Flour

Spoon bread is more like custard than bread, and less like a casserole than a soufflé. As the name suggests, it’s soft enough to eat with a spoon. Spoon bread is more common in Virginia, Maryland, and Kentucky. Berea, Kentucky, in the south central portion of the state, actually boasts a spoon bread festival. The key to this recipe is using very fine cornmeal for a smooth, creamy texture. If you are unable to find fine meal in the supermarket, try Mexican or South American groceries. Also, adding a bit of fresh corn when in season really makes this spoon bread delicious. Some recipes call for baking powder for lift, but in this recipe, with a nod to my French training, I use beaten egg whites.

For an over-the-top po’ boy, try these crabs in a French loaf dressed with shredded lettuce and sliced tomato, or serve them on a bed of heart-healthy Classic Cole Slaw (page 35) for a new Southern twist on an old favorite.

Po’ boy sandwiches are found all along the Gulf Coast and are a New Orleans tradition. There are various tales about the origin of the name: that it’s a slang version of “poor boy” and the sandwich used to be an inexpensive, yet filling meal; that the sandwich was given out to streetcar workers on strike, who were essentially poor boys; or that it is a bastardized version of the French “pour boire.” This last theory holds that the sandwich was a sort of olive branch that men would bring home after a night of drinking and carousing around town. Whatever the name’s origin, it is an excellent sandwich. Although one can find roast beef and gravy po’ boys or fried potato and gravy po’ boys, possibly the most popular version of this iconic Louisiana treat is fried seafood po’ boys made with shrimp and oysters from the Gulf. The key to light and crispy fried food is to use the right oil. Peanut oil is a great choice for frying: it has a mild, pleasant flavor; does not take on the tastes of foods as readily as other oils do; and has a smoke point of about 450°F, meaning you can safely heat it to a very high temperature.

Cornmeal-coated fried fish is a product of modest country living: fish were free and cornmeal was cheap. You will not feel poor at all if you try these crusty fillets with Grits with Corn and Vidalia Onion (page 156) for a satisfying supper. This fried grouper also makes an excellent fish sandwich accompanied by homemade mayonnaise (page 282), lettuce, and tomato. Or you can dress it up by serving the fish on a bed of vegetable slaw (page 38). Fried fish with grits is another Southern classic that is good for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. If grouper is unavailable (which is likely, since it is overfished), or you would like to use a more sustainable fish, try mahi-mahi, wild striped bass, or wreckfish.

The fish fry is right up on the list of orchestrated Southern feasts, along with the “pig pull” and “dinner on the grounds.” It’s a great party and wildly different from throwing a few burgers on the grill. And fried fish are just flat-out good. My grandparents met at a fish fry in 1930 and were inseparable through almost 65 years of marriage. They were a great team but there was no doubt who was the boss. For as long as I can remember, they had a motor home. They drove as far south as the Yucatan Peninsula in Mexico and to Fairbanks at the far end of the Alaska Highway, where they caught a small plane to the North Pole. I was able to take several long trips with them when I was young. Once the three of us drove north, through Detroit into Canada, east to Nova Scotia, where we caught the ferry to Newfoundland. We were on the one main road in Newfoundland to St. John’s and were about halfway across the island when Meme looked at my grandfather and said, “Sam, pull over in that gas station. I’m ready to go home.” He did, and we did.

The name of this dessert or breakfast treat comes from colonial settlers in New England who substituted corn, or “Indian meal,” to make English pudding when wheat flour was in short supply. The pudding is sublime when served with clotted cream, whipped cream, or vanilla ice cream.

Steaming bread in the slow cooker is a terrific, hassle-free way to bake bread of all kinds. Traditionally, the batter for this brown bread was poured into coffee cans and placed in deep kettles filled with water, then hung for hours over the fire to steam. Serve it with New England Baked Beans (opposite page) or toasted for breakfast with cream cheese.

This bread pudding is savory, not sweet. A melding of the delicious southwestern flavors of corn, chiles, coriander, cumin, and cheese, it makes a wonderful side dish to a roasted loin of pork or beef.

My mom calls this chili, but my dad insists it’s Mexican spaghetti. I don’t care what they call it; anything that’s super simple, delicious, and makes a lot is a winner in my book. As an added bonus, the ingredients are cheap and it can be made up to a day ahead and reheated. The green chile cornbread goes perfectly with the chili, but if you prefer you can leave out the chiles or heat it up with a finely diced jalapeño.

