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At first glance, Anne Willan, the proper, Cambridge-educated grande dame of cuisine, would seem to have little in common with a Mafia don. Looks can be deceiving: those “in the know” are well aware of the “La Varenne Way.” The La Varenne Way of recipe testing has evolved with Anne’s experience of more than thirty-five years as a teacher, cookbook author, and food writer. As the director of École de Cuisine La Varenne, the cooking school that she founded in Burgundy in 1975, with the encouragement and support of the grand doyenne herself, Julia Child, Willan has shaped and influenced countless professional and amateur cooks all over the world, myself included. La Varenne alumni are called, tongue-in-cheek, the “La Varenne Mafia.” No secret society, the list of capos reads like a Who’s Who of the culinary world. The invaluable training I acquired in France working with Anne opened countless doors and a world of possibilities. Anne is one of the hardest-working individuals I know, and her drive for perfection has long been an inspiration. This rich gratin, typical of simple country French cooking, was inspired by a version I learned while at La Varenne.

The key to a fluffy mash is to use the right tool: a ricer, a food mill, or an old-fashioned potato masher. A ricer resembles an overgrown garlic press. Cooked vegetables are placed in its hopper and forced through tiny holes with a plunger, producing a texture vaguely like that of rice. A food mill consists of a round metal bowl with a curved blade that turns with a hand crank. Secured to the bottom of the bowl are interchangeable disks with holes from fine to coarse. When you turn the crank, the blade mashes the cooked food through the holes. Both the ricer and the food mill produce exquisite mashes and purees with a smoother texture than the humble old-fashioned potato masher. These simple tools are the precursors to the efficient food processor. However, they do a better job than a processor or electric mixer for any mixture that contains potatoes, as both food processor and mixer produce a gummy mass instead of a silken puree. Meme had a ricer she used for years. Mama and I joke, “The Smithsonian called and wants their exhibit back.” The truth is, sometimes older is better.

Many Northern macaroni-and-cheese recipes use a béchamel sauce to coat tender elbow noodles, but the only time most Southerners put flour in a skillet is to make gravy—certainly not for a white sauce for macaroni. Our recipes are often simple combinations of pasta, eggs, butter, milk, and cheese. My Aunt Lee often prepares this dish. When I asked her about her recipe, she replied, “I just mix it all up in the dish until it looks right.” I had to coax a little more instruction out of her to share it with you here.

Rich, buttery potatoes are the perfect foil for pungent, spicy, freshly grated horseradish, a fiery cousin to kale, cauliflower, and Brussels sprouts. Although bottled horseradish will do in a pinch, there’s nothing like the bite of the freshly grated root. For spectacular results, serve Pepper-crusted Beef with Cognac and Golden Raisins (page 93) or Braised Short Ribs (page 87) on a bed of this.

French-style potato purees are very finely processed, and often incorporate copious amounts of butter, so the resulting puree is silky smooth. In this recipe, the addition of celeriac to the potatoes creates another layer of flavor. Traditionally, in classic French cooking, white sauces use white pepper instead of black, making the finished dish appear more refined. When we were children and would see pepper in a dish we would complain, often without tasting, that it was “too hot.” Sneakily, Mama started using white pepper to pull the wool over our eyes.

Spoon bread is more like custard than bread, and less like a casserole than a soufflé. As the name suggests, it’s soft enough to eat with a spoon. Spoon bread is more common in Virginia, Maryland, and Kentucky. Berea, Kentucky, in the south central portion of the state, actually boasts a spoon bread festival. The key to this recipe is using very fine cornmeal for a smooth, creamy texture. If you are unable to find fine meal in the supermarket, try Mexican or South American groceries. Also, adding a bit of fresh corn when in season really makes this spoon bread delicious. Some recipes call for baking powder for lift, but in this recipe, with a nod to my French training, I use beaten egg whites.

Only a Southerner, inheritor of the infamous Southern sweet tooth, would add massive quantities of butter and sugar to a dish and still regard it as a vegetable. Add a shot of bourbon? No problem.

