Flour

For those of you who are not from the South, spoonbread is best described as a cross between a soufflé and corn bread. Light and creamy like a soufflé, this elegant side dish delivers the essence of corn bread without any of its density. Parmesan cheese gives the spoonbread a rich, savory note, while sweet roasted garlic and roasted green chiles provide the force of its flavor profile. Chopped chives and oregano fleck each bite with fresh color and flavor. At Bar Americain we serve Green Chile Spoonbread alongside the Smoked Chicken with Black Pepper Vinegar Sauce (page 126), but I would be hard-pressed to think of a meal that wouldn’t be complemented by this dish.

Native Americans showed the Pilgrims how to cook with maize (corn) and probably taught them to make johnny cake, a dense cornmeal bread whose thick batter is shaped into a flat cake and baked or fried on a griddle. These cakes (basically just fried corn bread) are the perfect vehicle for many toppings. One of my favorites is barbecued duck and cranberry butter. Feel free to make your own cranberry relish, use what’s left over from your holiday meal, or purchase a good-quality prepared one.

This dish is Louisiana all the way. Crawfish are eaten in other states, to be sure, but no one is as passionate about these crustaceans as are Louisianans. And rightfully so; the state is responsible for producing more than 80 percent of the world’s crawfish! Crawfish look like tiny, clawless lobsters, and though they are not directly related, their taste is similar. The lobster stock in the rich, creamy sauce enhances that similarity. Sweet trout fillets get an old-fashioned cornmeal crust and are panfried to a light golden brown before being set down on a pool of the pink sauce.

Skate, for those of you who are unfamiliar with it, is delicately textured and tastes very much like scallops. In France there are endless wonderful brasseries, and nearly all of them serve skate with a brown butter sauce. Smoky chipotle puree instantly Americanizes the butter sauce with its fiery taste of the Southwest. The finishing touches for the skate—salty capers, tart lemon juice, and my favorite herb for seafood, tarragon—are all simple but come together in a dynamic way. The tomato salad is optional, but it brings a lovely touch of bright color and freshness to the plate.

This is my tip-of-the-hat to the picturesque city of Charleston, South Carolina. Each time I visit I am charmed by the city’s citizens, its architecture, and its Low Country cuisine, in particular the sumptuous shrimp and grits. Originally a humble breakfast made by and for the local shrimp fishermen, this dish of creamy grits and plump shrimp deserves a night out on the town. Sharp cheddar cheese and heavy cream enrich the grits with lush flavor. Thick matchsticks of smoky bacon are rendered crisp for a salty garnish, and the flavorful fat is used to sauté the sweet shrimp. Lemony thyme and chopped garlic season the shrimp to savory perfection.

This fresh and satisfying salad gets its inspiration from two very different locales: the sweet and sour dressing is indebted to the Pennsylvania Dutch, while the fried green tomatoes come straight from the South. The brightly hued dressing is just the thing to enhance the interplay of tart green tomatoes; sweet, earthy beets; buttery fava beans; and tangy, creamy goat cheese. Green tomatoes and fava beans are two crops that I particularly look forward to seeing at the first farmers’ markets of spring, and this salad is a delicious way to celebrate the best of that season. If you can’t find fava beans, lima beans are a fair substitute.

Bob and Nancy Green live on the land Bob’s pioneer father settled in 1881 and Bob has been a rancher for most of his life. Now in her eighties, Nancy continues to indulge her lifelong passion for entertaining. She favors groups up to sixteen, because she can seat them all “gracefully” at her table without having to round up chairs from other parts of the house. Nancy keeps her guests happy with a good supply of cornbread, baked in a Texas-shaped skillet.

I’ve yet to meet a man—Texan or otherwise—who can resist these meltingly tender short ribs. (Most women can’t either, but they tend not to eat as many.) Serve them over a pile of creamy cornmeal mush and you’ll have a party full of satisfied customers. At one gathering, I asked a group of guys how many ribs they thought they’d eat. The majority estimated that three would be plenty. They changed their tunes after taking a few bites and revised the number upward to four or five—and they kept their word. Short ribs come in varying sizes, so I figure about a pound per person, especially if my guest list includes a bunch of guys with big appetites.

I fancy myself to be part Cajun, not surprising since I grew up on the Texas-Louisiana border. When entertaining, I often include a little something with Cajun flair. My Shreveport-born friend Mary Cunningham feels the same way. She served these at a recent dinner party in her home and happily shared her recipe (once she figured out what she did and wrote it down, that is). Like many accomplished home cooks I know, Mary rarely measures, cooking by taste and feel. I’ve adapted her recipe and created a cornbread crust to go with it. Depending on where you live, it may be tough to find crayfish. It can be ordered online, but if necessary, substitute an equal amount of chopped, fresh shrimp.

