5 Ingredients or Fewer

Long hot Southern summers produce delicious corn, but some of the best corn I ever had in my life was from New Jersey. The farmer had a stand on the side of the road in front of his cornfield. He would ask how many you wanted, and march back into the green, rustling stalks to pick your order. Freshness is important, since the moment corn is picked, the sugars begin converting into starch. Straight from the row to a pot of boiling water is an indulgent luxury. Some folks may look twice when they see that this recipe instructs you to coat the corn in mayonnaise. It’s a Southern take on Mexican corn that is coated in crema, a soft sour cream–like cheese. You cannot get more Southern than mayonnaise. If you don’t care for mayonnaise, use soft unsalted butter instead.

This recipe uses slow-cooking technique to intensify the tomatoes’ flavor. It is a wonderful technique to remember in the heat of the summer during tomato season. This is an excellent alternative to the fresh tomato salad for Corn Soup with Tomato Garnish (page 230), but take a cue from fine French kitchens and fold the confit into scrambled eggs, toss it with salad greens or pasta, or place some on top of crisp grilled bread with chopped fresh herbs for a tasty hors d’oeuvre.

Classic French cooking technique dictates that spinach should be blanched before sauteing. I learned the science behind the method when I produced a DVD with Shirley Corriher called Kitchen Secrets Revealed! Fresh fruits and vegetables are made from living cells. When heated, these cells die and fall apart. All vegetables are slightly acidic, and as the cells deteriorate and continue cooking, the acids leak out and turn the chlorophyll present in green vegetables brown. Miss Shirley (see page 191) calls this “mass death and destruction.” The French technique of blanching vegetables first in a large pot of boiling water dilutes the acids as they leak out, minimizing the amount of acid in contact with chlorophyll. Steaming is another excellent cooking method because as soon as the acids are released from the vegetables they wash away in the steam, limiting the amount of damaging contact with chlorophyll. Finally, stir-frying is a quick cooking and open technique, letting those acids evaporate, and limiting the time for the chlorophyll to lose color. If you don’t want to blanch spinach (or dandelion or chard) and still have it bright green, the trick is too cook it very, very quickly over high heat.

Shirley Corriher is a world-renowned food scientist who happens to live in Atlanta, Georgia. Everyone from the elves at the cookie company to the late Julia Child has called her to ask, “why?” Her detailed explanations help cooks understand why certain things happen in the kitchen, which liberates the cook from the recipe (to a certain extent). Shirley shows in this recipe how green vegetables remain bright green if not overcooked (see page 196). She also demonstrates how lemon zest will give a fresh lemon taste without the acidity of the lemon juice, which will turn cooked green vegetables, as she says, “yucky army drab.”

The aroma of the basil when combined with the green beans is vibrant and intoxicating. This dish is almost like a deconstructed pesto without the cheese, or a Southern version of green beans amandine, a once-elegant side dish, that in the 1970s became a sad image of itself, banished to cafeterias and dining halls.

Dede always grew okra, and I usually have a few plants every summer. Once, I grew them in container boxes on the roof of my apartment in New Jersey, framed by the Manhattan skyline. Guests were astonished at the sight when we would go out on the deck. The plants are beautiful, sometimes growing to five feet tall with pale yellow blossoms similar to hibiscus. When I was working in France for Anne Willan, we once needed okra for a recipe test. It was nowhere to be found in the local markets, so we ordered a case from Rungis, the French wholesale market on the outskirts of Paris, only to use less than a pound! The gumbo was a disappointment, falling short of Anne’s strict standards. Since we had almost a full case to use, I made this fried okra, which Anne called “popcorn fried okra.” It was a huge hit. I can pretty much guarantee that this was the only time in history fried okra was enjoyed as a snack with apéritifs before dinner. I called Meme every week to tell her about my work and what I had learned. When I told her about the “popcorn fried okra,” she giggled like a schoolgirl.

My mother-in-law is a wonderful woman, very sweet, kind, and generous. Her late husband was the cook in the family, and even she admits she is not much of a cook. She experienced a little culinary serendipity when sauteing okra one night. She put a little too much oil in the pan, so she added a bit of cornmeal to soak up the excess oil. It was wonderful, a modified version of fried okra that is not only somewhat healthier than deep-fried okra, but also less labor-intensive. Maybe she is just bluffing about not being a cook, after all.

Pecans—all nuts—will go rancid if not stored properly. To stay fresh, pecans should be refrigerated or frozen in an airtight container; they will keep for up to two years without loss of flavor or texture. In the fall, when pecans are in season, buy enough for the year and freeze them. You’ll taste the difference. The flavor of this dish takes me back to childhood. I loved so much when Mama made this dish of tender acorn squash with their centers filled with melted butter and sugar. You can keep the pumpkin pie. Instead, serve me a helping of this dish!

This is another example of simple country cooking that would be equally at home cooked in a cast-iron skillet in the South or simmered in a cocotte on grandmère’s stovetop in France. Cabbage is an inexpensive vegetable, and if stored properly, will keep for weeks in the refrigerator. Once again, bacon drippings was Meme’s fat of choice, but you can substitute butter. Other oils do not give the dish the richness it needs. (Before you make any comments about Meme’s arteries, she lived to be ninety-two!) Try this dish with Meme’s Fried Fatback (page 84) and her Cornmeal Griddle Cakes (page 216). You will be glad you did.

