Dairy Free

Cornbread was for many years the basic bread of the rural South, the very poor South. I mentioned earlier that cornbread and barbecue are close to being religion in the South. But, for years, cornbread was the primitive Baptist to the Episcopalian biscuit, the all-night tent revival to the ladies’ prayer luncheon. Cornmeal griddle cakes are the most basic of Southern breads. Biscuits require expensive dairy products, while cornmeal griddle cakes, also known as hoe cakes, can be made with little more than meal, a bit of oil, and water. The batter should be quite soupy, but not watery. When the batter hits the hot oil the edges sizzle and become very crisp. For best results, be sure to cook the cakes until the edges are a deep, rich, golden brown. Meme always served them as a very quick bread on the side. They are especially delicious when used to sop up juices and gravy.

Cornmeal gives this bread a subtle crispy crunch. For the best results, use the best-quality extra-virgin olive oil possible. If you really want to “gild the lily,” top the warm bread with a few curls of freshly shaved Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese.

A fish fry would not be complete without hushpuppies, yet another dish Southerners prepare with corn. Meme always added grated onion to the meal leftover from frying the fish, and then added an egg and enough buttermilk until the consistency looked about right. My late father-in-law used to host fish fries, cooking up what they’d caught over the weekend at Lake Lanier. Now, I never actually had one of his hushpuppies, but I’ve spent fifteen years trying to replicate one, based on what his family describes. He used beer instead of buttermilk and, it seems, lots of onion. It doesn’t matter how much onion I add, there’s never enough onion. I have a sneaking suspicion that a special food memory created on a sunny summer afternoon has bypassed reality and it’s actually not about the onion. No worries, I’ll keep trying. There are impossible quests that produce far worse results.

Kale, collards, turnip greens, and mustard greens are dark leafy winter greens that are nutritional powerhouses and familiar friends on the Southern table. Look for brightly colored greens free of brown spots, yellowing edges, or limp leaves. Try flavorful seasonings such as smoked turkey or ham hock for the meat eaters and smoked salt or chipotle chiles for the vegetarians. I once demonstrated this recipe on a local morning TV show. Aunt Louise was watching and told Mama later, “She took those greens out of that pan just like they were done!” You won’t believe how fast they cook, either. The best way to clean greens is to fill a clean sink with cold water, add the greens, and swish them around. The dirt will fall to the bottom of the sink. Lift the greens out, drain the sink, and repeat until the water is clear and the greens are free of dirt and grit.

You simply won’t believe your mouth when you taste these greens. They smell like bacon, and taste a lot like bacon, but there is no bacon. The flavor comes from smoked salt. In its pure state, salt is a simple chemical compound, sodium chloride. There are many types of salt from all over the world that contain different elements and minerals. But things get really “fired up” when salt is smoked. The best ones are slowly smoked over a natural fire, often made of used oak barrels recycled from making wine. The smoke permeates the salt crystals, infusing them with a rich, distinct smoked taste, and transforms their color from a light toasty brown to deep amber. This ingredient adds a unique flavor to a wide range of dishes, including beef, pork, duck, chicken, and fish. I use it most often in Southern-style vegetables, to replicate that smoky taste evocative of hog jowl or bacon without the fat, and it is great for vegetarians. Other favorites that I prepare with smoked salt are black-eyed peas and butter beans. If you can’t find smoked salt (available online and at specialty markets), you have permission to use bacon.

This recipe uses slow-cooking technique to intensify the tomatoes’ flavor. It is a wonderful technique to remember in the heat of the summer during tomato season. This is an excellent alternative to the fresh tomato salad for Corn Soup with Tomato Garnish (page 230), but take a cue from fine French kitchens and fold the confit into scrambled eggs, toss it with salad greens or pasta, or place some on top of crisp grilled bread with chopped fresh herbs for a tasty hors d’oeuvre.

