Dairy Free

This creamy, tangy descendant of Thousand Island and remoulade originated in the Greek restaurants of Jackson, Mississippi. From there it spread like wildfire to every salad, burger, fried fish, and French fry in the surrounding five counties and beyond. Most anything edible makes an acceptable receptacle for my friend Phyllis’s version.

I grew up eating most salads with Italian dressing or plain old oil and vinegar, which was the closest I came to vinaigrette. But now I can’t live without vinaigrettes; they’re so easy and flavorful. Here is one of my favorites, which I often make with the dregs from a jar of mustard that would otherwise have been thrown away.

In this variation, the smoky spice of roasted jalapeño combines with the brightness of fresh herbs to form a creamy spread that adds new dimension to dishes like Fried Oyster Po’ Boys (page 118) and Squash Puppies (page 65).

This simple, basil-spiked mayo is one of my favorite variations on the basic recipe. It’s an easy way to add creamy pesto flavor to sandwiches and dips.

I take a cue from Granny Foster and make it a practice always to keep a jar of homemade mayonnaise in the fridge. Once you realize how easy it is to make—and how much richer the flavor—you’ll never go back. After you’ve made this basic mayo, you can use it to create a plethora of easy dipping sauces and spreads simply by blending in flavorful herbs, spices, and relishes.

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).

This simple and refreshing salad is what I crave on especially hot summer days in North Carolina, when even the trees begin to droop and I can’t bear the thought of turning on the oven. That’s the only time to make it, since it’s also when the tomatoes and cucumbers are at their peak and growing like weeds. Have fun mixing and matching colors and shapes using the many varieties—both familiar and strange—that you’re apt to find at your local farmer’s market.

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.

With their grassy flavor and creamy texture, pink-eyed peas subtly reinforce the sweet earthiness of roasted sweet potatoes. As always, fresh peas are best, but in the winter you can make this dish with frozen field peas or dried or canned navy beans.

Allowing the farmer’s market to determine the mix of beans in this filling salad gives new meaning to the traditional “three-bean salad.” Fresh beans are always a treat, but I make this dish year-round by using canned navy, garbanzo, or cannellini beans when fresh ones aren’t available. If using canned beans, just skip the blanching step and toss the beans with the herb vinaigrette.

Southerners just love beets—perhaps because beets are one of the rare vegetables that will grow in the South straight through spring and summer and all the way into the fall. But I like to make this jewel-toned salad best in the spring, when you can get multicolor carrots, like Yellowstones, Purple Dragons, Atomic Reds, and Yayas, and beets, like Boros, Bulls’ Bloods, and Candy Stripes.

My friend Roxy makes this zingy coleslaw, which I love for its sweet and tangy flavors. It’s as close as I come to making that classic, creamy Southern slaw that goes with everything from pulled pork or fried fish to burgers and fries. It also makes a great topping for grilled hot dogs or chicken sausages served in grilled pita bread.

I created this delicate slaw to showcase the vegetables—curlicue pea shoots, tender carrots, spicy arugula, and fresh herbs—that mark the arrival of spring.

My mom used to cook greens in such big batches that she would wash them on the rinse cycle in the washing machine. For her, a “mess” was a discrete unit of measurement equal to approximately one large grocery bag full. I think most Southerners operate under this assumption, at least as far as greens are concerned. It may seem like you’re starting out with far more greens than you’ll ever need, but keep in mind that they’ll cook down quite a bit. If they don’t all fit in the pan at first, start with as many as will fit and add to the pot as the greens cook down.

My mom always made these sticky-sweet baked beans for picnics and cookouts. I make them year-round with most any type of cooked dried beans, including navy, pinto, or great Northern. In the summer, though, fresh and tender butter beans are my favorite. When entertaining, I often give this homey dish an air of sophistication by baking and serving it in individual-size ramekins or custard dishes topped with slices of pork belly in place of the bacon.

Yet another in the seemingly endless parade of hearty one-pot dishes from the Creole and Cajun traditions, jambalaya is a close cousin of Spanish paella (which comes as no surprise, given Louisiana’s earlier ownership by Spain). I love jambalaya, whether it’s made in the “red” Creole style, with tomatoes, or in the “brown” Cajun style, without, because even though it requires a little slicing and dicing, it’s actually a fairly fast and weeknight-friendly one-dish dinner—and it really sticks to your ribs. I often make mine with shrimp (as in this recipe), but jambalaya is sort of like gumbo in that it is made with everything from chicken, sausage, pork, and oysters to alligator, boar, venison, and turtle—basically, anything that swims, crawls, grazes, or flies in the vicinity of Southerners.

When it comes to good luck, Southerners don’t take any chances. Each year on New Year’s Day, we hedge our bets by eating hoppin’ John, a rustic mix of rice, black-eyed peas, bacon, and onion that is thought to bring good fortune in the year to come. (Literally—the peas in the dish represent coins, and the stewed collards that are usually served on the side are the rich green of dollar bills.) For extra good luck, serve with Mess o’ Greens (page 245).

Long-simmering red beans practically cook themselves, a fact that didn’t escape the many generations of hardworking Louisiana Creole women who supposedly made this dish every Monday, on laundry day. Even now, many Creole restaurants serve red beans and rice as a lunch special on Mondays.