Side

These baked sweet potato halves couldn’t be easier to throw together, but the unexpected addition of piney rosemary and fresh lime makes them anything but ordinary.

This recipe is a Foster family standard, a permanent fixture at holidays and other large family gatherings. Along with most other Southerners, I’ve been a huge fan of sweet potatoes for as long as I can remember, but in my case I think this sticky-sweet preparation may be the root of my obsession. When I make it today, I add fresh orange juice and zest to brighten the flavors and cut the sweetness just a hair, yielding what I think of as a grown-up version of this childhood favorite.

The secret to making perfect mashed potatoes–the sort of classically creamy, fluffy mashers that are the stuff of comfort food fantasies—is starting with the right spuds. Waxy potatoes, which are high in moisture and low in starch, have full-bodied flavor that adds depth of character, and they hold up well when boiled, but they tend to get gluey when mashed. Starchy potatoes, on the other hand, are more one-dimensional in flavor but are better at absorbing moisture, which means that they whip up beautifully. I use midrange potatoes, such as Yukon Golds, russets, or round purple-skinned Caribes, which allow me to take advantage of the best of both worlds.

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.

Succotash is a traditional stew of fresh butter beans and corn made velvety by the last-minute addition of butter. The basics—beans and corn—are a must, but beyond that it seems most every Southern family has its own particular version. I typically let the farmer’s market determine the mix of vegetables, but this rendition, with sweet bell peppers, basil, and summer squash, is one of my all-time favorites.

Unlike my mom and many Southern cooks of her generation, for whom fatback was the preferred flavoring agent, I most often make peas in a savory broth flavored by bacon, country ham, or olive oil. Either way, the cooked peas yield a rich, saucy pot likker that just begs to be soaked up with cornbread.

Granny Foster used to make this buttery treat with the sweetest summer corn. I make mine with corn and squash. She would scrape or “milk” the cobs with the back of a knife to get out all the starchy liquid, thus thickening the cooking liquid without diluting the bright corn flavor.

A Charleston classic, pirlou (aka purloo or pilau) is an everything-but-the-kitchen-sink rice pilaf that is the lowcountry contribution to the family of rice dishes, including jambalaya and gumbo, hailing from the rice-growing regions of the Southeast. Pirlous usually feature seafood of some kind—as you might expect, given their watery origins—but I like the way this simplified version showcases the grassy flavor of fresh field peas.

Dirty rice is a Cajun specialty so named for the brownish hue imparted by the chicken livers or giblets that also provide its rich mineral flavor. Today, we mostly think of dirty rice as a side, but because it is a cheap source of protein and calories it would have been served as a main dish in leaner times. This version—streaked with a bright green scattering of fresh herbs—is my take on Paul Prudhomme’s classic recipe.

Carolina Gold rice, a fat, golden-hued, long-grained variety native to South Carolina, is so flavorful that only simple preparations are required. It is excellent in its most basic form, cooked in water with just a little salt and pepper, but for special occasions I opt for this gently embellished preparation.

Spoon bread is like a cross between grits and cornbread, with a lovely, dense, puddinglike texture set off by cornmeal’s fine grain. I don’t need an excuse to bring sweet potatoes into the mix—I’ve been known to add them to just about everything—but in this case they reinforce the silky texture of the spoon bread in addition to adding their characteristic orange color and mild, sweet flavor.

This is my go-to grits dish, the first one I think to make and the one to which I keep returning over the years. I love how the roasted tomatoes, flavored by the country ham, form a rich, saucy sort of gravy for the creamy cheese grits. Cracklings add big flavor. If they aren’t available, substitute crispy pieces of thick-cut bacon.

Over the years, my love of stone-ground yellow grits has turned me into a certified grits snob. And, like most Southerners with a grits chip on my shoulder, I tend to blame flavorless “quick grits”—the finely milled, prepackaged variety that has been pre-steamed to be partially cooked—for unfairly maligning this Southern delicacy’s reputation. So imagine my surprise when I discovered, thanks to an ingenious Craig Claiborne recipe, that this puffy, soufflé-like casserole is actually much better made with quick grits. There’s just no denying texture that light and airy. You can, of course, use stone-ground grits; the casserole will be a littler grainier but equally flavorful.

Here is the only recipe for basic cheese grits you’ll ever need. Distilled to their essence, grits are tender, satisfying, and endlessly versatile. Serve them plain with eggs or meat or dress them up with anything from fresh herbs and country ham to roasted garlic and sautéed mushrooms.

This rich sauce adds cool heat to Friday Night Steak Sandwiches (page 188), Crispy Fried Oysters Four Ways (page 117), and Foster Family’s Pot Roast with Herb-Roasted Vegetables (page 199).

Roasted vegetables are so easy and delicious—with nothing more than a drizzle of olive oil, a dash of sea salt, and a hot oven, the vegetables get all crispy and caramelized on the outside and soft in the middle. It’s a great dish for company, since it can be made ahead of time and reheated or served at room temperature. But even when you don’t have guests, cook enough for a crowd and use the leftovers in salads, sandwiches, quesadillas, or omelets. Most all vegetables are good for roasting, including turnips, beets, rutabagas, fennel, asparagus, corn, summer squash, tomatoes, onions, garlic, and all kinds of winter squash and pumpkins. Just make sure to wait to add quick-cooking vegetables until any slow-cooking vegetables are almost done.

This recipe makes much more than you’ll need for one meal, but you won’t be sorry you have extra—it spruces up everything from toasted bread and steamed vegetables to grilled fish or chicken.

I used to make crab cakes using all kinds of herbs and vegetables for added flavor and texture, but the ultrasimple crab cakes Peter and I enjoyed on a recent trip to the Maryland shore convinced me that in this case, less is more. I don’t add much more to this dressed-down version than is needed to hold the cakes together, so the only time to make them is when crab is in season and at the peak of freshness.