Simmer

This hearty soup showcases the very best of fall—sweet kabocha squash and earthy porcini mushrooms—simmered together in a rich Parmesan broth. Using the Parmesan broth as a base adds indescribable depth, and as they simmer, the mushrooms perfume the broth and become tender and silky. I add just enough cream to give the soup body while allowing the flavors to shine through. If you can’t find kabocha squash in your market, feel free to use other types of hard-skinned winter squash, such as butternut, or even sugar pumpkin.

I created this dish following a particularly inspirational visit to the farmers’ market, one of those visits where every vegetable looks like something holy and you want to take home every variety laid out in front of you. Think of this soup as more of a philosophy than a recipe. Use the very best, freshest, tiniest baby spring vegetables you can find, either following the guidelines here or substituting whatever looks best in the market, then accent their sweetness with just a hint of mint, lemon verbena, or cicely. If you do use favas in the recipe, be sure to follow the directions here for removing their skins; using the traditional blanching method will result in overcooked beans. The Cincinnati radish makes the soup a very pale, pretty pink that looks gorgeous served in shallow white bowls. Because this is such an easy soup to make, I also like to serve it in demitasse cups or small mugs as a walk-around first course for a relaxed spring get-together.

This soup uses a very simple technique that is time-consuming, to be sure, but requires very little attention and rewards you with loads of rich flavor. Consider this a Sunday afternoon on the back of the stove kind of dish. Although I use carrots, celery, celery root, and one of my favorite underutilized vegetables here—parsnips—you can use any variety of root vegetables that you have on hand or that look good at the market. Just be sure to use at least a few different kinds to lend real depth of flavor to the soup. I add the vegetables toward the end of cooking to keep the flavors bright and save them from turning to mush. Any leftovers will make Monday night dinner a snap, and the soup even improves if made in advance. Be sure to cool it properly in the fridge and taste for seasoning the next day. You may want to thin it with a little additional water if it’s too thick upon reheating.

This bright, sassy soup is full of big flavors—garlic, peppers, and lemon—that team up to accent the briny clams. The dish is then tamed, just a bit, with velvety Controne beans, one of my favorite Italian beans. Goat Horn peppers are red, slim peppers that you can find in Spanish and Italian markets, or in some upscale grocery stores. The preparation of this soup is fairly straightforward, and once you start cooking, the dish moves quickly. Have all of your ingredients prepared and ready before you begin.

Instead of cutting your knuckles trying to grate Parmesan close to the rind, keep your scraps in a resealable bag in your fridge. Once you’ve saved up about a pound’s worth of odds and ends—which wouldn’t take too long in my house—use them to make this rich, perfumed broth. Mushroom trimmings or pancetta pieces would also make nice additions, but avoid any vegetables that are too strongly flavored or they will overwhelm the flavor of the cheese.

My wife, Angela, loves mussels, especially the fat, tender Mediterranean mussels you get in summer and early fall. Consequently, we eat a lot of them—steamed, in salads, with pastas, you name it. Light enough for a summer dish, this terrific soup is also delicious in the winter months made with Prince Edward Island (P.E.I.) mussels instead.

I don’t generally use chicken stock in soups. I prefer the cleaner flavor that water brings to the soup, especially with such a fantastic vegetable as the artichoke. Farro is a chewy Italian grain somewhat like spelt, but with a firmer texture. If you want to prepare the soup ahead of time, be sure to chill it immediately after cooking, transferring it to a shallow container so that it cools quickly. You’ll need to adjust the water levels when you reheat the soup because the farro will absorb some of the water as it sits. For a nice variation, you could add some fava beans or peas.

I’m not the biggest fan of puréed soups, but this is the exception: the simplicity captures the vegetable’s essence perfectly, and the texture is luscious and rich without even a bit of cream that might blunt the flavor. Take care to remove all of the green, fibrous leaves and bits when you prep the artichokes, and strain the soup through a fine-mesh sieve to ensure it’s pure velvet. I like to retain the simplicity by garnishing with nothing more than a drizzle of excellent olive oil to highlight the color and flavor.

