American

Although countless theories exist to explain the name “chess pie,” not one is considered definitive. Whatever its origin, the pantry pie relies primarily on sugar, eggs, and butter for its deceptively complex filling. Here, the traditional dessert is reinterpreted as a more modern-looking tart. An easy crumb crust made from store-bought vanilla wafers replaces the standard rolled-out pie dough, and is baked in a fluted tart ring instead of a pie plate. In testing the recipe, our editors found that Nilla wafers worked better than other brands. The filling is thickened with fine cornmeal; during baking, it forms a thin crust on top, which, when sliced, reveals a creamy golden custard. This version just might become a classic in its own right.

In dessert making, sweet potatoes are best known as the filling for a rich, dense, single-crust Southern pie. Yet they become surprisingly light when baked in a soufflé. Here, layers of paper-thin phyllo dough overlap to form a crisp pie shell, which stands tall as the filling cools and sinks (this is one soufflé that’s supposed to fall).

For some people, apple pie just isn’t the same without a slice of cheddar cheese melted on top or served on the side. This recipe does that custom one better by mixing the cheese right into the crust, so you can enjoy the combination of flavors in every bite. The method for making the crust is a simple variation on the standard pâte brisée recipe—shredded cheese is added to the dry ingredients with the butter to form the dough.

Inspired by a beloved breakfast treat—yogurt parfait—this recipe borrows the main components (granola, yogurt, and fruit) and transforms them into a delicious dessert. The pie is not too sweet, but you can adjust it to your preference by drizzling as much honey as you like.

Here’s a great weeknight dessert option—no rolling pin required. The cream cheese dough comes together quite easily, and is simply patted into a thin round. A single pear is thinly sliced, then tossed in a bowl with pear brandy, sugar, and lemon juice. The mixture is then fanned out over the dough before baking. Whipped cream makes a nice accompaniment, as does a snifter of pear brandy, naturally.

This basic recipe calls for only six ingredients, but the result is rich and creamy and utterly satisfying. Pair it with any of the cookies in this chapter for a righteous ice-cream sandwich or enjoy it simply on its own.

Sure, you can buy barbecue sauce, but wait until you try ours—it’s what we call QC, or quick cook. You probably already have most of the ingredients in your fridge or pantry. This tangy Lower East Side creation is the star ingredient in our BBQ Pork Balls (page 11), but it shines on its own with any grilled meat or bird.

When a prominent bourbon company called and asked if we would develop a meatball for them, we were all over it—we had wanted to run a BBQ meatball on the menu since the Shop opened. All that was needed was a Lower East Side (L.E.S.) barbecue sauce, which, when mixed with some sautéed onions and freshly ground pork, became the official recipe for the Shop’s BBQ balls. So the next time you want some quick ’cue, instead of slaving over the grill, you can prepare these balls ahead and spend some QT with your guests.

These balls will definitely get any party started. Buffalo’s finest bar food minus the bones makes it the perfect food to serve up for the big game, a surprising appetizer, or even passed as a fancy hors d’oeuvre. It’s the best part of hot and spicy wings with none of the mess. If you like your balls extra spicy, you can always add an extra tablespoon or two of hot sauce to the recipe. Make one batch and you’ll know why these are a staff fave and top seller at the Shop. Serve with Blue Cheese Dressing (page 70).

The journey of French rémoulade sauce, a classic mustardy mayonnaise with herbs, capers, and gherkins, across the Atlantic Ocean to Acadia (now eastern Quebec), the Maritime provinces, parts of New England, and eventually on to the American South is a culinary story worth telling. In the early 1600s, the first French arrived in Acadia and took up a life of farming crops and raising livestock. A century and a half later, many descendants of those early Acadians were forced from their northern homes by the British, eventually winding up in South Carolina, Georgia, and Louisiana. Those who settled in Louisiana soon came to be called Cajuns, as did their language, a lilting patois unique to the area but universally understood in their joyous music. And rémoulade? Unfortunately, there is no accessible literature that describes how the sauce was interpreted on Acadian tables. However, as it wended its way to Louisiana, via the American Northeast and the French Indies, it underwent a gastronomic evolution, becoming more spirited with additions of minced bell pepper and celery, tomato paste, sometimes Worcestershire sauce, horseradish, and especially Louisiana’s own feisty Tabasco sauce. Here is my interpretation of that well-traveled sauce, now a Cajun rémoulade, served on a New Orleans plate with crab cakes and Creole sausage.

Cod, as food historian Mark Kurlansky convincingly purports in his fascinating exegesis on its commercial history, is “the fish that changed the world.” Evidence exists that commerce in cod was founded in the tenth century by seafaring Vikings who, seeking new fishing grounds when their homeland supply was depleted for the season, came upon Newfoundland and its cod bounty, establishing a trade route between the Old World and what was called the New World. In time, cod commerce gave rise to emigration and engendered settlements, eventually towns, along the northern Atlantic seaboard. Naturally, the first settlers in that harsh environment created food based on what was available: cod. Although much of it was preserved with salt to use at home and to ship across the Atlantic to the waiting market there, some was used fresh, especially in chowder. In this version, the cod is fashioned into a sausagelike mixture and formed into balls, which are joined in the soup pot by another popular local catch, shrimp. Northeast fishermen harvest the pink, intensely flavored Northern shrimp, also known as Maine shrimp, which are available only from winter through early spring. But almost any medium shrimp can substitute, as long as they are from North American waters.