When we were on a family vacation in New Orleans we came across a store in the French Quarter that had daily cooking classes. We decided to sign up for a class (it got us out of going to another museum with our dad), and it turned out to be a blast. We learned to make several different Cajun dishes, but this was my favorite. I love the beans, but we also learned the secret to making the best cornbread ever—add lots of milk and sprinkle sugar on the top.

Soft and chewy sticky rice dumplings have a nuanced natural sweetness that is savored by fans of East and Southeast Asian cuisines. As the recipes in this book show, they lend themselves to many occasions, cooking techniques, and fillings. Regardless of type, sticky rice dumplings never fail to please. Old-fashioned cooks pound just-cooked sticky rice to create their dough. Modern cooks like me reach for convenient glutinous (sweet) rice flour for our favorite sticky rice dumplings. Preparations involving poaching the dumplings and serving them in broth (like a sweet soup) are common in Asia. I grew up with this classic Vietnamese rendition, not realizing that fried shallots contributed to their richness until my mother revealed it to me one day. The intersection between sweet and savory contributes to these dumplings’ allure.

Like an American “popper” snack, this diminutive sweet enjoyed in Indonesia, Malaysia, and Singapore should be eaten whole: when you bite into it, the dumpling squirts lovely melted palm sugar into your mouth. The lightly smoky, caramel-like sugar then blends with the chewy rice dough and rich grated coconut in your mouth. These dumplings, also called klepon, are typically celadon green, since the dough features pandan (screwpine) leaves, a beloved ingredient in many parts of tropical Asia (see the Note below on buying the leaves). I like to amplify their herbal essence with vanilla. If pandan leaves are unavailable, just the vanilla and water are fine. Many cooks add food coloring for a cheery mint-green note; I prefer not to. Seek out Malaysian and Indonesian palm sugar (called gula melaka and gula jawa, respectively) for the best results. It is sold at Chinese and Southeast Asian markets, usually as thick cylinders wrapped in paper or plastic. The reddish-brown sugar is solid but moist. Shave off thin pieces with a knife to measure it out easily. If palm sugar is unavailable, combine 1/4 cup firmly packed dark brown sugar and enough molasses (a good tablespoon) to moisten the sugar well enough to roll it into balls.

One of the most beloved Asian sweet dumplings is crisp-chewy fried sesame seed balls. A Chinese New Year specialty that may have originated during the Tang Dynasty as palace food, they have been adopted by cooks of countless cultures to be enjoyed year-around. At Cantonese dim sum houses, this treat is called jin deui and usually contains sweetened red bean paste. In Vietnam, the filling typically features buttery mung beans. Ground peanuts are a quick and tasty filling option; if you select the peanut filling, use an electric mini-chopper to grind the nuts, sugar, and salt, and aim for a sandy texture. Sesame balls can be made without a filling, though I find those to be a tad lacking. The sugar used in the rice dough makes for a golden brown skin that slightly shatters with the first bite. Slab brown candy, called peen tong in Cantonese and sold at Chinese markets, looks like pieces of parquet flooring. It has a complex flavor not unlike maple sugar and lends a glorious rich brown color to the finished dumplings. When it is unavailable, light brown sugar is a fine substitute. Pressing on the balls during frying is the trick to getting them to expand, resulting in their signature hollow center.

A favorite Indian snack, batata vada are thinly coated by a batter made with garbanzo bean flour, which fries up crisp and then settles into a delicate chewiness. Inside, the cheery yellow potato filling (colored by turmeric) speckled by mustard seed bursts with flavor from chile, ginger, lime juice, and fresh herbs. Each one is a small eating adventure in trying to parse the individual elements while enjoying the synergistic whole. You can make the experience more fun with plops of chutney. Called bondas in Southern India and batata vada in Northern India, these dumplings are beloved all over the country. In Bombay, they are shaped as patties and served in a bun as a hamburger-like sandwich called vada pao. Garbanzo bean flour (called bésan in Hindi) is available at Indian grocery stores and health food markets. It has numerous uses in Indian cuisine, as a thickener as well as in batters for fried snacks.

Whereas fried sticky rice dumplings have their alluring crispy-chewy skins, steamed sticky rice dumplings are as soft and comforting as a well-worn pair of jeans. They retain the charming soft texture and natural sweetness of sticky rice. I grew up break-fasting on Vietnamese bánh ít (“small dumplings”), though they can certainly be a satisfying brunch, lunch, or snack food. Filled with a surf-and-turf mixture of shrimp, pork, and wood ear and shiitake mushrooms, these dumplings are enjoyed warm, dipped in a pool of soy sauce and pepper. The banana leaf imparts a wonderfully tea-like quality to the dumplings during the cooking process. These are easy to make, especially when the filling is prepared a day in advance. Viet cooks often use boiling water to create glutinous rice dough, but the dough is easier to handle and control when cold water is used. I combine two kinds of glutinous rice flour (see page 15) to arrive at a texture that is pleasantly chewy, not overly sticky. The rice flours are available at Asian markets, as is fresh or frozen banana leaf.