Think of these as the most decadent, upscale version of a deviled egg you’ll ever eat. But instead of rubbery eggs sprinkled with paprika, these soft-boiled beauties reveal moist, velvety yolks, accented by a luxe anchovy mayo. This is the recipe where you want your eggs to be as fresh as possible. Short of keeping your own chickens, go to your farmers’ market and buy local. Don’t get all freaked out if they have a bit of straw or dirt or, um, other debris on the shells. It means they’re fresh, plus eggs have a natural antibiotic coating that protects them until you wash them. Inside, you’ll find bright orange-yellow yolks and an incredible flavor that supermarket eggs just don’t offer.

Italians say that to ensure your octopus is tender, first you pound it on the dock as you bring it in from the boat, then you put a cork in the cooking pot. I don’t know what magical alchemic properties are supposed to be at work there, but I always put a cork in my pot, just to be sure. I like to use bigger octopi because I think they have more developed flavor. They’re a little chewier, but I don’t mind—that’s just part of the joy of octopus. Use the recipe as a guideline, and feel free to experiment with combinations of whatever aromatics you have on hand. As a variation, add 2 cups cooked corona beans to the octopus as it marinates.

Tongues have an awesome richness that goes completely underappreciated because people don’t serve them, fearing a food that can taste them. That’s silly. Tongues are cheap and delicious, and enjoyment of this unique cut is all in the preparation. Once I found a reliable tongue source, I was elated, and I started putting them on the restaurant menus in an attempt to win more converts. For this dish, the meat does need a while to cook, but you can poach them up to a day in advance.

My mom’s vinegar-based barbecue sauce, which she made to go along with my dad’s pulled pig, is utterly addictive. Sprinkle it over Wood-Smoked Backyard Barbecued Pig (page 170) or Slow-Roasted Pulled Pork Butt (page 177).

Any recipe for barbecue sauce is bound to be contentious, no matter the formula. That’s because there are as many versions of this master sauce as there are Southerners willing to defend them as definitive. Whether thick or runny, tomato-based or vinegar, all Southern barbecue sauces get their complex flavor by playing on the contrasts between spicy and sweet, tangy and smoky. I’m nonpartisan enough to appreciate them all, but of course I’m partial to the western Tennessee strains—one sharp and vinegary, the other sweet and tomato-thick—I grew up on. With tomato, vinegar, and a dash of mustard, this all-purpose hybrid version offers the best of all worlds.

Homemade fruit jam is one of life’s great pleasures, so thank goodness it’s also one of life’s easiest. Although many people think of the summer months as canning season, excellent fruit jam can be made any time of year. But, while doing so is always fun, it makes good economic sense only when you have access to large quantities of fruit at relatively low prices. Assuming you aren’t working from your own garden, you can save money and make it a fun family outing by visiting your local farmer’s market or picking your own fruit at one of the “pick-your-own” farms in your area. The prices can’t be beat, and you’ll have the satisfaction of knowing exactly where the fruit came from. Keep in mind that you may need to adjust the sugar depending on the sweetness of the fruit.

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.

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 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).

Delicate and shimmering red, molded tomato aspics are the stuff of ladies’ luncheons and afternoon teas, circa 1950. But when fresh tomatoes, garlic, and herbs step in for canned tomato juice, this old-school dish is transformed into a modern summertime must. Serve topped with a creamy dollop of Homemade Mayonnaise (page 280) or Buttermilk Green Goddess Dressing (page 284).

I use buttery Yukon Gold potatoes and a sprinkling of fresh dill in my version of my mom’s classic picnic-style potato salad. It’s best before being refrigerated, when it’s still slightly warm and extra creamy, so try to make it just before serving, if time allows.

This recipe is a Foster family standard, a permanent fixture at holidays and other large family gatherings. Along with most other Southerners, I’ve been a huge fan of sweet potatoes for as long as I can remember, but in my case I think this sticky-sweet preparation may be the root of my obsession. When I make it today, I add fresh orange juice and zest to brighten the flavors and cut the sweetness just a hair, yielding what I think of as a grown-up version of this childhood favorite.