Every week or so, it seems that the movie Fried Green Tomatoes airs on one of the myriad cable television stations. I watch it every time. It’s a sweet story, and unlike most “Southern movies,” the accents are not too bad. One of my favorite scenes is when the Kathy Bates character, Evelyn Couch, takes a plate of fried green tomatoes to Ninny Threadgoode, played by the incomparable Jessica Tandy, for her birthday. I like the way she thinks! Don’t make the mistake of coating too many tomatoes at a time. The coating won’t stick and the tomatoes will become soggy. Set up a workstation with the eggs and dry ingredients leading to the skillet of oil. Your tomatoes will taste better and it will help with cleanup.

Butter beans are my favorite summer vegetable. Slowly simmered with a bit of fat for flavor, they produce a rich, soothing broth. We would often have them freshly shelled in the summer as part of the large Sunday dinner. Meme would serve a simple slice of white bread or leftover biscuits bathed in the salty broth for a light supper. There is a raging controversy over whether butter beans are the same as lima beans. The University of Georgia Cooperative Extension states that lima beans and butter beans are interchangeable terms, and there is little difference in the varieties. I hate to besmirch the name of my alma mater, and the gardeners may think they have it all sorted out, but you can’t tell me—or many Southern cooks—that flat, tender, petite, green butter beans are the same as the larger, yellow, starchy lima pods. The difference is that some butter bean varieties are grown to harvest when young and immature and some are grown to harvest when older and more mature for drying. More often than not, I enjoy butter beans as pure, simple, and unadulterated by other flavors as possible, using canola oil and possibly finishing with just a pat of butter. If I am feeling particularly racy, I will add several tablespoons or so of freshly chopped herbs such as basil, parsley, or lemon balm.

Meme always had a tin of bacon drippings adjacent to the stovetop, a sight less and less common in Southern kitchens. It varies from brand to brand, but it takes four to six slices of bacon to produce about two tablespoons of grease. The salty, smoky taste of the bacon complements the sweetness of the corn, which, in a fit of glorious, wretched excess, is finished with a hefty hand of butter.

The bay tree at La Varenne is a monster, more than twenty feet tall. There’s a niche or cubbyhole on one side, the side that everyone approaches to cut fresh leaves for classes. I implore my students to discard the jars of brown, tasteless dried bay leaves in their pantries: even a semi-fresh bay leaf several weeks old from the fridge will have more flavor.

Years ago in France, many homes did not have an oven, so if anything was to be baked, it was taken to the local baker (boulanger) to cook in his oven. This recipe, known in France as pommes boulangère, is a healthy departure from classic potato recipes that use lots of butter and cream. It really shines with freshly harvested potatoes, when they are at their finest. Serve it with Herb Roast Chicken (page 110) for a warming winter meal.

Edamame is the Japanese word for soybean. Soybeans are somewhat mild in flavor, a cross between a pea and a fava bean. We’re lucky enough to sometimes find them fresh during the summer months, at the farmer’s market or a specialty store, but they are widely available frozen, both in the pod and shelled. Adults and children alike love edamame as a snack. Once the soybeans are cooked or reheated, drain them well, and season with coarse salt or sea salt. Squeeze the seeds directly from the pods into your mouth. Think highbrow boiled peanuts. Edamame may be eaten as a snack or a vegetable, and used in soups or stir-fries. I also like to mash them with potatoes, as in this recipe.

Many Northern macaroni-and-cheese recipes use a béchamel sauce to coat tender elbow noodles, but the only time most Southerners put flour in a skillet is to make gravy—certainly not for a white sauce for macaroni. Our recipes are often simple combinations of pasta, eggs, butter, milk, and cheese. My Aunt Lee often prepares this dish. When I asked her about her recipe, she replied, “I just mix it all up in the dish until it looks right.” I had to coax a little more instruction out of her to share it with you here.

Rich, buttery potatoes are the perfect foil for pungent, spicy, freshly grated horseradish, a fiery cousin to kale, cauliflower, and Brussels sprouts. Although bottled horseradish will do in a pinch, there’s nothing like the bite of the freshly grated root. For spectacular results, serve Pepper-crusted Beef with Cognac and Golden Raisins (page 93) or Braised Short Ribs (page 87) on a bed of this.

French-style potato purees are very finely processed, and often incorporate copious amounts of butter, so the resulting puree is silky smooth. In this recipe, the addition of celeriac to the potatoes creates another layer of flavor. Traditionally, in classic French cooking, white sauces use white pepper instead of black, making the finished dish appear more refined. When we were children and would see pepper in a dish we would complain, often without tasting, that it was “too hot.” Sneakily, Mama started using white pepper to pull the wool over our eyes.

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.

Only a Southerner, inheritor of the infamous Southern sweet tooth, would add massive quantities of butter and sugar to a dish and still regard it as a vegetable. Add a shot of bourbon? No problem.