Vegetarian

This simple casserole is a familiar dish in the South. It is an absolute standard at potlucks, brunches, weddings, and funerals. Casseroles are the salve that heals a Southerner’s wounded soul. I always call this dish “funeral grits” because it’s the perfect dish to take to the bereaved after the funeral. It can be treated as a side dish, held for hours in a low oven with few ill effects, and the leftovers reheat wonderfully. Funeral food in the South is a category all to itself. The food should be comforting, not too fancy, and even in this day and age, is best if homemade (not a platter of sliced deli meats from the grocery store). When my godfather, Uncle Raymond, died many years ago, I remember the women swarming in the kitchen, each and every one of them taking on a specific chore. Even though I was a professional cook by this time, I was designated for phone duty. I didn’t mind; I may have been a professional cook, but I was still the youngest and lowest on the totem pole. This dish serves six to eight people, more than most of the recipes in this book. Lord knows, a dish serving less people won’t go far at a Southern funeral. Use this recipe as a guide and make it your own. Add more jalapeño to give it some real heat, or switch up the cheeses and try adding freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano, Gruyère, or white Cheddar.

Hot, bubbly cheese, buttery toast, and fresh snipped herbs are a captivating combination for a first course. Serve this in individual dishes for a more elegant presentation. In the summer, it is incredible with chopped fresh tomato. In the winter it takes on a completely different taste and feel topped with your favorite tomato sauce. Compound butters (see page 281) are flavored with herbs or spices. This recipe features tarragon butter, which is a classic French combination that makes this simple recipe taste spectacular. The flavoring possibilities for compound butters are vast: I once worked with a cowboy chef who made a compound butter for steak with freshly chopped cilantro, fresh lime juice, and finely chopped jalapeño. Mix it up!

Southerners have a bad habit of calling any dish with whipped egg white in it a soufflé—hence all those recipes for cheese grits soufflé and sweet potato soufflé. Believe me, there is way too much butter in both of those concoctions for them to ever rise, especially the latter, which is typically topped with marshmallows. This classic French soufflé is the real thing, and uses the béchamel method (see page 67). It is very important to use low-moisture cheese when making soufflés. Gruyère and Parmigiano-Reggiano are perfect because they are very flavorful, but dry and not overly fatty. Rich, fatty cheeses like blue or Brie are too heavy and your soufflé won’t rise as tall.

When my sister and I were young, our favorite mornings were when Mama would prepare French toast for breakfast. The smell of butter, kissed with cinnamon, combined with the heady scent of sizzling egg was a most welcome greeting as we bounded down the stairs. This version is made the night before, so you won’t find yourself camped in front of a hot griddle in the early morning, groggy and in need of caffeine. The next morning, remove it from the fridge to take the chill off. Grab a cup of coffee and pop it in the oven. By the time the table is set, the family is assembled, and you’re ready for your second cup, breakfast is ready. Brioche and challah are yeast breads, rich with egg and butter, and make superlative French toast.

The first time I cooked a soufflé for my teacher, culinary authority and soufflé master Anne Willan, I opened the oven door to discover a lopsided, exploding disaster. Determined to learn, I cooked a soufflé once a week for months with the leftover bits of cheese from the cheeseboard. It was brutal, but I finally mastered the soufflé. That said, cast your fears aside: adapted from one of Anne’s recipes, this soufflé is the absolute perfect recipe for beginners because it demonstrates how easy soufflés are to make and to manipulate. Even if everything does go wrong, no one will know, as the soufflés are hidden under a glorious blanket of rich creamy sauce and melted cheese.

I cannot serve this salad without thinking of my friend Stephanie Stuckey-Benfield. Her family is the Stuckey’s of the roadside stores and Pecan Log Rolls. Her grandfather opened his first pecan stand in 1937. This simple stand evolved into a veritable empire of Stuckey’s Pecan Shoppes, the highway heaven of souvenirs, cold drinks, and pecan candy. The pecan log roll, for the uninitiated, is a secret combination of sweet, fluffy goo in a coating of crushed pecans, created by Stephanie’s grandmother. In this recipe, once the goat cheese is rolled in pecans it looks undeniably like the candied confection, although the taste is savory.

Fresh and colorful, this salad is a far cry from the concoction made with canned green beans and pinto beans. Wax beans are a yellow version of the snap bean. They remain pale yellow once cooked and are a nice color contrast to the green beans and red tomatoes.

Honey is a fine example of the French concept of terroir—quite literally, a little bit of the earth of the surrounding area is imparted to every jar of honey. Dede loved honey and enjoyed it on his toast or biscuits. When I grew older and started to travel, I would always bring home a jar of the local honey as a gift for him. Although he has long since passed away, I have continued the tradition and always bring home a jar of local honey as a memento when I travel. The shelf in my cupboard resembles an amber rainbow. I once had a bit of pecan-crusted goat cheese left over from another recipe and served it the next day, nestled in a quartered fresh fig and drizzled with honey—that’s how this recipe was born.

Summer is unthinkable without watermelon. As children, my sister and I would stand for what seemed like hours on the back steps and eat and eat and eat chilled wedges of homegrown watermelon. The seed-spitting contests were fierce. As we were often barefoot and playing in the dirt, the watermelon juice served as an adhesive for a fine dusting of red Georgia clay. We would get so sticky and messy, we were barred from the house until we’d washed off with the hose. And, if we didn’t do a good job, Meme was more than happy to help. This watermelon salad is decidedly grown-up enough to eat indoors (barring any seed-spitting challenges). Spiking watermelon with vodka is an old trick, but the crème de cassis—a Burgundian liqueur made from black currants—elevates this to the extraordinary.