Classic French cooking technique dictates that spinach should be blanched before sauteing. I learned the science behind the method when I produced a DVD with Shirley Corriher called Kitchen Secrets Revealed! Fresh fruits and vegetables are made from living cells. When heated, these cells die and fall apart. All vegetables are slightly acidic, and as the cells deteriorate and continue cooking, the acids leak out and turn the chlorophyll present in green vegetables brown. Miss Shirley (see page 191) calls this “mass death and destruction.” The French technique of blanching vegetables first in a large pot of boiling water dilutes the acids as they leak out, minimizing the amount of acid in contact with chlorophyll. Steaming is another excellent cooking method because as soon as the acids are released from the vegetables they wash away in the steam, limiting the amount of damaging contact with chlorophyll. Finally, stir-frying is a quick cooking and open technique, letting those acids evaporate, and limiting the time for the chlorophyll to lose color. If you don’t want to blanch spinach (or dandelion or chard) and still have it bright green, the trick is too cook it very, very quickly over high heat.

My grandparents had a garden each summer and fall. To keep the soil rich and fertile, Dede would alternate between the fields in front of the house and behind it and the property down at the river. He planted by the moon and used time-honored wisdom as his guide. Meme would drive the tractor and Dede would follow behind with the plow. Dede loved green beans and would plant rows and rows. When he passed away, Mama tucked a handful in his suit pocket as he lay in his coffin so he wouldn’t miss them. These green beans are fresh and flavorful—a favorite Southern vegetable made with a classic French technique. This dish is excellent served hot, at room temperature, or chilled. If making it ahead, do not add the vinegar until the last moment or it will cause the beans to look mottled and green like hunter’s camouflage.

Shirley Corriher is a world-renowned food scientist who happens to live in Atlanta, Georgia. Everyone from the elves at the cookie company to the late Julia Child has called her to ask, “why?” Her detailed explanations help cooks understand why certain things happen in the kitchen, which liberates the cook from the recipe (to a certain extent). Shirley shows in this recipe how green vegetables remain bright green if not overcooked (see page 196). She also demonstrates how lemon zest will give a fresh lemon taste without the acidity of the lemon juice, which will turn cooked green vegetables, as she says, “yucky army drab.”

The aroma of the basil when combined with the green beans is vibrant and intoxicating. This dish is almost like a deconstructed pesto without the cheese, or a Southern version of green beans amandine, a once-elegant side dish, that in the 1970s became a sad image of itself, banished to cafeterias and dining halls.

San Marzano tomatoes are grown in the shadow of Mount Vesuvius, southeast of Naples. The highly fertile volcanic soil of the San Marzano Valley, coupled with lots of sunshine and a benevolent Mediterranean climate, adds up to tomato heaven. The San Marzano tomato is a long, thin, plum-shaped variety known for its low acidity and earthy, intense tomato flavor. Except during summer, when fresh tomatoes are at their best, a good canned variety is a better choice. Canned San Marzano tomatoes are one of the few canned products that chefs otherwise fixated on local, fresh produce will use.

My mother-in-law is a wonderful woman, very sweet, kind, and generous. Her late husband was the cook in the family, and even she admits she is not much of a cook. She experienced a little culinary serendipity when sauteing okra one night. She put a little too much oil in the pan, so she added a bit of cornmeal to soak up the excess oil. It was wonderful, a modified version of fried okra that is not only somewhat healthier than deep-fried okra, but also less labor-intensive. Maybe she is just bluffing about not being a cook, after all.

People love okra, or they hate it. Those who hate it think it is slimy. There are a couple of techniques that prevent okra from becoming too slimy. First and foremost, don’t overcook it. When okra is cooked to just tender, it is fresh and crisp, not “ropy.” The other technique is to cook okra with an acid. This recipe uses both tomato and a bit of red wine.

This is another example of simple country cooking that would be equally at home cooked in a cast-iron skillet in the South or simmered in a cocotte on grandmère’s stovetop in France. Cabbage is an inexpensive vegetable, and if stored properly, will keep for weeks in the refrigerator. Once again, bacon drippings was Meme’s fat of choice, but you can substitute butter. Other oils do not give the dish the richness it needs. (Before you make any comments about Meme’s arteries, she lived to be ninety-two!) Try this dish with Meme’s Fried Fatback (page 84) and her Cornmeal Griddle Cakes (page 216). You will be glad you did.

