American

In this East Coast-style breakfast treat, a tender sour cream coffee cake is topped with a thick layer of cinnamon-scented streusel.

This homemade version of the childhood favorite is absolutely incredible. Flaky pastry, strawberry preserves, and powdered sugar—what's not to like?

This delicious dessert gets a double dose of maple flavor: one in the cake, another in the cream cheese-maple frosting. Keep in mind that maple syrup affects the baking time of this cake (it takes almost an hour to bake).

Mayonnaise replaces the oil that's typically used in chocolate cakes. It gives this cake—which would make the ideal birthday cake—an incredibly moist and tender texture. Serve with glasses of ice-cold milk.

Finely grated lime peel, a tangy lime glaze, and crunchy pistachios brighten up this old-school favorite.

My uncle Roger Glenn is known for his terrific fried chicken, which we look forward to eating all year. We count on him to bring a loaded basket of his impossibly crisp specialty to our homecoming reunion held annually on the shaded grounds next to the Elderville cemetery, where many of our relatives are buried. But Roger Glenn didn't show up last year, and we were just a touch put out. "We tell 'em we don't care if he comes, we just want his chicken," says Cousin Vera. But Roger got the dates mixed up and scheduled some sorry old hunting trip instead, so we all had to suffer. Roger's chicken is so good that Vera and her sisters Barbara and Gloria always toss one of his chicken legs over the fence and onto the grave of their dear deceased brother Vance Mitchell, who died eight years ago. Before his death, Vance made it known that even after he was gone, he just might crave another bite of chicken. Every year his sisters make sure that he gets one. Always one to think ahead, Cousin Vance also carefully selected his future gravesite. "Vance said, 'I want mine right here, near the barbecue pit, where all the food is going to be,'" recalls Vera. I missed Roger's chicken so much last year that as soon as I got home from our reunion, I set about figuring out how to replicate it. I already had a few things to go on: He once told me he marinates his chicken in buttermilk. I'd also heard he's a devoted double-dipper—dredging the chicken in flour twice with a dip in the buttermilk marinade in between. It makes the chicken super-crispy. I'm pleased with how my version turned out. If Uncle Roger doesn't show up next year, at least we won't be grumbling about missing his chicken.

In our Egg Salad with Lemon and Fennel , fennel contributes juicy crunch and a nice hit of bright flavor. Here, the leftover fennel goes in a decidedly different direction: Candied in a sugar syrup, it has a softer snap and becomes more mellow. Along with pistachios, golden raisins, and fennel seeds, it makes a sophisticated filling for baked Gala apples. Many baked–apple recipes are too homey for company, but this version, with its spectrum of greens and golds, would be the highlight of any dinner party menu.

Hungry guests still rubbing the sleep from their eyes will be delighted to encounter this satisfying spin on that old diner favorite, the Western omelet. But it's just as nice for dinner, served with some roasted potatoes and a salad. This frittata is a great one to have in your recipe arsenal when you're faced with some leftover breakfast sausage (from our Sausage-Stuffed Potatoes with Green Salad, for example).

Does anything say straight-up summer like a cobbler? The one here gains complexity from a jumble of different berries and extra depth from dark brown sugar. Mixing the brown sugar with regular granulated sugar makes it easier to sprinkle on top of the biscuit topping before the cobbler goes into the oven; when it comes out, the tender, featherlight biscuits will be crowned by golden crunch.

This colorful main course delivers authentic, long-cooked Southern flavors in a short amount of time.

The Original: Filling made from ground beef simmered in a spicy tomato sauce. Our Version: Tender pieces of pork simmered with roasted green chiles and salsa verde.

The Original: Any old canned tuna mixed with cream of something (chicken, celery, mushroom) soup. Our Version: Oil-packed albacore in a roux-thickened sauce flavored with leeks, dill, and Gruyère. Our one old-school concession? A crunchy, crushed-potato-chip topping.

These are great for sandwiches. Just split them in half, slather with some Dijon, pile on thinly sliced ham, and add a lettuce leaf.

