Poultry

For those of you who crave the ubiquitous duck breast all dressed up for company, I offer you my version, the little ducky paired with sweet-and-sour roasted figs and given a little edge from the arugula. I won’t lie—it’s good. However, in exchange for my providing a traditional duck breast recipe, you must promise me that you will try either Party Tripe on Soft Polenta (page 159) or maybe Geoduck Crudo with Fennel and Radish (page 24). Do what scares you.

Duck breasts are delicious—that crackling skin and fat, the tender, ruby-hued meat. Duck legs do even more for me; the meat is darker, richer, and full of incredible flavor. If you plan on making a duck breast for dinner, buy a whole duck and roast the legs just so you can make this dish. Alternatively, I suppose you could buy a roasted duck from a Chinese barbecue and pick the meat. Bloomsdale is a lovely, crinkly variety of spinach that is full-bodied and flavorful. If you can’t find Bloomsdale, any heirloom or organic spinach will do. Make sure you wash the leaves well, dunking a few times to remove all the sand and grit.

This is my kind of comfort food—an accessible entrée to that old standby of liver and onions, yet fancy enough to be a company dish. Chicken livers have a deep, minerally flavor that I love, and they’re economical to boot. Wild mushrooms accent the rich flavor with their own woodsy quality, while a silken puddle of polenta forms a savory pillow for the dish. Doesn’t that sound better than meatloaf? This is a job for the biggest frying pan you have—the whole dish cooks in one pan.

Dirty rice is a Cajun specialty so named for the brownish hue imparted by the chicken livers or giblets that also provide its rich mineral flavor. Today, we mostly think of dirty rice as a side, but because it is a cheap source of protein and calories it would have been served as a main dish in leaner times. This version—streaked with a bright green scattering of fresh herbs—is my take on Paul Prudhomme’s classic recipe.

Guinea hens are birds, related to pheasants, and are an excellent and highly flavorful alternative to chicken. Because they’re smaller—usually two or three pounds—even whole birds cook quickly and yield just the right amount of meat for one meal. If you can’t find guinea hen, a small chicken will do the trick nicely.

One of the things I love most about Southern food is how it is constantly evolving, and these days that change has a lot to do with the culinary traditions of recent immigrants from Mexico, Cuba, and Central and South America. I first learned how to make mole from my friend Saul, after I tried his rendition at one of my favorite Durham restaurants, Nana’s, and persuaded him to teach me how to make it myself. The South’s favorite game bird is smothered in this rich, spicy Mexican sauce infused with dark chocolate and spices, thickened with ground seeds and nuts, and spiked with numerous chiles, exemplifying the old-yet-new trend. The result is incredibly complex and distinctive. You will have extra mole, so give it a try on other dishes, like eggs, grilled chicken, or steak.

This crispy fried quail is for anyone whose favorite part of fried chicken is the crust. Because quail are so small, you get a satisfyingly high crust-to-meat ratio—but the meat itself is flavorful enough to stand up to all that crust. I drape my version in a veil of creamy, herb-flecked pan gravy.

I think people often pressure themselves to put on a big, fancy spread for the holidays—but I’m all for keeping things simple, which is no problem if you start with this sticky, tangy barbecued turkey. Turning the holidays into a cookout sets such a casual, welcoming tone that you can’t help but take it easy and have a good time. I made this turkey the year Martha Stewart joined us for Thanksgiving, and it was such a big hit that we’ve taken to making it all year round. Be sure to plan ahead to allow for at least six hours of marinating time.

The wonderful contrast between buttery, almost confited duck legs and crispy, skillet-fried breast is worth the little bit of extra effort this dish requires. Add a bottle of Syrah or Pinot Noir and a few easy sides, like a simple green salad and Buttermilk Mashed Creamers (page 238), and you’ve got the makings of an elegant dinner party.

Every Thanksgiving, my friend Carl, who is also a pastor, makes his deep-fried turkey for some of the women in his church. Using a turkey fryer frees up the oven to make lots of sides, stuffing, and pies. Carl seasons his turkey with plenty of cayenne pepper, so much that it made me nervous the first time I saw him make it. But I shouldn’t have worried—it came out perfectly browned and crisp, with just a hint of heat. Be sure to follow the manufacturer’s instructions for your fryer and get a turkey that will fit easily in the fryer, no more than fourteen pounds. It is safest to cook this outside.

This is not your typical pea-and-carrot-laden pot pie. Inspired by fall flavors, this sophisticated version is loaded with butternut squash, oyster and chanterelle mushrooms, and fresh sage—all tucked under a layer of golden, flaky puff pastry.

I grew up on this velvety stew of shredded chicken and puffy dumplings. Not only is it comforting and delicious, but, because it stretches a little meat a long way using just a few ingredients, it is yet another example of Southern culinary resourcefulness.

This exotically spiced curry of chicken, tomatoes, peppers, dried fruit, and nuts is proof of Southern food’s cosmopolitan roots. Served with steamed rice, slivered almonds, and fresh parsley, it is wonderfully bone-warming and fragrant.

The inspiration for this dish came from Paula Wolfert’s excellent version of “chicken under a brick,” and from my brand-new, heavy-bottomed cast-iron skillet. Chicken under a brick—what Wolfert calls Italian fried chicken—is a traditional Tuscan preparation in which chicken is weighted with a clay slab over dry heat. The weight of the slab drives the juices and rendered fat back into the chicken as it cooks, resulting in succulent meat with crackly, golden-brown skin. Well, I soon put two and two together, and chicken under a skillet was born. Just think of it as Southern fried chicken’s long-lost Italian cousin. Note that you’ll want to let the meat marinate for several hours prior to cooking to get the big flavors that make this simple dish shine.

The two-step cooking process here yields perfectly moist and flavorful results: First, you put a nice sear on the chicken in a skillet. Next, you finish it off in the oven, slow-cooking it in a wonderful pot likker of seasonal vegetables and country ham. That’s it. Once you get the hang of this basic method, you can use it to make endless variations.

This dish contains all the flavor and crunch you expect from fried chicken, but with all the health benefits of using boneless, skinless chicken breast. Plus, you get bonus points for scattering the cutlets over a tender arugula salad bursting with fresh herbs and drizzled with tarragon-infused Buttermilk Green Goddess Dressing.

Granny Foster made the best fried chicken in the world—salty and golden brown with a crackly crust that gave way to meat as moist and tender as could be. The secret is the overnight brine of water, salt, and spices that drives extra moisture and flavor into the meat, where they are locked in during the cooking process.

Rich and meaty Brunswick stew is a true Southern classic. This streamlined rendition of my mom’s perfect version makes a huge amount of food—but to my thinking, that’s the point of stew. It tastes even better the next day, so it’s a great make-ahead meal if you are planning to have weekend visitors or feed a big crowd. You can also pop some in the freezer for a quick-fix weeknight supper another time.

A nice splash of brandy adds depth of flavor to this creamy pâté, which is just right served on crostini, toast points (see Know-how, page 19), or Cornbread Toasts (page 18) topped with Sweet Pickle Relish (page 299). For the best results, start with fresh livers from the butcher or farmer’s market that haven’t been frozen. Note that the chicken livers must soak in buttermilk for several hours prior to cooking.

Plain ole dirty rice is a good thing. Add the earthy, nutty taste and toothsome texture of wild rice, and you have something even better.