Dairy Free

Simple syrup, or sugar syrup, is very easy to make and is used to sweeten many cocktails as well as iced tea, iced coffee, and even sorbets. The standard ratio is equal parts sugar and water. These recipes can be halved, doubled, or tripled and stored in the refrigerator in a well-sealed container for up to 1 month.

Chatham is a small town at the “elbow” of Massachusetts’ Cape Cod. As it is surrounded by water on three sides, fishing has historically been the major industry of the town. The sweet, mild-flavored cod caught off Chatham’s shores is the finest there is. Now, it might seem heretical for a Yankees fan such as I am to give a New England specialty equal billing with a Manhattan clam chowder, but even the Red Sox and the Yankees play on the same team for the All-Star game, right? This all-star dish surrounds creamy roasted potatoes and flaky cod with a tomato-accented broth-based clam chowder. Be sure to use Atlantic razor clams for the garnish. Pacific razor clams are larger and must be cleaned thoroughly and are cooked in a different manner, whereas the smaller Atlantic clam is ready to go!

These onions are a perfect garnish for martinis and Bloody Marys or for eating alongside Country-Style Ribs (page 149) or simply on their own with a cold beer chaser.

Each year on the first Saturday of May, you will find me at Churchill Downs, drink in hand, cheering the horses to victory at the Kentucky Derby. The derby is the first jewel in the Triple Crown of Thoroughbred horseracing and is a magical event steeped in tradition. One of those traditions and the drink in my hand mentioned above is the Mint Julep—bourbon, mint, and sugar served in an ice-frosted silver julep cup. My version of this drink may not be traditional, but it is definitely a winner.

I met chef Kevin Stewart and his partner, Richard Cordray, at my friend Loncito Cartwright’s South Texas ranch. Kevin prepared this dish using Loncito’s grass-fed lamb and I asked for the recipe, named after Kevin and Richard’s former Marfa restaurant, Blue Javalina. Wild packs of javalinas—compact, coarse-haired, piglike animals with short snouts—roam the high plains of West Texas. Javalinas do not come in blue, nor do they make for great eating. Loncito’s lamb is a different story. His grass-fed lamb has a mild taste that appeals to even the most reluctant lamb eater. It is available at select farmers’ markets and specialty foods stores throughout Texas.

Years ago, my dad owned a Honeybee Ham store, which he bought mostly as a tax write-off—until my sister Mary Jane got involved, that is. She took over the kitchen and started making, among other things, her fabulous bean soup for the store’s little front-of-the-house café. Business took off. But my father, whose main business was swimming pool contracting, finally sold it. Until he did, for years we had ham for every occasion—parties, family reunions, holidays. After that, I didn’t eat ham for a while. My little sister died suddenly last year, and I recently found her handwritten bean soup recipe in an old notebook. Serve it with my iceberg wedges (page 219) and Sweet Potato Biscuits (page 239), and you’ve got an easy, fortifying meal fit for a group of friends or family on a cool winter evening. Don’t forget that the beans need overnight soaking before cooking.

I’m betting it took a strong stomach to handle what cowboys called son-of-a-bitch stew, a concoction that included cow innards, even, and especially, the guts. “A son-of-a-bitch might not have any brains and no heart, but if he ain’t got guts he ain’t a son-of-a bitch” is the old cowboy saying. Known as son-of-a-gun stew in polite company, the dish was standard chuck wagon fare and said to include everything from a young calf but “the hair, horns, and holler.” According to Come an’ Get It: The Story of the Old Cowboy Cook by the late western folklorist Ramon F. Adams, the real thing did not include any vegetables save perhaps a “skunk egg,” cowboy slang for onion. I guess the only thing that my stew has in common with the cowboy favorite—and I know I am stretching things here—is my use of venison, just about as accessible to many of us Texans as the calves were to cowboys on the range. Everyone around here shoots deer, and many of my friends have freezers full of venison to prove it. If you don’t, feel free to substitute beef stewing meat. You can make this stew up to 3 days in advance, or freeze it for up to 3 weeks.

Good redneck that he is, John Pennell says he started making sausage out of every critter he hunted. Apparently that wasn’t enough, and he turned to making it out of quail purchased from nearby Diamond H Ranch in Bandera, Texas, a leading quail breeder and processor. Soon John’s sausage became so popular that he chucked a sixteen-year stint in construction to concentrate on a new business: Uncle John’s Quail Sausage. He ships his sausage all over the country and supplies numerous Texas restaurants (mine included) with his delicious quail links. Uncle John’s getting pretty well known in these parts, but I’m just as big a fan of his wife, Lanette, leader of Almost Patsy Cline, one of the area’s top party bands. A vocalist, songwriter, and bassist, she and fellow vocalist and keyboardist Vicki Gillespie started the band in 2002. The duo got so many requests for covers of country legend Patsy Cline’s songs that they named their band after her. As the band’s popularity grew, they brought in artists Larry Nolen (guitars, vocals), Bryan Kibbe (guitars, vocals) and Rick Reynolds (drums, vocals), expanding the group’s repertoire to include the music of numerous male legends. I’d sure like to have Almost Patsy Cline at my next party. On the menu, of course, would be Uncle John’s quail sausage on skewers, making it easy to grab a bite and keep on dancing.

These are my downfall—as are french fries, sweet potato fries, or anything else that involves spuds and a deep-fat fryer. I can resist the fudgiest brownies, chewiest cookies, or even the loveliest threelayer cakes, but I cannot walk away from a single salty potato chip. I’m a believer in the golden rule of party giving: Feed your guests as you would like to be fed yourself. No wonder my cocktail parties invariably include potato chips. I often serve them with Chipotle Ketchup (page 254), but sometimes I crave them bare with just a light shower of plain or fancy salt and a large glass of good red wine.

My friend Yvonne and I tested my Bloody Mary oyster shooters and got lightly “toasted” at the same time. We kept draining our shot glasses and after each one we figured we needed one more, just to make sure the seasoning was right. And besides, each shot glass contained dinner (an oyster and a vegetable) and a drink (a spot of vodka), so why stop before our appetites waned? Before we knew it we’d moved from testing to party mode. We laughingly dubbed our oyster concoction a “party in a shot glass,” and the name stuck. One thing is sure: start slurping these and you’ve got a party whether it’s for just the two of you or for a crowd of your best buddies.