This famous New Orleans dish was originally served on Mondays, utilizing the ham bone left over from Sunday supper. Very low maintenance, it simmered on the stove all day while the women washed the family’s laundry and hung it out to dry. Although for the most part, Monday wash day is a thing of the past, red beans and rice is still often served as a lunch or dinner special at many New Orleans restaurants. Dishes of rice and beans are part of rustic country cooking in the Caribbean and all over the world. The inexpensive combination of rice and beans supplies essential amino acids not often found in plant proteins, and more readily found in expensive meat proteins. For the ham bone, traditional recipes now often substitute spicy boudin, smoked sausage, or Cajun andouille. Boudin is a spicy pork sausage with onion, rice, and herbs. Cajun andouille is a highly seasoned smoked sausage made from pork, whereas French andouille is made from the stomach and intestines. The andouille of Guémené, France, is crafted so that the intestines are placed inside one another, giving it the appearance of concentric circles before it is dried and smoked. This is potent stuff. I am always willing to try anything once, including chilled slices of smoked pig’s intestines. Let’s just put it this way, I’d rather have a heaping bowl of Mama’s Red Beans and Rice, and I’m not asking for seconds of French andouille any time soon.

Before I attended culinary school, my attempts at preparing rice were absolutely disastrous. Most often the final results were more like gloppy oatmeal, at best. The pilaf method I learned at L’Academie de Cuisine was my saving grace, which is why I call this recipe $20,000 Rice Pilaf (that was the cost of a year of school at the time).

I prefer using fresh sweet potatoes over the canned variety. However, not everyone feels this way. Around the fall holidays, towering mountains of canned yams are constructed in grocery stores throughout the South. Truth is, the contents are not yams at all. What is often labeled and sold as yams are actually sweet potatoes. Botanically speaking, yams are tubers and a member of the lily family; sweet potatoes are the root of a member of the morning glory family. Yams originated in Africa, whereas sweet potatoes are New World plants. There are many varieties of both that differ in size, taste, shape, and color. When I doubted Mama about the amount of butter and sugar in this dish for a mere four sweet potatoes, she laughed and said, “Y’all always like it this way.” Feel free to reduce the amount of sugar and butter in the sweet potato base should your conscience (or waistline) see fit.

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.

This simple casserole is a familiar dish in the South. It is an absolute standard at potlucks, brunches, weddings, and funerals. Casseroles are the salve that heals a Southerner’s wounded soul. I always call this dish “funeral grits” because it’s the perfect dish to take to the bereaved after the funeral. It can be treated as a side dish, held for hours in a low oven with few ill effects, and the leftovers reheat wonderfully. Funeral food in the South is a category all to itself. The food should be comforting, not too fancy, and even in this day and age, is best if homemade (not a platter of sliced deli meats from the grocery store). When my godfather, Uncle Raymond, died many years ago, I remember the women swarming in the kitchen, each and every one of them taking on a specific chore. Even though I was a professional cook by this time, I was designated for phone duty. I didn’t mind; I may have been a professional cook, but I was still the youngest and lowest on the totem pole. This dish serves six to eight people, more than most of the recipes in this book. Lord knows, a dish serving less people won’t go far at a Southern funeral. Use this recipe as a guide and make it your own. Add more jalapeño to give it some real heat, or switch up the cheeses and try adding freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano, Gruyère, or white Cheddar.

This recipe, a marriage of a recipe I learned while an apprentice to Nathalie Dupree and Meme’s version of traditional oyster dressing, is an excellent side dish for a Thanksgiving feast. The myth about buying oysters only in the months with an R is not quite true, but not completely false either. However, it is best to buy oysters during the fall and winter when they are at their prime. Oysters spawn during the summer months and become soft, milky, and bland rather than firm and sweet. It is true that in the South when the water becomes too warm, the oysters are inferior. I only buy oysters to shuck if I am serving them on the half shell. You can generally find pints of shucked oysters in better grocery stores and seafood markets.

