Dairy Free

Like reverse butterflies, when the showy yellow blooms of peanuts begin to fade, the peduncle bows to the ground and buries its head in the earth, forming the webbed cocoon-like shells this legume is known for. This slaw is a great one for picnics in the hot summer because it isn’t bound by mayonnaise. Chile, cilantro, and rice vinegar give it a fresh, spicy crunch that makes it the perfect peanutty partner for grilled chicken or pork.

The Palestine Gardens is a miniature replica of sites from the Holy Land built down in the piney woods around Lucedale, Mississippi. For sixteen years Reverend Walter Harvell Jackson and his wife searched for a place to build his Bible-themed garden. After seven years of construction, the forty-acre garden opened in 1960 with Bethlehem, Jericho, and Jerusalem all constructed out of concrete blocks, and with its own Dead Sea. It has expanded over the years to include the Sea of Galilee. Jerusalem artichokes do well in the kind of sandy soil and full sun they have down there in George County and will thrive in most gardens, producing the edible tubers and brilliant yellow sunflowers. I like to serve this over Israeli couscous, of course.

“Alligator pears” is what we call the big pale-skinned midwinter varieties of avocados. They’re also known as Florida avocados (as opposed to the more familiar California Hass variety, which has dark, pebbly skin). One type has the name Bacon and that is a great coincidence since they work so wonderfully together.

Thanksgiving Thursday starts off before dawn with Donald tiptoeing out of the house dressed in camouflage and with me making Aunt Mary’s congealed salad of ground cranberries, apples, and navel oranges that I should have done the day before. (It’s the recipe from the Tchula Garden Club Cookbook—except you would have to go across the road and get Mary’s penciled-in revisions.) Instead, I sat by the fire drinking wine, catching up with extended family, and watched the kids pick up pecans. Now I’m hoping this sets before two o’clock dinnertime, which, thankfully, it does real nice.

Every year in early June Biloxi, Mississippi, holds the Blessing of the Fleet. Shrimp boats festooned with pennants, flags, as well as images of Jesus and animated shrimp form a procession out in the Mississippi Sound and file past the anchored “blessing boat.” There stands the officiating priest, who sprinkles holy water on the boats and gives the blessing for each one. St. Michael’s Catholic Church, with its stained-glass windows of Christ’s twelve apostles depicted as fishermen and its scalloped roof, has been the central sponsor of the ceremony for more than eighty years. An evergreen wreath is dropped into the gulf in remembrance of those lost at sea, and prayers are offered up for a safe and prosperous fishing season. This year, with the oil spill, more than ever the fishermen could use a blessing. This traditional coastal dish is perfect to serve for a Sunday brunch.

The Black and White Store down on the far west end of Main Street in Yazoo City opened the doors to its two-tone storefront in 1938. It stocks general merchandise and department-store goods; everyone in town shops there for fabrics and patterns, back-to-school clothes, new shoes, and footlockers for summer camp. Whenever I hear the words “black and white” I think of their big neon sign. Mr. Chisholm, the longtime manager, says at first the store was White’s Store, with an aptly painted front; and when it expanded into the building next door that had been burned and the bricks charred black, it became the Black and White Store. I was writing out a grocery list at home the other day and when I looked at the list at the store I had absentmindedly written “Black and White Store Beans” underneath “carrots.” This salad ensued.

In 2009 the USDA declared seventy-nine of Mississippi’s eighty-two counties disaster areas due to excessive rain in spring and fall and a drought in the summer. It rained more than fifteen inches in May when farmers were trying to plant their crops. Then in the busy harvest months, a deluge of eight inches in September, followed by fourteen and a half inches in October. It was one of the worst yields on record. My cousin Michael Thompson has the right temperament to be a farmer. He is unflappable in the face of natural disaster and focuses on doing everything he can to foster a good soybean yield each season. “To do what I love on land that means so much to our family, it’s home . . .” As he says this his voice trails off dreamily.

This composed warm potato salad came together as a dish for my father. It has all the salty, tart flavors that he loves.

What a nickname, Good Donny. It’s a nickname most people couldn’t live up to. His grandkids gave him that one and nobody has found grounds to disagree. Like the name implies, he’s a good guy. Good Donny’s son, Benji, came by wielding some of the best pork cracklings we’d ever had. They were the perfect salty blend of tender, crisp, and crunch. Benji went on and on about how he had to beg Good Donny to give him just half a bag. Turns out that a friend of Good Donny’s makes them and this friend is getting on up in age, meaning every batch might be the last. You would have thought Benji was passing out gold doubloons. Next time we saw Good Donny we made a point to tell him how crazy we were for those cracklings. The following day, Donny showed up with five pint bags full of those golden crispy treasures. When Benji came by a few days later, my husband, Donald, retrieved a bag that he had hidden away. Benji was beside himself with envy.