Versatile rice sheets are an integral part of many Asian cuisines; they can be cut into fresh noodles, dried into rice papers or crackers, and used as delicate wrappers for filled treats. Called ho fun in Cantonese, the sheets are nothing but big noodles made from silky batters of mostly rice and water. Many Asian cooks purchase opaque rice sheets, but for the purposes of dumpling making, it is best to prepare them yourself, as this guarantees freshness and a terrific toothsome texture. You need just a few for an abundance of tasty shrimp- or beef-filled rolls like the ones found at dim sum parlors. The sheets can be cooked and filled hours in advance of serving. A quick steaming is all they need right before serving. I have tried soaking and grinding raw rice for this batter but have never been as satisfied with the results as when I use rice flour from Thailand. The flour is both consistent and convenient. Look for it at Asian markets in plastic bags, typically with red lettering. Adding cornstarch and tapioca starch to the batter contributes to the sheets’ resilience and slight translucence. When starting out, make a double batch of batter so you can get plenty of practice.

It is easy to overindulge in these chewy-soft dumplings because they slip right down your throat. Just as you are savoring the rich scallion oil, well-seasoned filling, and tangy-sweet-spicy dipping sauce, the dumpling is gone, and you must eat another. The skin of this central Vietnamese specialty is traditionally made of tapioca starch; I add a little wheat starch for firmness, lest the dough become unpleasantly rubbery. Some Viet cooks laboriously wrap each bánh bot loc in a banana leaf and steam them. I don’t have such patience and boil mine for the “naked” (tran) version. When peeling the shrimp, save the shells for a stock to use in the sauce.

This malleable, snowy white dough is the foundation for many Cantonese dim sum favorites, such as Chiu Chow Dumplings (page 137) and Har Gow Shrimp Dumplings (page 135). Wheat starch dough is easy to manipulate; texturally, it is like Play-Doh. In fact, I’ve seen rabbit-shaped dumplings made from this type of dough. You can definitely sculpt it, though I mostly focus on making sure the filling is sealed up well. When cooked, this dough has a translucency that allows the filling colors to be visible in a beautiful, impressionistic way. Wheat starch on its own would make a dough that is too firm, so dim sum cooks commonly add elasticity by way of tapioca starch, though cornstarch and potato starch are options, too. The oil lends suppleness and richness. This dough can be prepared up to 6 hours in advance and kept at room temperature in the plastic bag. When forming wrappers from this dough, do your best to keep the cut dough and formed wrappers covered with plastic wrap to prevent drying. At Chinese markets, look for plastic bags of wheat starch near other starches and flours; Middle Eastern markets sometimes carry it, too. Tapioca starch is reasonably priced at Chinese and Southeast Asian markets but is also available at health food stores, specialty grocers, and some supermarkets.

If you’ve never had whole wheat puff pastry before, you’re in for a treat. While many people love the taste of the buttery layers of traditional puff pastry, adding whole wheat flour gives it a hearty, nutty taste that I find especially appealing when paired with apples. I also reason that the whole wheat balances out what some might consider an injudicious amount of butter in the dough. This is a quick puff pastry, adapted from a technique I learned from Linda Zagula, that takes a fraction of the time and work required to make the traditional kind. It still takes six turns to roll it out, but you do the first four all at once, then the last two later. And the pastry recipe makes enough for two tarts, so you can wrap the extra piece and stash it away in the freezer, ready for the next tart.

If you’re as wild about berries as I am, you’ll find that this pie is the height of luxury and one of the season’s greatest treats. It’s a dessert that I make only in the summer, at the moment when berries are abundant and at their peak. When I lived in San Francisco, I’d drive east across the bay to Monterey Market in Berkeley where flats of berries were so plentiful—and so inexpensive—that I found it impossible not to come home with at least a few piled up in my trunk. In addition to turning the berries into jams, compotes, and sorbets, I’d always bake this pie. A total of 6 cups of berries makes up the filling—use whichever types you prefer. Unless you buy berries by the flat, like I did, most berries are sold in half-pint or pint baskets, so expect to have some leftover fruit, which I know you’ll put to good use. I always did.