Make Ahead

These delicate, pale-green avocado pancakes come from my former big-city life as executive pastry chef at Anthony’s, owned by Tony Vallone, one of Houston’s top restaurateurs. The recipe for these savory pancakes was shared by a sous chef there, and I fell in love with them. We served them with crab and pico de gallo. In this version, I top them with homemade crème fraîche and trout caviar, a gorgeous, orange, medium-grained roe. (It is also more reasonably priced than many caviars and sustainably raised.) Incredibly simple, the pancakes must be made at the last minute and served warm.

It took my mother years to convince Chef Heinz at the Beaumont Country Club to share his recipe for brandied Cheddar cheese soup. Once she got the recipe, it became one of her favorite party soups. I’ve tweaked it a little, substituting beer for brandy and omitting the Cheese Whiz (it was the 1960s, after all). Serve it in little bowls, shot glasses, or espresso cups, so friends can pick it up and enjoy this rich, tummy-warming combination in a few sips, without a spoon.

I’ve been making these for parties ever since I joined forces with my old friend Marianna Green. We both had little babies, and together we catered weddings, birthday parties, and more parties. I froze these two-bite nibbles by the dozen—I always had a batch on standby for last-minute events. They’re still one of my favorite party hors d’oeuvres. No fuss, no muss, no sauce needed.

I keep a batch of these buttery, cheese-laden cookies on hand for drop-in guests year round as they’re better than a bowl of mixed nuts and just about as easy to make. Versatile, attractive, and positively addictive, they’re great for a before-dinner nibble, a cocktail party hors d’oeuvre, or a pre-theater or movie snack with a glass of wine.

I make batches of these in mini muffin pans, wrap them well, freeze them, and keep them on hand for last-minute parties. What a relief it is to have a dessert ready and waiting for an impromptu dinner. The only problem: I know where they are, and sometimes, especially late at night, I can’t resist unwrapping a few and eating them. (Yup, they’re pretty good frozen.) Before long, my party stash has dissipated, and I have to make some more. (Pictured on page 164, center tray.)

My mom was a veteran entertainer, and the Mexican décor of her home often influenced the menu. She insisted on doing things ahead and served a favorite casserole she called “sopa” at informal dinner parties. I never understood why she used the Spanish word for soup as the name of her casserole, but after browsing through several Texas community cookbooks, I discovered that a commonly used ingredient in a similar chicken tortilla casserole was condensed soup—cream of chicken, celery, or mushroom. Frankly, my inner chef’s code of conduct means I’d sooner come face to face with an ornery Texas longhorn than serve a casserole with a condensed soup base to my guests. But I remember loving my mom’s party sopa, and since she didn’t leave me her recipe, I created this meal-in-a-dish in her honor. I’ve nixed the soup shortcut, but I’m all for picking up a rotisserie chicken from the local market to ease the workload. Best of all, the casserole can be made ahead and refrigerated or frozen—on party day, just slide it in the oven.

For those who don’t speak Tex-Mex, chile gravy is a smooth sauce made with reconstituted dried chiles, broth, flour or some other thickener, and fat. The canned version—enchilada sauce—is stacked in grocery aisles all over the country. It’s worth the effort to make homemade, though, because fresh chile gravy is about as far from the canned stuff as Texas is from Toronto. I serve my cheese enchiladas topped with gravy, diced yellow or sweet onions, and sides of refried beans (page 161) and Rosa’s Mexican Rice (page 161).

You may not think of beans as a party dish, but there’s something deeply comforting and welcoming about a big pot of beans simmering on the stove top. First, it fills the house with a wonderful earthy aroma. Second, it gives friends the feeling that they’re worth fussing over—almost everyone knows homemade beans take a little extra time and some advance planning. Finally, I enjoy serving beans for a party because I have several gorgeous terra-cotta bean pots and I can’t resist showing them off.

Posole is a pork-based soup that’s really a cross between a soup and a stew. Apart from the pork, the main ingredient is hominy—white corn kernels that have been soaked in lye. Many Texans profess to love posole, but I’ve always found it impossibly bland. That is, until I tried Rosa’s version, which she transformed from blah to bueno with the addition of a flavor-packed red chile sauce. Rosa, a native of Mexico City, has worked at Rather Sweet since it opened almost ten years ago. A traditional Mexican concoction, posole comes in many styles, and is often prepared on feast days or to celebrate the new year, says Rosa. Sounds like a natural party food to me. I like to serve Red Posole as a main course for an informal dinner party on a cool night. Make a big batch of guacamole (page 255) and set out bowls with all of the traditional posole accompaniments—lime wedges, thinly sliced radishes, lettuce, and green onions. Serve the posole in the Dutch oven you made it in, or seize the chance to use that old-fashioned soup tureen you inherited from Great-Aunt Belle. Decorate your serving table with a Mexican-style tablecloth or a colorful runner. Bundle cloth napkins with the necessary silverware and set out a stack of deep soup bowls and small plates. Let guests serve themselves buffet style. Complete your stress-free, do-ahead dinner with a large pitcher of White Sangria (page 175) and a combination plate of Chile Crinkle Cookies (page 206) and Chubby’s White Pralines (page 68).

Discovering something new to bake is half the fun of attending potlucks. I’m always on the lookout for new recipes that others might enjoy. One of my servers gave me this recipe, which her grandmother has been making for as long as she can remember. I took these bars to a recent potluck supper, where they drew raves and more than a few requests for copies of the recipe.