My favorite firework is the Friendship Pagoda. A little bright yellow house spins ’round like a top, emits sparks, and then up pops a pagoda and a little light glows within. My son Joe’s best first-grade friend is named Edison Seto. They make quite a pair. I love to see them out at recess walking with arms slung over each other’s shoulder. Joe has had friends, of course, before first grade, but they were all friends of the family. Edison is the first friend he has made on his own. It looks as if Joe is a good judge of character, for Edison is as sweet as can be. Edison lives in the family’s New Sunlight Market with his parents, grandparents, and tiny sister, Grace. Joe loves to play over at Edison’s. I would too; they get to ride their scooters up and down the aisles, snagging Little Debbie snack cakes for each lap. Edison’s family is from China and this has turned Joe into quite a fan of anything the slightest bit Chinese. This soup was inspired by their friendship and by the fine collard greens from the New Sunlight Market.

Chicory flowers are Aequinotales, meaning the flowers open and close at the same time just like clockwork. Here, that is from around six in the morning until the sun is high at noon. About the same time these blossoms are awakening, chicory roots blended with coffee are percolating across Louisiana. They make a fine combination. This dressing has the faintest sweetness of Louisiana molasses that works with the coffee to balance the bitter bite of the salad greens.

Rufus Hussy was perhaps the greatest slingshot shooter who ever lived. Known far and wide as the Beanshooter Man, Mr. Hussy was brought up using his slingshot skills to put dinner on the table for his eleven brothers and sisters. He could spot the perfect fork in a dogwood tree for making a beanshooter and numbered the ones he made; the last one was number 15,864. As Rufus could attest, rabbits are easy game for a practiced shooter. This year my father made a beanshooter for my son, Joe, out of a forked piece of dogwood and a tourniquet from the hospital where he works. It was wrapped up under the Christmas tree with a one-pound bag of dried beans. If Joe practices enough with those beans, he might bag a rabbit with a marble by next Christmas. I know what I’ll make.

Alejandro O’Reilly was the Irish-born Spanish general sent to bring the Louisiana Territories to order after France ceded the region to Spain. Throughout New Orleans cooking you will see an easy blending of French and Spanish culinary styles, easier perhaps than the actual history of the Louisiana Territory. This escabèche is inspired by the history of that city I love to visit. From the Irish Channel to the funky music district of Frenchmen Street, the Spanish influence can still be tasted.

The Jasper County village of Bay Springs, twenty miles from Laurel, Mississippi, was named in 1901 for an artesian spring flowing from the trunk of a bay laurel; it flows still to this day. I always think of that town when I make this dish. Introducing freshwater crawfish to leaves from a bay laurel, traditional pickling spices, and tarragon vinegar prepares them to sit on top of salads and toasts.

In most bait shops throughout the South and beyond, big gallon jars of pink-tinted pickled eggs sit on counters next to smoked summer sausages. Here these two favorite fisherman’s snacks are brined up together and make a perfect take-along lunch for a day out on the lake for the angler gourmand.

This may barely qualify as a recipe. It’s not a time-saver, that’s for sure, because these take forever to assemble. That doesn’t stop my friend Neck-bone Red from dropping me a note to inquire if I am going to be bringing bacon crackers whenever she knows I’ll be at a party. I have found in my hours devoted to crafting these irresistible bowtie-shaped snacks that the way to make a bunch of them at a time is to place them on a wire rack set over a rimmed baking sheet. The rack keeps the crackers from getting soggy while they bake and are corseted by the bacon.

Born out on Cabanocey Plantation in rural St. James Parish in 1946, a young John Folse could probably never have imagined that the foods of his Louisiana upbringing would propel him around the world as a culinary ambassador. From humble beginnings and a belief in and commitment to the preservation of classic Cajun and Creole cuisines, Chef Folse has grown his culinary enterprises into a world-class operation. Since 2006, he has grown Arbequina olives on White Oak Plantation in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. Arbequina olives are the source of most California and Spanish olive oil. When the small, flavorful olives are ripe and cured, they are deep purple.

This makes a wonderful sweet-tart condiment with caramelized, almost molasses, undertones. It lasts for at least two weeks in the fridge and is amazing drizzled over creamy, mild ingredients such as avocado slices or soft goat cheese spread on crackers. It’s especially good over filet mignon (page 108) and Brazilian Leeks (page 142), which in fact go beautifully together.

This is the best way I know to prepare ripe plantains, a classic Caribbean dish that is served with Crock-Pot Cuban Ropa Vieja (page 113). Ripe plantains are so sweet that they can actually be prepared this way and served over vanilla ice cream. But don’t let that sweetness intimidate you. Sweet often complements savory, and these are especially wonderful with hearty stews and grilled red meat. If the plantains are very mushy, they’ll need to be sliced thicker and will cook faster because they have more sugars, which caramelize really quickly in the hot oil.