Like many delicious treats, this preparation takes a bit of time and planning. You can speed up the process of proofing the dough if you leave the dough covered at room temperature for an hour or so, instead of letting it rest in the refrigerator overnight.

This is a recipe lost to most New Orleanians, save for a few old bucks and grannys who can remember calas fried rice fritters being sold in the streets first thing in the morning in the French Quarter by women of African descent who carried them in baskets balanced on their heads, shouting out "Belle cala! Tout chaud!" Crisp around the edges with a plump, toothsome belly, these fritters beg to be served with obscene quantities of earthy, sorghum-like cane syrup, though traditionalists may opt for confectioners' sugar instead. A cup of strong coffee or a café au lait is the ideal accompaniment.
While old school recipes call for cooking rice until it's mushy and then letting it rise with yeast overnight, I like my fritters with distinct grains of rice suspended in a light batter that's leavened with baking powder rather than yeast. It's important to make the fritters with cold rice so the grains remain separate and don't clump together in the fritter batter.

I believe the secret to my grandmother Grace's biscuits is that she would talk to them, saying, "Rise, Mr. Biscuit, rise!" And they would. Her buttermilk biscuits were quite similar to these, made with whole milk, but sometimes she'd substitute buttermilk and use baking soda instead of baking powder. I find that biscuits made with European-style high-fat butter have less water and therefore taste and look a lot better. After you have made the dough, carefully pat it down with your hands and fold it over two or three times; it's the layers that make biscuits so flaky. Let the dough rest for half an hour or so, roll it out to the thickness you like, then cut it into circles and bake it.

These cheesy grits are the perfect base for Veal Grillades or almost anything else.

Up until I was about 12 years old, my parents took my sister, Tracy, and me to Easter service at St. Louis Cathedral in Jackson Square. The only way they could keep us in check during mass was by bribing us to be good and quiet with promises of post-church beignets at Café de Monde across the street. We'd get so excited about the prospect of massive quantities of sugar that we probably would have done pretty much anything to ensure we got beignets before going home. Mom was a bit of a stickler when it came to sweets; I mean, at our house, Raisin Bran® was considered toeing the line of junk food! So you can only imagine how amped up we were at the mere prospect of real, honest-to-goodness fried dough piled sky-high with a mountain of powdered sugar. Like good southern kids we were dressed to the nines—me in my blue blazer, khakis, and white oxfords, Tracy in her Easter dress—and Mom, like all the proper matriarchs, with an Easter hat perched on her head that has a wingspan of at least 18 inches. No sooner had the crispy-fried beignets arrived than our holiday best was coated in a dusting of white powder, as it was our tradition to see who could blow the snowy confectioners' sugar off of the mountain of beignets and onto the other the quickest. After we'd made a complete mess of ourselves, we'd get down to business and devour our crispy-fried beignets, still hot from the fryer and so amazingly tender.

I'd often sneak into my mom's car and ride stowaway-style in the back seat when she left home to "make groceries" at the A&P or Schwegmann's. No sooner had she turned off the ignition than I'd pop my head up and scare the bejesus out of her! In the market, we'd get coffee beans ground fresh from this giant red coffee grinder—I swear it was at least 3 feet tall. My mom gave the coffee man (usually the bagger at the checkout aisle) explicit instructions on the coarseness of the bean grind for her chicory-laced coffee. After he had bagged our beans, I'd stick my nose up the metal spout and inhale the heady aroma that always made me dizzy and happy. In a typical New Orleans home, a pitcher of coffee can almost always be found in the fridge, whether left over from the morning or brewed specifically to make iced coffee later in the day. This coffee and chicory cupped cake is made with a stiff, eggless cake batter that gets topped with a cocoa crumble and then covered with coffee. Baked in actual coffee cups, the cake soufflés up and makes its own built-in lava sauce on the bottom. It's fantastic eaten within an hour or two of baking while the cake is still warm, soft, and molten.