We moved from Georgia to Louisiana when I was a child and our family’s diet changed. Mama armed herself with spiral-bound copies of River Road Recipes (Junior League of Baton Rouge, 1959) and Talk about Good (Junior League of Lafayette, 1967) and started cooking. Soon, the cuisine of Louisiana—Mama’s Red Beans and Rice (page 160), Mama’s Shrimp Creole (page 131), and dishes similar to this jambalaya—quickly became as familiar and comfortable as Meme’s Old-fashioned Butter Beans (page 179) and her fried chicken (page 106). According to Louisiana Entertains (another regional cookbook), jambalaya is a descendent of paella, brought to New Orleans by the Spanish. The name derives from jamón, or ham, but colloquially, the term means “clean up the kitchen.” The dish is a delicious way to use leftovers so they don’t go to waste. I have seen both shrimp and chicken versions, but all jambalayas contain ham. Tasso, often referred to as Cajun ham, is smoked and very spicy with a peppery crust. This version uses boneless, skinless chicken breasts for a very simple and quick preparation. I also suggest using thighs, which are not as lean, but are less likely to dry out.

An Italian frittata is an open-faced omelet similar to a Spanish tortilla. A French omelet is cooked very quickly over high heat, and additions like herbs, cheese, or vegetables are enclosed in the center of a two- or three-part fold. Frittatas and tortillas are cooked more slowly. The additional ingredients are whisked into the eggs and cooked at the same time. This delicious and easy dish makes a satisfying, simple supper with a side salad. Or take the Spanish approach, and cut the frittata into bite-size cubes and serve it skewered as a simple hors d’oeuvre. Ham and eggs are, of course, a marriage made in heaven. Used cured ham in this recipe, or if using country ham, halve the amount, so it will not be too salty.

When my sister and I were young, our favorite mornings were when Mama would prepare French toast for breakfast. The smell of butter, kissed with cinnamon, combined with the heady scent of sizzling egg was a most welcome greeting as we bounded down the stairs. This version is made the night before, so you won’t find yourself camped in front of a hot griddle in the early morning, groggy and in need of caffeine. The next morning, remove it from the fridge to take the chill off. Grab a cup of coffee and pop it in the oven. By the time the table is set, the family is assembled, and you’re ready for your second cup, breakfast is ready. Brioche and challah are yeast breads, rich with egg and butter, and make superlative French toast.

Strata is the plural of stratum, and whether we’re talking about rocks or recipes, it refers to layering. Here, it is a breakfast casserole layered and bound with custard, almost like a savory bread pudding. What’s great about a strata is that it should be prepared and refrigerated the night before. The next morning, all you need to do is let it come to room temperature on the counter and bake. I’ve used fresh sage, an herb with soft, fuzzy gray-green leaves and a slightly bitter finish, to complement the flavor of the sausage and create another layer of flavor. It goes well with poultry, pork, and veal. Look for fresh bunches with no bruising and a clean, pungent aroma.

Fresh and colorful, this salad is a far cry from the concoction made with canned green beans and pinto beans. Wax beans are a yellow version of the snap bean. They remain pale yellow once cooked and are a nice color contrast to the green beans and red tomatoes.

Most Junior League cookbooks have at least Broccoli Salads I and II, and often III and IV. It’s the diplomatic way of not having to decide whose version is best. The amusing part is they are all, in essence, the same salad and contain, besides broccoli (and mayonnaise, of course), red onion, bacon, and often raisins. Really racy ones with a modern twist might also contain crushed ramen noodles. This salad is colorful and satisfying in a very simple way. To really make the flavors and colors pop, it is imperative to blanch and shock the broccoli. Otherwise, it is like grazing in the produce bin.

While I lived and worked at La Varenne, we often dined outside on a terrace overlooking miles of Burgundian countryside. One memorable day, I cut off the tip of my left thumb while preparing potato salad for one of our outdoor feasts. I quickly wrapped my hand in a towel and raised it above my head. I grabbed the severed bit from the cutting board in my right hand, walked into Anne Willan’s office, and told her I had cut myself. She asked to see it. I refused. She insisted. Finally, opening my right palm, I said, “Well, here it is.” The grand dame Anne blanched and replied, “Oh dear, I think we need a Cognac.” After a trip to the hospital I did enjoy the feast, but declined a serving of the potato salad.