American

This pie is a peanut butter cup aficionado’s dream. It was the creation of my friend Jen, who was one of the bakers at Foster’s, and it has since become a Market staple—one of our most popular pies. With layers of crispy chocolate crust, smooth dark chocolate ganache, creamy peanut butter filling, and cool whipped cream, it is a true indulgence.

This dough is a pleasure to work with. It comes together beautifully and is so forgiving that if it breaks or cracks, you can simply press it back together. It is also great for making crostatas or free-form tarts.

These rustic half-moon pastries travel beautifully, making them one of my favorite picnic treats. Just wrap them in wax paper and you’re off!

With its dense, vanilla bean–speckled coconut custard, Oreo-cookie crust, and billowy cream, this Southern diner treat makes a strong case for skipping dinner.

This supereasy crumb-and-butter crust is what I make when I want a crispy, crumbly crust, especially for custard pies. The kind of cookie crumbs determines the flavor of the crust—this one is chocolate, but the variations are limitless. For example, a gingersnap crust would pair well with Lemon Rub Pie (page 330), while graham crackers would work nicely with Apple Sour Cream Pie (page 351).

The addition of cornmeal gives this piecrust an extra-crispy bite and lots of toasty corn flavor. For even more crunch, try using coarsely ground cornmeal.

It’s no wonder that this intensely lemony custard pie, which is a close relative of chess pie, is a favorite of Southern seafood restaurants like the Catfish Hotel in Shiloh, Tennessee—it’s got just the sort of pucker-inducing, palate-cleansing properties you need to set you straight after a heavy meal of fried catfish and hushpuppies. In this version, I use Cornmeal Crust to play off the cornmeal in the custard.

When pineapple caramelizes, whether on the grill or in the oven, its bright, tart flavor mellows to something warm and sweet—a neat trick that has long been the calling card of traditional pineapple upside-down cake. My grandmother’s version, with its canned pineapple rings, was one of my dad’s all-time favorite sweets. It’s one of mine, too, but when I make it, I start with freshly grilled pineapple to double the caramelization effect and add a splash of bourbon to drive the point home.

Surely, this moist, pecan- and fruit-flecked cake must get its name from the sugary nectar upon which fluttering hummingbirds lunch. This namesake sweet is at least as popular among the birds’ Southern human counterparts. Indeed, it is Southern Living’s all-time most requested recipe. This is my adaptation of the magazine’s classic version.

Nothing finishes a meal quite so regally as layer cake; for Southerners, at least, it is the epitome of fine entertaining. This towering confection, draped in glossy white frosting and scattered with coconut, was one of my mother’s signature dinner party desserts. You can make the cake layers two days in advance, but make the frosting no more than two or three hours before serving; it doesn’t keep its silky-smooth texture very long.

This pretty cake was inspired by a jar of brown sugar–strawberry jam from Blackberry Farm (see Sources, page 377), a wonderful inn in the Tennessee mountains, and my grandmother’s old jam cake recipe. The combination of sweet fruit preserves, soft cream, and tender yellow cake makes me think of it as one part strawberry shortcake and two parts English trifle, in sliceable form. When we make it at Foster’s, we leave the sides unfrosted because it looks so homey when the frosting oozes from between the layers and down the sides of the cake. Note that the Buttermilk Crème Fraîche must be made at least two days ahead; if necessary, you can always substitute sour cream or store-bought crème fraîche.

Fans of rocky road ice cream will rejoice in this unabashedly retro chocolate cake. It’s a great make-ahead treat for picnics, tailgating, and kids’ parties.

Buttermilk is used all the time in Southern baking to create a soft, fluffy texture and add a little tang, but it’s not often placed front and center. That’s a shame, because this creamy beverage, which tastes sort of like a cross between cow’s milk and plain, unsweetened yogurt, has a lovely tart quality that deserves to be tasted on its own. This delicate-crumbed cake is just sweet enough to balance the buttermilk’s zippiness without overwhelming it.

True pound cake doesn’t include leavening, meaning that it gets all its lift from eggs and the air that is incorporated into the batter when creaming the butter and sugar. For best results, bring the ingredients to room temperature before you begin. Granny’s old-fashioned pound cake is true to its name, calling for a pound each of butter, eggs, flour, and sugar. Proof that “plain” can be a beautiful thing.

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).

A staple of barbecue and “meat-and-three” joints everywhere, hot pepper vinegar is one of the most ubiquitous of all the Southern condiments. It’s doused liberally over greens, pulled pig, field peas, gumbo, beans and rice—you name it.

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.

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.

Whenever I’m at the market during tomato season, I keep my eyes peeled for what the farmers call “ugly tomatoes.” You can buy them for a song because they’re bruised, misshapen, or ripe to the point of bursting, but that makes them perfect for canning or cooking. This sweet and savory tomato jam, which is equally at home on toast for breakfast or on a baguette with fresh mozzarella and baby greens for lunch, is one of my standards.

This traditional mixed-vegetable relish, which usually features some combination of cabbage, tomatoes, peppers, and onion, is like a Southern version of sauerkraut or Korean kimchi. It has its origins in Appalachia, where big, crisp heads of cabbage thrive in the cooler mountain climate. It’s typically served on stewed beans and rice, but it is excellent, too, on hot dogs and barbecue sandwiches. This version, which features the bright, tart flavor of green tomatoes, comes from an old recipe in my grandmother’s collection—so old that it called for “5 cents’ worth of celery seeds.”