Here is my version of a recipe taught by Anne Willan. Her version uses small cherry tomatoes, which are scored, blanched, and peeled. The combination is incredible, as the peeled tomatoes soak up the flavorful vinaigrette and explode in your mouth. However, the number of people I would peel cherry tomatoes for is fairly limited. The wine may seem a little surprising, but tomatoes contain alcohol-soluble flavors that can only be delivered to your taste receptors in the presence of alcohol. As the salad marinates, the tomatoes begin to exude their juices, so don’t make this more than 2 or 3 hours before serving. Serve this pretty combination in a butterhead lettuce cup with plenty of bread to soak up the juices.

While I lived and worked at La Varenne, we often dined outside on a terrace overlooking miles of Burgundian countryside. One memorable day, I cut off the tip of my left thumb while preparing potato salad for one of our outdoor feasts. I quickly wrapped my hand in a towel and raised it above my head. I grabbed the severed bit from the cutting board in my right hand, walked into Anne Willan’s office, and told her I had cut myself. She asked to see it. I refused. She insisted. Finally, opening my right palm, I said, “Well, here it is.” The grand dame Anne blanched and replied, “Oh dear, I think we need a Cognac.” After a trip to the hospital I did enjoy the feast, but declined a serving of the potato salad.

Alain Passard is the chef-owner of the Parisian restaurant L’Arpège, awarded three Michelin stars, the highest possible rating from the most prestigious organization. He caused quite a stir when he “went vegetarian,” as he had come from the classic French tradition of cooking with meat stocks. This salad is inspired by a dish he created when he entered his veggie phase. This is well suited for cooks who grow their own herbs or are able to purchase good quality fresh herbs from their farmer’s market—otherwise, it can be somewhat costly at a traditional grocery store. Rinse the herbs under cold running water, then spin them dry in a salad spinner. Carefully remove the leaves from the stems (don’t cheat: use only the leaves, discard the stems). Use more herbs than lettuce. Nasturtiums (both leaves and flowers), cilantro, basil, and chervil are other herb suggestions.

Russet (also called Idaho) potatoes are not usually recommended for potato salad. They can become waterlogged when boiled and fall apart easily. Their high-starch, low-moisture content makes them inclined to absorb too much dressing. But that is the beauty of this dish. This is the archetypical summer potato salad that has been served on paper plates across the country for generations. When Mama prepares this salad, she lets the potatoes cool just enough, but not completely. The cubes break down slightly and the salad is a blend of larger pieces of potato with a little bit of creamy mash. This is one of my sister’s favorite dishes, a comforting classic that echoes with childhood memories whenever Mama makes it, so she always makes a big batch. The recipe halves beautifully.

No salad screams “summer” louder than this one. The combination of tomatoes with freshly chopped herbs is a testament to my philosophy of simple recipes executed with the best possible ingredients. Heirloom tomatoes are grown from non-hybrid, open-pollinated seeds, and are the varieties that have been passed down through the generations by farmers and gardeners around the world. They are far superior to the red-colored tennis balls available in most grocery stores. If you cannot find heirloom tomatoes, use a ripe tomato from your garden, a good produce market, or a farmer’s market. Be sure to look for a regional goat cheese and support your local farmer. Other cheeses to consider for this recipe include briny cubes of feta or mild, creamy fresh mozzarella.

My friend Shelly shared this recipe, her aunt Mimi’s, at a cookout one summer. It’s lighter and healthier than most, and since it is essentially vinegar and oil, it is safe to have on a buffet for hours.

These beets are roasted, and very delicious! But if you have a mandoline, a professional tool that will slice vegetables evenly and very thinly, skip the roasting process and slice the beets raw (this works only with beets at the peak of seasonal freshness—sweet, dry, and tender). When really fresh beets are sliced so thin as to be almost shaved, there is no need to cook them. Toasted walnut oil adds a classic French flavor to the salad, but you could also use almond or pecan oil, available online and at gourmet or specialty markets. Store nut oils in the refrigerator; they turn rancid fairly quickly.

We bought my grandmother a food processor, but she continued to use her hand-cranked shredder for grating. Made of cast aluminum, it was a sturdy beast that attached to the counter with a vise. She would peel the carrots and Dede would patiently shred them into a large bowl for carrot slaw. This recipe is a bit more complex in flavor and technique than Meme’s, and I use a food processor to shred the vegetables. Just make sure you shred the carrots first! To prevent the beets from staining the carrots when mixed in the salad, the key is to dress the beets before combining with the carrots. This seals in their red pigments (betalains), which don’t dissolve in oil.

Céleri rémoulade—shredded celeriac (celery root) in a mayonnaise-based dressing— is the French version of slaw. Peel a celeriac bulb with a chef’s knife, trimming away the gnarled brown skin to expose the pale flesh. Once peeled, it should be rubbed with lemon or soaked in acidulated water to prevent browning.

Except for the mayonnaise, this Asian-inspired slaw is very un-Southern. The combination of flavors and colors makes a grand addition to any summer picnic. Mirin is a sweet, low-alcohol rice wine, essentially “cooking sake.” Believe it or not, soy sauce actually did make it into Meme’s kitchen. She was once featured in an article in the local newspaper, and, I suppose, thinking her simple country recipes were not appropriate for the “big time,” she included a recipe for her stir-fry. It was a combination of broccoli, carrots, and snow peas, with soy sauce as a seasoning. The recipe might have been “exotic” back then, but Meme’s stir-fry technique was pure South: the vegetables cooked for a very un-stir-fry length of time—20 minutes!