Bourbon

Is there really anything else to say? The keywords are “bourbon,” “caramel,” “pecan”! Oh, and “ice cream sundae”! Done.

I substitute molasses for the usual corn syrup in this version of classic pecan pie. The filling is every bit as sticky as you’d expect, and the molasses and bourbon add a deep, almost smoky flavor. Serve with vanilla ice cream or a drizzle of eggnog.

These rustic half-moon pastries travel beautifully, making them one of my favorite picnic treats. Just wrap them in wax paper and you’re off!

When pineapple caramelizes, whether on the grill or in the oven, its bright, tart flavor mellows to something warm and sweet—a neat trick that has long been the calling card of traditional pineapple upside-down cake. My grandmother’s version, with its canned pineapple rings, was one of my dad’s all-time favorite sweets. It’s one of mine, too, but when I make it, I start with freshly grilled pineapple to double the caramelization effect and add a splash of bourbon to drive the point home.

The assertive flavors of coffee, molasses, and balsamic vinegar meld and mellow in this sophisticated dish that is just the thing for winter entertaining. It is best served with simple sides, such as Mess o’ Greens (page 245) and Sweet Potato Spoon Bread (page 214), that enhance rather than distract from the sweet, rich molasses flavor of the pork.

My rule of thumb is “If something tastes good, it will taste even better if you turn it into ice cream.” Hence my passion for coffee ice cream—and this divine take on everyone’s favorite Kentucky Derby Day libation. The better the bourbon, the better the ice cream. We serve this with shortbread, but it’s good with any type of cookies. Shaved or grated bittersweet chocolate would be a delicious addition.

This rich and smoky salad has become, hands down, the most popular dish on the menu at Bayona. I think it’s owing to the combination of textures and flavors, and the way they all mingle together and complement one another. There are several components to this salad, and that’s why it’s so satisfying. The good news is that many of these steps can be done in advance. The trickiest technique is cold-smoking the quail, which infuses it with natural smoky flavor without cooking it. That means when we fry the batter-dipped bird at the last minute, the result is both crispy and juicy. At the restaurant we make a stock with the smoked quail wings and use it to enrich the dressing, but this is not necessary. If pears are not in season, apples make a good substitute.

OK, in my wildest dreams I couldn’t come up with a more perfect dessert for myself. Bourbon, ice cream, buttermilk, pecans, and light, buttery-crispy profiteroles; it doesn’t get any better for me (except for maybe the Blueberry Lemon Crêpes, page 198 . . . oh, and the Blackberry Soufflé, page 196). For some reason my sweet tooth always leans toward anything southern, and anything with bourbon in it is all right by me.

Dirty rice is a traditional Cajun dish of white rice cooked with chopped chicken livers. The liver darkens, or “dirties,” the rice and infuses it with its mild yet distinctive taste. My version is classically flavored but prepared in a not-so-traditional manner: I use Arborio rice, cook it as I would a risotto, and fold in cooked wild rice as one of the last steps so that its nutty flavor and chewy crunch run throughout the dish. I think of this as a Louisiana-style dish, and the southern flavors of deep bourbon and sweet, crunchy pecans are fitting accomplices to the rich duck and aromatic rice.

Each year on the first Saturday of May, you will find me at Churchill Downs, drink in hand, cheering the horses to victory at the Kentucky Derby. The derby is the first jewel in the Triple Crown of Thoroughbred horseracing and is a magical event steeped in tradition. One of those traditions and the drink in my hand mentioned above is the Mint Julep—bourbon, mint, and sugar served in an ice-frosted silver julep cup. My version of this drink may not be traditional, but it is definitely a winner.

This is David Alan’s take on an old-fashioned that incorporates a smoky flavor from the home-smoked orange juice used as a base. Although smoked juice adds an extra layer of flavor, the drink also tastes good with plain orange juice.

In these parts, everyone knows that “low and slow is the only way to go” when it comes to making barbecued brisket. Whether prepared in the oven, on the grill, or in an old-fashioned barbecue pit, it takes hours and a gentle heat to transform this tough cut into the tender, flavorful dish that shows up at shindigs throughout Texas—from UT tailgate parties, where on game days folks set up steel-drum barbecues in parking lots during the wee morning hours, to family get-together, ranch weddings, and backyard cookouts. My mom, who adored brisket, took it often to parties and family events, and I’ve recently resurrected the tradition. James De Wolf helped develop this recipe. I carted our brisket halfway across Texas—from Frederickburg’s five hours’ drive east to Long view—to share it with my family at our annual homecoming potluck.

They say we use only 10 percent of our brains. That assessment is immensely appealing. We are all potential supergeniuses with telekinetic and mind-reading powers, and could easily enjoy Heidegger or Joyce for light reading over coffee and donuts in the morning . . . if we only tried. But there is an easier way to experience the unbridled horsepower of our full consciousness: try roasted peaches in bourbon syrup with smoked salt. Your first bite will expand the boundaries of sensation separating your mouth from the rest of your body, and you’ll be feeling spiciness in the warmth of your hands and smokiness in the tingling of your toes. And by the third bite your mind will have moved on to peel the black backing off the edge of the universe, filling the unending space beyond with your pounding heart.

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.

Meme made a paste of mustard, brown sugar, and sometimes Coca-Cola when she baked a ham. She baked it in a heatproof oven bag to avoid having a messy pan to scrub. Adding bourbon, which I use here, would have never crossed her mind. Only when she baked fruitcake was she anywhere near a bottle of bourbon. She and her neighbor, Cousin Eunice, would drive to the liquor store every November to acquire the spirits for the holiday baking—she would have never gone by herself.

This recipe is a tribute to my Southern grandmother Catherene, who taught me to bake starting at the tender age of three. Part of her family hailed from Georgia and the others from Kentucky. The peaches are for Georgia, and the bourbon is, of course, for Kentucky!

We took Mama’s classic pineapple rings off the ham and put them on our grilled chicken breasts. This sweet-and-sour, quick-cooking dish is a real crowd-pleaser. Pineapple slices coated in brown sugar and Bourbon turn sweet and caramelized on the grill, and a salad dressing marinade makes the chicken tangy, moist, and tender. Perfect with a nice green spinach salad.

When Bobby caught on to thick-cut pork chops, they started disappearing from the walk-in refrigerator at The Lady & Sons. We both enjoy how juicy and satisfying a nice big chop is, especially since it’s not as heavy as red meat and not as easy to dry out as a thinner chop. This is a simple, tasty way to cook them. All you need to add is some grilled veggies to make a complete meal.

I’m a bourbon drinker, and this reinvented classic cocktail shows off my favorite whiskey in style. I replace the typically used sweet vermouth with the deep sweet-and-sour flavor of cherries, balanced by the spicy undertone of fresh rosemary and warmth of good bourbon.

In the scheme of desserts, panna cotta is not only one of the lightest, it’s thankfully also one of the easiest and fastest to prepare. The eggless custard sets with gelatin, but what really matters is the quantity used. If you have a heavy hand, then the result is more like cement Jell-O than melt-in-your-mouth. The infusion of the almonds adds a nutty-creamy flavor that’s satisfying without being cloying. Roasted pears set the whole thing off with a balance of texture and fruitiness.