American

The crunch of celery is a terrific counterpoint to the buttery quality of the Yukon Gold potatoes. Serving this salad alongside the <epi recipelink="" id="243164">salmon cakes</epi> or any grilled meat only adds to the celebration of textures.

Pretty sundaes that have tons of mint flavor—in the fudge sauce, sugar topping, ice cream, and crumbled cookies.

Layer store-bought vanilla ice cream with peanut butter, caramel sauce, and a peanut–graham cracker crust for the ultimate summer dessert indulgence.

The decadent chocolate-dipped ice cream cones are easy—and a lot offun—to make at home.

The rich and tender biscuits would also be great with plums or blackberries. Rinse and wipe off any fuzz from peaches before using.

Indian-flavored hush puppies? Try them—we're sure you'll get hooked.

Just right for breakfast on the go, these muffins are subtly spiced, fluffy, and speckled with plenty of golden raisins.

The secret to this succulent bird is an inexpensive metal pan. We used the kind of old-fashioned oval roaster found in most supermarkets, not fancy cookware stores. These lightweight enameled pans with lids simultaneously roast and braise the turkey, so it stays moist even as it cooks quickly. Simply uncover it at the end to crisp the skin. Ample pan juices add a fragrant richness to our easy gravy.

To the traditional orange-cranberry combination, we’ve added Mediterranean touches: dates for their honeylike sweetness and a splash of balsamic vinegar to balance the flavors.

We took a regular apple-pie recipe and sweetened the filling with Mexican piloncillo, an unrefined brown sugar. What a difference a sugar makes. This one has a lot of character and adds syrupy molasses notes to a blend of sweet and tart apples.

Open a cold beer and dig in to this heap of potatoes, corn, and shrimp for a taste of Louisiana summer.

Editor's note: The recipe and introductory text below are excerpted from Crescent Dragonwagon's book Passionate Vegetarian. Dragonwagon also shared some helpful cooking tips exclusively with Epicurious, which we've added at the bottom of the page. For most of our years as innkeepers, these croquettes, served with shiitake mushroom gravy and accompanied by a small stuffed pumpkin and other fixings, were the entree we offered vegetarians at Dairy Hollow Thanksgivings. Though rather plain as far as savory cakes go, the deep, dark colors and flavors are autumnal and satisfying. Sure, most guests chose turkey, but vegetarians were ecstatic about these. In fact, one of my sources of residual Innkeeper Guilt is the nice thank-you note I got from two such, begging me for the recipe. I am not territorial about recipes and had no problem — or wouldn't have, if I'd ever measured what I did. They actually called the front desk twice to ask again (Guilt! Guilt!) but by the time I had measured, and written, a year had gone by. I sent the recipe, groveling and apologetic. Alas, they had moved, forwarding service expired. If you two are out there reading this, I hope you will accept my apologies. At the inn I always used to fry these, but I am very pleased with the nonfried version. These are slightly tricky to work with because the batter is soft and messy. Just persevere: They come out delicious. I prefer this with 2 eggs — one in the batter, one as part of the breading mix — but it is possible to make it vegan, too.

Editor's note: The recipe and introductory text below are excerpted from Crescent Dragonwagon's book Passionate Vegetarian. Dragonwagon also shared some helpful cooking tips exclusively with Epicurious, which we've added at the bottom of the page. This is my favorite Thanksgiving stuffing — in fact, this is my only Thanksgiving stuffing. I've made it for at least twenty-five years, and it's always pleased me, friends, family, and inn guests. To my taste, it wouldn't be right with margarine or oil, just butter. But probably it wouldn't be bad with less fat or a different one. I make the vegetarian version with vegetable stock, for use in a pumpkin; when I cooked at the inn, where the majority of the guests were meat eaters, I also did a batch with turkey stock. I dedicate this recipe to the memory of Sondra Krecker, a friend from my earliest years in Eureka Springs. Every Thanksgiving as I make it I hear her telling me again, earnestly, "You have to toast it dry, bone dry, hard dry." You'll need to do a lot of tossing and tasting to get the seasonings just right. Stuffing can be made ahead of time, but don't stuff it into the pumpkin until you're ready to bake it.

The Thanksgiving turkey conundrum: How to keep the breast meat from drying out while the dark meat finishes cooking? By roasting a bone-in turkey breast by itself, we've eliminated the stress and cut the cooking time by several hours. What you get is perfectly moist, tender white meat with crisp, salty skin—all in under an hour. If you don't have time to make the gravy, skip it. This succulent bird doesn't need it.

Next to brown sugar pie, this is my favorite chess pie. There are several theories as to how these pies came by their name. Some say that "chess" is a corruption of “chest,” meaning that these pies were so rich they could be stored in chests at room temperature. Others offer a different explanation: It seems that long ago when a good plantation cook was asked what she was making, she replied, "Jes pie," which over time became "chess." Still others insist that "chess" derives from “cheese,” as in the English lemon "cheese" (or curd). According to food historian Karen Hess, "cheese" was spelled "chese" in seventeenth-century England. In her historical notes and commentaries for the 1984 facsimile edition of Mary Randolph’s Virginia House-wife (1824), Hess writes: "Since the archaic spellings of cheese often had but one 'e' we have the answer to the riddle of the name of that southern favorite ‘Chess Pie.' " When I lived in New York, I baked dozens of lemon chess pies for the annual Gramercy Park fund-raiser and they sold as fast as I could unpack them. From that experience, I learned to buzz up the filling in the food processor. I even grate the lemon zest by processor. Here’s how: Strip the zest from the lemons with a swivel-bladed vegetable peeler, then churn it with the sugar to just the right texture. I next pulse in the lemon juice, then the eggs one by one. Finally, I drizzle the melted butter down the feed tube with the motor running. That’s all there is to it.

Many corn bread dressings are made with sausage, but because those dressings tend to be greasy, I prefer a good lean bacon cooked until crisp and brown. This dressing is fairly light—not too moist, not too dry. I always bake it separately because I think this method safer. If you want to stuff the bird, do so just before you shove it into the oven. Spoon the dressing lightly into the body and neck cavities, then truss the bird. If there's extra dressing—and there usually is—bundle it in aluminum foil and bake 30 to 35 minutes at 350°F. It's important to make the corn bread a day or two before you use it. I split it horizontally, spread it on a baking sheet, and let stand at room temperature, turning the pieces several times as they dry. I also set the slices of white bread out to dry. Note: To toast the pecans, spread in a jelly- roll pan or rimmed baking sheet, then set on the middle shelf of a 350°F. oven for 10 to 12 minutes, stirring well at half-time.

A pretty centerpiece dessert that's a cross between a trifle and tiramisù. To give the flavors time to meld, you’ll need to put the trifle together at least one day ahead, but it tastes best when made two days ahead. Any leftover praline would be terrific sprinkled over ice cream.

A light variation that’s a nice counterpoint to the many rich dishes on the Thanksgiving table.

This dessert is a pecan pie-apple pie hybrid.