Spoon bread is an old Southern favorite, and it’s beloved in many parts of Texas, too. I’ve heard numerous stories about the origin of its name—some say it is derived from a similar-sounding Indian precursor, others suggest it’s named for the utensil customarily used to eat this softer, smoother version of cornbread. I often bring spoon bread to potlucks, where it can be counted on to stir up old memories. (A version reportedly was served at Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello.) This recipe came from Gangy—the favorite grandmother of one of my oldest and dearest friends, Kristen Ohmstede. Kristen’s grandmother served it often with butter and blackberry jam and to this day, that’s the only way Kristen will eat it.

After handing guests a drink, I often like to offer them a special morsel of food to perk up their taste buds and to make everyone feel at home. My friend and Austin farmer extraordinaire Carol Anne Sayle shared this recipe, and it warmed my southern gal’s heart. (For skeptics, these little pancakes do not suffer from the slime factor some associate with okra.) I served these at my annual garden party for chefs and friends, and people couldn’t get enough. The trick is to serve them hot off the griddle, so make sure you have someone to fry them in a skillet, and someone else to pass them around while they’re still hot. For this kind of job, I often enlist a shy guest or two. It keeps them busy, and frees them from the stress of having to make small talk. I’ve found that people will eat as many of these as they can get, but one or two per person is plenty and when they’re gone, they’re gone. (The recipe doubles easily if you’re serving a crowd, though.) I have added a little touch of my own to Carol Anne’s recipe. My garden was producing way more jalapeños than I could manage, so I decided to pickle them. I tossed a few chopped, pickled chiles into Carol Anne’s pancakes and loved the result. You can leave them out if you like.

When I told Sam Fromartz, a fantastic home baker who blogs at Chewswise.com, that I was playing around with pizza doughs, he persuaded me to try his take, which uses spelt, an ancient variety of wheat with a wonderfully nutty flavor and without the bitterness of whole wheat flour. Spelt is a little tricky to work with because it stretches very easily, but the addition of white bread flour brings structure. This no-knead dough, based on versions by Jim Lahey and Peter Reinhart, benefits from a long rise, preferably overnight. The result is a very flavorful dough, perfect for home pizza-making. Like the No-Knead Pizza Dough (page 104), it is sticky and loose, but comes together in a beautiful crust. It also requires a little forethought: You can make the dough in the evening for use the next day, or in the morning to use in the evening.

This simple technique, adapted from Jim Lahey of Co. pizza restaurant and Sullivan Street Bakery in New York, is based on his famous no-knead bread. It makes for a very sticky, loose dough that seems as if it won’t be easy to work with, but is very forgiving and performs well with the broiler method featured in the pizza recipes that follow. This dough requires some planning: You can start it in the morning and make pizza that evening, or start it the night before you want pizza for dinner.

Crusty, chewy, salty dinner rolls whose textures and flavors play wonderfully off the slowly melting pat of sweet cream butter you place inside: these are the perfect accompaniment to the salad or cheese course, and will provide an irresistible distraction from the main course of prime rib or leg of lamb. If you have children, keep the rolls on reserve until after the kids say they can’t eat another bit of their meat or veggies. Then sit back and behold how they magically create enough room for a marathon runner’s share of salty-yeasty carbs.

Most flat breads carry with them a long list of social and culinary baggage. Pita, matzo, injera, casava, rieska: you have to take the bread’s cuisine with you to the table. The pretzel is unique because you can take it wherever you want! It’s a snack food through and through, though its twisted form is steeped in folklore and symbolism. The first pretzels were made in monasteries in the seventh century, and given out on church feast days. The shape is said to represent a child’s arms in prayer. I think a better resemblance is found in the image of two wrestlers drinking beer—which monks also invented. The smoky majesty of Maine hickory smoked salt is a miracle that the monks would surely have prayed for.

Salt that is everywhere is nowhere. Burying food in layers of salted homogeneity gives you nothing so much as a lot of salt. Yes, salt can be used to subjugate other flavors, bending them to an evil imperial will, enslaving them to the offensive goal of not offending anyone. The dark lords of homogenous salting hold cocktail parties where they try to keep everybody in the usual safe conversational ruts—children, sprinkler systems, geopolitics—while you, a rebel with your feathered hairdo or cinnamon buns attached to the sides of your head, try to bring light, freedom, and individual expression to the sensory galaxy. Allow your ingredients to converse, each reflecting upon what it has to say before sharing with the others. Heavily salted breads and presalted butter have possibly done more than any other two foods to reduce the net amount of mirth and pleasure experienced on earth. Unsalt them, and then set them free with your salt. A small amount of salt can be added to round out the bread’s toasty flavors without detracting from the salt’s romp through fields of buttered grain.

All of the optional condiments for serving are available at most Indian grocery stores.