Summer

This isn’t the kind of tomato soup that you eat with a grilled cheese sandwich, though it’s about as easy to make. Because I like to concentrate the flavor of those amazing tomatoes, I keep the garnish here simple. I find the focaccia croutons add just enough contrast and crunch without taking away from the glory of the tomatoes. Use any combination of heirlooms that you like—from Black Russians to Green Zebras—just make sure they are juicy and ripe.

When the late summer months bring you perfectly plump corn, buttery chanterelles, and Walla Walla onions so sweet you could eat them like apples, there isn’t much to do but stay out of their way. This light but flavorful soup showcases each of the ingredients without overwhelming their delicacy. Because the corn and chanterelles offer such nice, contrasting textures, I prefer not to purée this soup.

Throughout the South, but especially along rural strips of highway, you’ll find a plethora of roadside farm stands advertising their homegrown wares with colorful, hand-painted wooden signs. I love these quirky little catchall stands, where you’re almost as likely to encounter folk art or a mini petting zoo as you are watermelons and eggs. If you’re lucky, you can also find some of the best peach ice cream you’ll ever eat—creamy, cold, and ultrafresh. I like to think my version, which makes the most of sweet, sun-ripened fruit, is just as tasty.

This simple panna cotta is all about the tangy flavor of creamy buttermilk topped with a sweet-tart spoonful or two of bright red balsamic-glazed strawberries.

This is my mom’s recipe for what she calls a “dump cobbler,” where all you do is mix the batter, dump the fruit on top, and pop it in the oven. It’s soft and moist—almost like a pudding—with big peach flavor. Try different summer fruits, like cherries, blueberries, blackberries, or plums, in place of the peaches. Serve with Farm-Stand Peach Ice Cream (page 363) or lightly sweetened whipped cream.

The Southern climate is inhospitable to all but the bravest sour cherry trees, whose exact locations are often as closely guarded as those of choice swimming holes and wild berry patches. These sour cherry preserves, which are wildly good on Favorite Buttermilk Biscuits (page 51), are what I often make when I’m lucky enough to get my hands on some sour cherries.

Whenever I’m at the market during tomato season, I keep my eyes peeled for what the farmers call “ugly tomatoes.” You can buy them for a song because they’re bruised, misshapen, or ripe to the point of bursting, but that makes them perfect for canning or cooking. This sweet and savory tomato jam, which is equally at home on toast for breakfast or on a baguette with fresh mozzarella and baby greens for lunch, is one of my standards.

In the summer, I like nothing better than to stand in the shade of my big, old fig tree and pluck the ripe fruit to a humming chorus of bees and scavenging birds. Figs are so short-lived—in terms of both season and shelf life—that you have to act quickly to enjoy them at all, so I always feel like I’ve done well when I come away with a jar or two of jam. A nip or three of brandy gives this version a smoky, complex flavor.

This traditional mixed-vegetable relish, which usually features some combination of cabbage, tomatoes, peppers, and onion, is like a Southern version of sauerkraut or Korean kimchi. It has its origins in Appalachia, where big, crisp heads of cabbage thrive in the cooler mountain climate. It’s typically served on stewed beans and rice, but it is excellent, too, on hot dogs and barbecue sandwiches. This version, which features the bright, tart flavor of green tomatoes, comes from an old recipe in my grandmother’s collection—so old that it called for “5 cents’ worth of celery seeds.”

Crunchy, juicy, and vinegary, pickled okra is good enough to eat all by itself, but it also makes a handsome garnish for Wendy’s Bloody Marys (page 28), Herb Deviled Eggs (page 10), or antipasto platters.

This tangy relish, which packs enough flavor to play a starring role on any plate, showcases the sugary sweetness of fresh summer corn. For a light and easy supper, spoon it over Chicken Under a Skillet (page 139) or Grilled Grouper with Heirloom Tomato Salsa (page 102).

Once you start making them, you begin to see pickle potential in just about everything. That—and an overabundance of fast-growing yellow squash—is what inspired my sister, Judy, to make these unusually gratifying sweet squash pickles. I call for yellow squash here, but you can use any kind of summer squash, from Sundrops and pattypans to zucchini.

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.

The perfect combination of sweet and tart, thinly sliced bread and butter pickles are the quintessential all-purpose sandwich toppers, delivering lots of big, punchy flavor in a small package. They make such a satisfyingly crunchy snack that—if you’re anything like me—you’ll soon graduate from layering them in sandwiches to munching them straight from the jar.

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.

Salted watermelon, cornbread, and molasses. You don’t have to look far to see how much Southerners like to mix their sweet with their salty. This summery salad, featuring Balsamic-glazed grilled peaches and shaved country ham tossed with fresh herbs and creamy goat cheese, is an elegant tribute to this unendingly popular flavor combination. For real Southern flavor, use sticky-sweet Georgia peaches.

I first tried this when Bill Smith, chef of the famed Crook’s Corner restaurant in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, made a similar salad for a magazine feature. I know what you’re probably thinking—strange combination, right? But let me tell you, it really works. As much as I trust Bill’s palate, even I was surprised by how well the mild-sweet melon and acid-sweet tomato went together. I have since made many variations using different kinds of melons, tomatoes, herbs, and cheese, but this one is my all-time favorite.

This simple and refreshing salad is what I crave on especially hot summer days in North Carolina, when even the trees begin to droop and I can’t bear the thought of turning on the oven. That’s the only time to make it, since it’s also when the tomatoes and cucumbers are at their peak and growing like weeds. Have fun mixing and matching colors and shapes using the many varieties—both familiar and strange—that you’re apt to find at your local farmer’s market.