There’s a certain romance associated with skillet cooking in American cuisine. It conjures campfires or rustic wood-fired ovens, where the cooking vessel must be sturdy enough to withstand the heat. Cast-iron pans fit that bill and more. I routinely use three cast-iron skillets of different sizes to accommodate different types of dishes: a small one for cooking up sausage samples for tasting or for frying up a couple of burgers; a medium size for cooking plate-size pancakes or a fat, juicy steak for two; and a large one for searing meats or fish fillets before finishing them in the oven or for making this skillet tamale pie. Cast-iron skillets offer two more advantages: they are widely available anywhere that carries kitchen equipment, from hardware stores to gourmet cookware shops, and they are modestly priced. The drawback to cast iron is that it is not serviceable for dishes that include tomatoes, wine, spinach, eggplant, or the like, because it turns the ingredient unpleasantly bitter. Romance aside, cooking the tamale pie in a cast-iron skillet offers one more advantage. It saves on pots and dishes: brown the sausage in the skillet on the stove top, spread the corn bread topping over the sausage, pop the skillet in the oven to bake, and then serve directly from the skillet. The quick, few-ingredient sausage is also good for tacos, topping pizza, Mexican-style spaghetti and meatballs, or in place of chorizo for egg preparations. The corn bread batter can be cooked into a tender, light bread without the sausage; use an 8-inch skillet in this case.

In a cross-continental sausage loaf reminiscent of French pâtés, beef, pork, and veal are combined in equal amounts with bread crumbs to make a more pillowy loaf. The California twist is replacing the traditional ketchup “icing” with pavers of sun-dried tomato across the top. You can serve it warm for dinner, American style, with a side of mashed potatoes, or French style, chilled until firm enough to slice thin for an hors d’oeuvre plate. The cooking vessel can be as ordinary as a standard aluminum loaf pan or, if you are serving it warm, a more table-worthy clay pot or round soufflé dish.

Hamburgers reign supreme in the annals of American food, indeed in the annals of fast food around the world. Establishments that proffer them have made incursions into seemingly unlikely places to the extent that it is hardly surprising to see hamburgers on menus almost anywhere from Paris to Beijing. In fact, the humble beef patties have become such big business that there’s just no stopping them. And what is this icon of American enterprise? The answer is simple: it’s ground beef seasoned with salt. In other words, hamburger is quintessential sausage, and people love it. So do I. In fact, hamburgers-for-dinner is one of my default meals. For my house hamburger, I choose organic, pasture-raised beef, which, though slightly more expensive, is definitely tastier and more healthful than average ground beef. I lightly season the meat with salt and chill it for a few hours to let the salt do its work tenderizing the meat and making it more succulent. The Dijon mayo, pickled onions, and crunchy lettuce are fundamental, as are the artisanal buns, my favorite being ciabatta buns. Where are the tomatoes? I left them by the wayside in the development of my house hamburger. Their acid element and red color is supplied by the pickled onions. But, sometimes I add sliced heirloom tomatoes if it’s tomato season, or perhaps a splash of ketchup on one side of the bun. A hamburger is, after all, a personal thing, subject to whims of the moment.

A glory of black beans, in addition to such qualities as their beauty and healthfulness, is that they don’t need to be presoaked: they easily yield to softening when boiled straightaway. Then, they are ready to accept all manner of embellishments, such as sausage, Mexican spices, and sweet-sour-hot chipotle cream.

In the early eighteenth century, Spanish colonists brought a paprika-and-cayenne-seasoned sausage to Louisiana, where they added fresh red chiles and a dash of vinegar to create what is now known as Creole sausage. It is an assertive sausage that rings out “Let the good times roll!” It dances sprightly in gumbo with shrimp and oysters (page 21) and lends vivacity to a New Orleans plate with crab cakes and Cajun rémoulade (page 128). It is also delicious formed into appetizer-size balls, sautéed, and served with rémoulade for dipping.

Sausage in a gumbo usually means smoked sausage. Sometimes Louisiana smoked ham, called tasso, is also added or is used in place of the sausage. A roux (a mixture of flour and fat) is the traditional thickener, usually augmented with filé powder (ground dried sassafras leaves) or okra. In keeping with today’s taste for lighter fare, I swap the smoked sausage and/or ham for my homemade sausage and eliminate the roux. The okra alone does the thickening, and the step of soaking the okra pods in a salt-and-vinegar bath before adding them to the pot ensures they won’t be overly viscous. It is important to use dried herbs and canned tomatoes to produce the distinguishing flavors of this dish from a cuisine built around preserved goods. Make sure the okra is fresh, however. I like to use shrimp in the shell because they enrich the broth. That does make for somewhat messy eating, however. If you want to save your guests the trouble of peeling their own shrimp, remove the shells and simmer them in 1 cup of the broth, then strain the liquid into the pot when adding the remainder of the broth. Shell-on shrimp are easy enough to devein, if it’s necessary to do so, by simply cutting through the shell along the back of each shrimp with a sharp paring knife.

Breakfast sausage, in patties or links, is a staple of the great American breakfast plate. It’s an important player in the hearty, stoke-up-for-the-day meal that includes eggs, cooked anyway you’d like; toast or pancakes; and mugs of hot java. It is served on the road as early as 4 a.m. to truckers and workers off to the fields or factories. A bit later, it feeds tourists fueling up for a day’s adventure of skiing, mountain climbing, and other energetic activities. And on Sunday mornings, home-style cafes are filled with customers looking to splurge calories on a big breakfast out. But you don’t need to stop at breakfast when using this sausage. It also makes a delicious taco filling or pizza topping. As often as not, breakfast sausage is served in patties, but if you prefer links, you can stuff it into sheep casing.

Hermits, which originated in colonial New England, supposedly gained their name because the flavor of the cookie improves after being stowed away—like a hermit—for a few days. These bars, topped with brown sugar icing and candied ginger, are best eaten a day or two after they’re baked so the flavors have a chance to deepen.