Southern Sunshine

Cross the Mason-Dixon line, and you’re treading on spiritual soil. That deep, hollow sound you hear? The South’s heartbeat, a staccato Bible thump. The fervor pervades through everything—there’s even a holy trinity of Southern cooking: fried, grits, and gravy. (Yes, “fried” is a noun in these parts.) They don’t call it soul food for nothing.

Nathan’s from the pocket-size state of Rhode Island, and he’s probably only survived in Alabama this long because he likes loves grits. At first, he’d only eat them in the secrecy of our home, stirring in fat pats of salted butter and fistfuls of cheese. Now, he’s a bit evangelical, presenting the coarse ground corn to his parents during our visits with the zeal of Moses descending from Mt. Sinai, commandments in tow.

OK, I may be exaggerating just a little. But ye of little faith who forsake grits, prepare to be converted. These are wrapped in a crunchy crust and pan-fried, the centers creamy and melty-smooth. Top that with a fried egg and mushroom gravy, and you have a little bit of heaven on a plate. Go ahead, try it … and get ready to spread the good news.

Creamy Butternut Shells

Most of us tiptoe through the produce section of the supermarket as if it were a minefield, filled with enemy rutabagas and beets ready to jump in the cart at every turn. And the display of winter squashes, their hard, bumpy shells and crooked necks protruding at unwieldy angles? You’d need to be a bomb specialist to figure out how to open one of those babies … that is, if you even wanted to.

Fear no more! Even though most of these squashes look like haunted house silhouettes, their names are much more Disney: butternut, acorn, delicata, sugar loaf, and sweet dumpling. Kinda makes you want to pick one up and cuddle it, no?

Nathan and I love winter squashes, and after you try our easy recipe for Creamy Butternut Shells, I’m sure you will, too.

Mardi Gras Blackberry Queen Cake

I had every intention of baking a King Cake for Fat Tuesday … that is, until my friend Lauren tackled one last weekend. Her tale was harrowing: anxiously waiting for the yeast to proof, rolling out the sticky and uncooperative dough into a perfect rectangle, dyeing icing. In the end, she was rewarded with two gooey, sugary cinnamon rings so sinfully decadent that a single bite was a one-way ticket to the dentist—or confession. I knew it would be worth it, but just the thought of being at the mercy of rising dough was enough for me to say “uncle.”

So instead, I racked my brain for easy desserts which featured Mardi Gras’s traditional colors: purple (which symbolizes justice), green (faith), and gold (power). Food coloring is outlawed in our kitchen, so I knew my colorbox was going to have to come from Mother Nature. I settled on blackberries, rosemary, and lemon, and when I stumbled upon this Salt-Kissed Buttermilk Cake recipe on 101cookbooks.com I knew I was on to something.

brunch week: baked eggs

And now for the grand finale: Baked Eggs.

I know what you’re thinking … you already have a favorite way to cook eggs. Me, I like mine scrambled. Nathan taught me to add a splash of water to the bowl (a thimble-size baptism), whip them with a fork until the buttercup-colored surface looks a little foamy, cook in a hot, buttered pan, and turn off the heat when they’re about 95% set (the hot pan continues to cook them as you season with salt and pepper and slide them on the plate). You end up with billowy perfection.

Nathan’s a sunny-side up man, and I think he likes the challenge of getting crispy, buttery edges and a ticking–time bomb center of molten yolk. I understand: I often poach an egg in the morning and place it on top of a toasted whole-wheat English muffin with Gouda. Smashing the top half down over the bubble of yellow goo and watching it burst free gives me a sense of victory and glee … it’s a little like being the kid at the party who smashes open the piñata.

brunch week: marinated radishes

Bacon, eggs, popovers, frittata, bagels & lox: these are all little delights that Nathan and I enjoy for breakfast on the weekend. We’ll make coffee in the French press, listen to Miles Davis, try to finish the crossword. It’s one of our most treasured rituals, and until baby makes three (nothing to read into, folks … just hatching food in the kitchen for now!) nothing can interrupt it—unless we call it “brunch.” Suddenly, Nathan has an uncontrolable urge to make Bloody Marys, and not just any Bloody Marys. The man has the drink down to a science, and it’s so perfected that I’ve been forbidden to give away the recipe … well, at least in this post.

What I can give you is his recipe for Marinated Radishes, which he uses as a garnish. Dressed in impish pink and white, they dive to the bottom of the glass, bobbing like pearls in a peppery tomato pool until plucked from their bath for a final crunch.

brunch week: plum-coconut parfait

“Syrupy, nutty, crunchy” … it just doesn’t get much better than our easy Better Granola … or does it? While I was whipping up that recipe last Sunday, Nathan had a few tricks of his own up his sleeve. Inspired by the fruit we had on hand, an open can of light coconut milk in the fridge, and a container of fresh lime leaves he snagged at the market, he came up with a topping to rival my granola. They battled it out on a mound of yogurt—it was close, but we definitely won.

brunch week: better granola

I’ve tried enough granola recipes to realize that the end result usually falls into one of three categories, which incidentally sound a bit like the local weather report: sweet with a chance of crunchy, partly sticky, and a 100% chance of loose oats. I’m in the crunch camp: I want the granola to hit my vanilla yogurt like meteors—a shower of syrupy, nutty, chewy flavor.

I had finally settled on a favorite recipe, and then I came across a claim that rocked my world: egg whites, not butter or oil, are the perfect binder for oats and nuts. This I had to try. So last Sunday, our dear friends Jackie and Travis came over for brunch. On the menu: bloody mary’s, baked eggs, bacon, and yogurt parfaits. (You’ll see the recipes for these in the next few days.) I turned to the egg white method—with a lot of gusto, but not a ton of confidence—and am very glad I did.

brunch week: french press 101

Nathan and I have a new Sunday ritual: After Mass, I run by Crestline Bagel Company and grab a whole-wheat everything (for moi) and either a pesto or garlic bagel (depending on Nathan’s desired level of pungency). It’s the best $1.97 I spend all week. Chewy and doughy in the center, they have a toothsome outer crust that would make New Yorkers rethink their claim that you can’t get a good bagel outside the five boroughs, much less south of the Mason-Dixon line.

Our schmear of choice: Snofrisk, which is a rich, satiny cream cheese from Norway. How does it compare to regular cream cheese? Remember the first time you had gelato? It was smoother, softer, more intense than ice cream, and your only thought was “Ben & Jerry who?” Snofrisk translates to “fresh snow”—expect a transcendental experience before you finish your O.J.

Needless to say, our coffee rocks, too. We prepare it one way: with a French press. I know it sounds fancy, but you can pick one up for less than $20 and have an outstanding cup in your hand in less than 10 minutes. Here’s how.