Every week or so, it seems that the movie Fried Green Tomatoes airs on one of the myriad cable television stations. I watch it every time. It’s a sweet story, and unlike most “Southern movies,” the accents are not too bad. One of my favorite scenes is when the Kathy Bates character, Evelyn Couch, takes a plate of fried green tomatoes to Ninny Threadgoode, played by the incomparable Jessica Tandy, for her birthday. I like the way she thinks! Don’t make the mistake of coating too many tomatoes at a time. The coating won’t stick and the tomatoes will become soggy. Set up a workstation with the eggs and dry ingredients leading to the skillet of oil. Your tomatoes will taste better and it will help with cleanup.

Butter beans are my favorite summer vegetable. Slowly simmered with a bit of fat for flavor, they produce a rich, soothing broth. We would often have them freshly shelled in the summer as part of the large Sunday dinner. Meme would serve a simple slice of white bread or leftover biscuits bathed in the salty broth for a light supper. There is a raging controversy over whether butter beans are the same as lima beans. The University of Georgia Cooperative Extension states that lima beans and butter beans are interchangeable terms, and there is little difference in the varieties. I hate to besmirch the name of my alma mater, and the gardeners may think they have it all sorted out, but you can’t tell me—or many Southern cooks—that flat, tender, petite, green butter beans are the same as the larger, yellow, starchy lima pods. The difference is that some butter bean varieties are grown to harvest when young and immature and some are grown to harvest when older and more mature for drying. More often than not, I enjoy butter beans as pure, simple, and unadulterated by other flavors as possible, using canola oil and possibly finishing with just a pat of butter. If I am feeling particularly racy, I will add several tablespoons or so of freshly chopped herbs such as basil, parsley, or lemon balm.

The bay tree at La Varenne is a monster, more than twenty feet tall. There’s a niche or cubbyhole on one side, the side that everyone approaches to cut fresh leaves for classes. I implore my students to discard the jars of brown, tasteless dried bay leaves in their pantries: even a semi-fresh bay leaf several weeks old from the fridge will have more flavor.

Years ago in France, many homes did not have an oven, so if anything was to be baked, it was taken to the local baker (boulanger) to cook in his oven. This recipe, known in France as pommes boulangère, is a healthy departure from classic potato recipes that use lots of butter and cream. It really shines with freshly harvested potatoes, when they are at their finest. Serve it with Herb Roast Chicken (page 110) for a warming winter meal.

Edamame is the Japanese word for soybean. Soybeans are somewhat mild in flavor, a cross between a pea and a fava bean. We’re lucky enough to sometimes find them fresh during the summer months, at the farmer’s market or a specialty store, but they are widely available frozen, both in the pod and shelled. Adults and children alike love edamame as a snack. Once the soybeans are cooked or reheated, drain them well, and season with coarse salt or sea salt. Squeeze the seeds directly from the pods into your mouth. Think highbrow boiled peanuts. Edamame may be eaten as a snack or a vegetable, and used in soups or stir-fries. I also like to mash them with potatoes, as in this recipe.

The name “dirty rice” doesn’t sound very appealing, but it is an enjoyable combination of creamy rice, savory vegetables, full-flavored chicken liver, and a heavy hand of intense spice. It’s an odd conglomeration of a Cajun stir-fry and soft, comforting rice. This is, like many other country recipes, a way to make a filling meal out of a potpourri of simple, inexpensive ingredients. The chopped liver is what gives it the dark, “dirty” color. Dirty rice is like many old-school recipes—everyone has a different way to prepare it. However, most versions contain the holy trinity of Cajun cooking: bell pepper, onion, and celery. I am not so fond of green bell peppers. They come back to say “hello” a little too often. I prefer poblano chiles, which are just slightly spicier than a green bell pepper, and I suggest using it here.