My cousin Vera sent me this recipe from Ann (Mrs. Dan) K. Lucy, a regular at the Elderville Cemetery Association’s annual homecoming picnic held on the grounds of the modest East Texas church where my great-great-grandparents met. It did not look promising. How could a layer of common graham crackers with butter, sugar, nuts, and toffee tossed on top amount to much? Then I made them—and repented. (My sincerest apologies to Mrs. Lucy.) I have taken this confection to several potlucks and have yet to escape without someone (or two or even three fellow guests) begging me for the recipe. I have made them a day in advance and been unable to resist snacking on them—just a few at a time, mind you—so that by the time they arrived at their intended destination their numbers were severely diminished. These crisp little squares are divine, seriously addictive, and making them is almost as easy as dropping dollar bills into the church-offering basket.

My friend Stirling Greenlee’s sense of humor is as well developed as her cooking skills. She admits to being a fervent potluck lover, and I suspect it may be because she says that for years her idea of formal dining was eating from a tablecloth without cat hair. One of her most amusing potluck stories involves a less than successful event where guests were asked to bring something that “reminds you of your childhood.” Much to her horror, everyone brought white food—bland grits, milk toast, angel food cake. “As soon as everyone got out of there I imagine they bolted and went straight to Burger King,” she recalls. Too bad no one thought of butterscotch brownies, a childhood favorite of mine. This version features a sugary, lightly caramelized butter icing that ensures the brownies stay moist and travel well. On top of that, the king-size recipe makes it a top-tier candidate for large potlucks, as well as picnics and family gatherings.

Everyone makes zucchini bread, but somehow it feels so blah to bring another loaf of this admittedly delicious stuff to a potluck. Here’s a new take on the old theme, using butternut squash, which lends a golden hue and a delicate flavor to the bread. Large loaves, which can be sliced on-site, work beautifully as potluck fare. Wrapped mini loaves tied with ribbons and adorned with handwritten tags make memorable party favors. For family reunions, spell out the family name, the date, and the reunion site, such as “Wright Family Reunion, May 2009, Elderville Churchyard.” Just about any event, from wedding showers and baptisms to graduations and birthday parties, can be commemorated this way, leaving guests with a nonperishable memento that can be saved in scrapbooks long after the last scrap of bread disappears.

Here’s a portable egg favorite for those who like eggs and bacon for lunch or dinner (who doesn’t?) that’s certain to disappear at any gathering. The recipe comes from my friend Penny Perry-Hughes, co-owner with husband, Jerry, of Der Kuchen Laden, a first-rate kitchen shop located just across Main Street from Rather Sweet. As a student at London’s Le Cordon Bleu years ago, she remembers promising to bring her family’s prized deviled eggs to a party thrown by a group of fellow Americans. “My mother almost died laughing that I called from London to get her deviled egg recipe,” she says. Worst part was, Penny prepared the deviled eggs in advance, but got sick just before the party and couldn’t go. The eggs went without her, never to be seen again.

I know it’s tough to keep things fresh in the salt air, but my favorite cousin’s pineapple Bundt cake stays delectably moist for days—even at the beach. Sometimes I make it ahead and tote it to the beach; other times I make it there and keep it on hand. Who knows when we might be inspired to host a last-minute party? My cousin Vicki has been making this cake forever. She still bakes it in her grandmother Hille’s cast-iron Bundt pan, which she inherited along with a boxful of prized family recipes. Vicki says, “Every time I make this cake I feel like my grandmother is watching over me.”

This simple, delicious side dish was inspired by a meal at one of my favorite Gulf Coast outposts, Stingaree Restaurant. This casual Bolivar Peninsula eatery (there’s a bait shop on the ground floor) serves all-you-can-eat Gulf blue crab, oysters on the half shell, shrimp in many guises, and a seeming barge-load of other fresh seafood dishes. Stingaree is proof that you can’t keep a good thing down—it was among the first to reopen following hurricane Ike, the ferocious September 2008 storm that leveled much of the peninsula. The building was damaged, but unlike many of the peninsula’s structures, it wasn’t swept away, and the owners managed to reopen just five months post-Ike. I like to serve this with any simple fish or shellfish preparation. Try it with Big Easy Whole Flounder, page 73, or Champagne-marinated Shrimp Boil, page 67.

In my book, lump crabmeat spells luxury, and I can’t think of a better way to pamper my guests than starting off with a sumptuous serving. Offering my friends a mound of crab in crab or scallop shells makes me feel as if I’m bringing the sea to the table. Scallop shells are usually easier to find than crab shells, although I’ve seen both at kitchen supply stores. If you can’t find shells, use small ramekins. For a speedy main course, double the recipe and bake the crab in larger ramekins. Serve with a green salad and loaves of crusty bread.

This party-perfect showpiece recipe is pure simplicity: fresh plums, flour, sugar, butter, salt, and water. Once it cools, free the tart from its springform pan and you’ll have a golden-crusted beauty with a jewel-toned plum center that advertises—in an elegant but low-key way—the wonders of summertime fruit. If you feel your guests need more, serve it with a scoop of vanilla bean ice cream.

Here’s a great party dish that feeds a horde and can be made a day ahead and baked at the last minute. It can handle an endless amount of fiddling—from adding more vegetables (I’ve tucked in layers of sautéed sliced yellow and green zucchini, eggplant, red and green peppers, and mushrooms, to name a few) to tweaks like eliminating all cheese (including in the pesto) for a vegan version created for my lactose-intolerant daughter (see Variation). Buy prepared pesto if you want less prep work.

This cold soup is yet another use for the exploding basil in my garden. I created it for a backyard party that Country Living photographed for a summertime issue. There’s something special and a little bit elegant about starting an alfresco party meal with soup. Texas summers are so hot that I always like to offer something refreshing right off the bat. The gorgeous green color of this soup is set off beautifully by stark white serving bowls.