are a bit healthier and heartier than standard ones without being the least bit leaden. Spicy cinnamon and complex allspice lend their flavors to the creamy butter. A sweet blueberry syrup drizzled—or ladled—over the waffles makes the whole dish special. I wouldn’t recommend making the syrup with frozen berries as they are too wet to burst as the fresh berries do. If you have extra berries left over, sprinkle them on top before serving.

Served as part of the bread basket at Bar Amercain, these hot-from-the-oven corn sticks are one of the recipes requested most by diners.

This corn bread has an unusual twist. In many ways, it is a very traditional recipe made with stone-ground yellow cornmeal, tangy buttermilk for moisture, and just a touch of sugar so that it is savory rather than sweet. Cooked in a cast-iron skillet, the inner crumb is tender and crumbly while the bottom crust is beautifully crisp. What elevates this corn bread beyond the norm is that mystery ingredient—tomato powder. I can’t imagine how many tomatoes it takes to make even a couple tablespoons of the powder, but the flavor and scent are unadulterated, concentrated tomato essence. The powder mixes evenly into the batter, and each bite is laced with its pure taste.