Berry

Nutty cracked wheat (okay, it’s technically bulgur) adds a welcome touch of texture to these waffles. Made with whole wheat flour, the waffles are a bit healthier and heartier than standard ones without being the least bit leaden. Spicy cinnamon and complex allspice lend their flavors to the creamy butter. A sweet blueberry syrup drizzled—or ladled—over the waffles makes the whole dish special. I wouldn’t recommend making the syrup with frozen berries as they are too wet to burst as the fresh berries do. If you have extra berries left over, sprinkle them on top before serving.

Both venison and blackberries are farmed these days, but they were once procured in the wild, by early American hunters and foragers. I like to think that this dish is one that would have been at home—in essence if not preparation—on the table of pioneers first settling the woods of northern Wisconsin and Michigan. Blackberries have a tart edge to their fruity flavor, which enlivens the richness of nutty brown butter. The sauce is hit with just a hint of sage, and its slightly woodsy flavor brings out the still-wild-at-heart nature of the berries. Sage is a potent herb, and you need to employ it in small doses. If you can’t find or aren’t a fan of venison, lamb or even pork chops would work in its place.

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 recipe is from Laura Emma, the mother of my friend Sohnne Hill. Sohnne says it was one of her mother’s favorites. After testing it, I know why. Packed with an abundance of fruit, hiding a tender layer of crust in its midst, and topped with a crisp, golden brown top, it is the ultimate comfort dessert.

While most of my friends are foodies, David Alan’s central focus is liquid refreshment. A coffee distributor by trade, he devotes most of his free time to the art of the cocktail. He writes a witty, drink-packed blog called Tipsy Texan. I asked him to create a couple of drinks for my backyard garden party. Both are beautiful to look at and delicious enough to be dangerous. The drinks are tastiest made one at a time and enjoyed immediately. If you are throwing a party with a spouse or partner, suggest they help by manning (or woman-ing) your “bar”—any small to medium table will do—for the first 30 to 45 minutes of the party. The bar action provides a focal point for incoming guests, and it’s a great icebreaker. Have all the ingredients and drink-mixing paraphernalia assembled in advance and set them out on your bar just before guests arrive. A large ice bucket, or even two, filled with crushed ice is a must.

Josh Raymer, the creative young chef behind Fredericksburg’s Navajo Grill, enjoys a little low-key partying at home on his days off. He and his wife, Julie, often invite friends in for a relaxed evening with simple food, a few good wines or a cooler full of beer, and some good conversation. Josh describes Hill Country parties as generally laid-back—dressing up means stepping into your “nicer” boots. But even the most casual affair on his stone patio includes music—Willy Nelson and the Texas Tornados are favorites. Decoration often consists of little more than bunches of herbs clipped from his carefully tended herb garden and plunked in jars. “We don’t do much.” Josh and Julie came to my garden party with their two-year-old son Hank and this equally irresistible salad. Don’t let the semi-boneless instructions frighten you. You can order neatly packaged, semi-boned quail from just about any commercial outlet, including Josh’s Bandera, Texas, supplier, Diamond H Ranch (www.texasgourmetquail.com). Semi-boned quail means the back, breast, and thigh bones have been removed, leaving the bird’s skin and its tiny leg bones intact. This allows the birds to be laid out flat for easy grilling.

This is an easy, off-the-cuff dessert with plenty of options and jumping-off points. If you want something richer, feel free to use higher-fat yogurt. I pair the rhubarb with strawberries because the two have overlapping seasons and are such stunning partners, but if you’ve got access to other good fruit, this parfait also works beautifully with blackberries, raspberries, blueberries—even winter citrus, such as neat slices of Cara Cara or blood oranges, clementines, or tangerines.

When I spent a day making jams with Stefano Frigerio, a chef-turned-food-producer, I knew I had found a kindred spirit. Frigerio, who sells his Copper Pot Food Co. jams, sauces, and pastas at Washington, D.C., farmers’ markets, resisted set-in-stone recipes and instead cautioned me that the most important thing is to taste, especially if you don’t want the jam to be too sweet. In the true spirit of preserving, use only fresh, local, in-season berries for this jam. (There’s really no reason to preserve something that you can get all year-round, so why use supermarket strawberries?) Without any added pectin, this jam has a slightly loose consistency, which I like, given that my favorite use is to stir it into yogurt.

This recipe started the way all jam recipes should: I came into a bounty of stunningly delicious, in-season fruit. It wasn’t from a blueberry patch like those in southern Maine my homesteading sister, Rebekah, picks from, but it was the closest thing I have to such: the Dupont Circle FreshFarm Market. One of my favorite vendors there, Tree and Leaf, had blueberries one summer that were better than any I’ve tasted outside Maine. I paid a pretty penny for them, went home, and broke open Mes Confitures, the tome by famous French jam maker Christine Ferber. I found her take on a wild blueberry–lemon jam, and I took shameless liberties with it, as anybody working with much different fruit should. I used much less sugar (her wild ones must be very tart), and streamlined the process. The result is a celebration of the blueberry, brightened with slices of candied lemon, peel and all. Use it anytime you want good jam: on toast, stirred into yogurt, and even as the basis of such desserts as Blueberry-Lemon Tart with Toasted Coconut (page 165).

Is it a gimmick, or is it a serious cooking technique? Is it both? Who cares? Preparing and serving chocolate fondue in a bowl of primordial pink salt is easier, makes a snazzier presentation, and tastes better than conventionally prepared chocolate fondue. Salt bowls, which weigh in excess of six pounds, provide phenomenal thermal stability. This makes it very difficult to overheat the bowl and burn the chocolate. Once heated to the desired temperature, the salt bowl stays warm, keeping the fondue beautifully liquid during its fleeting existence before it’s gobbled up. And the salt. Because salt isn’t soluble in fat, the chocolate itself just luxuriates in the bowl, doing nothing. It’s the touch of heavy cream that transmits a kiss of salt to the fondue’s liquid body. Try cherry, orange, or traditional Angostura-style bitters to vary the flavors

Lovage looks like a young celery branch with leaves, and in fact tastes like a slightly spicy celery. Most farmers’ markets have it in the spring and summer. Substitute a celery branch for the lovage stem in a pinch.

After the milk crumb phenomenon in the kitchen, we had to find a mainstream use for it, rather than just hiding it under some ice cream. It needed its moment in the sun. So I brainstormed. A peaches-and-cream cookie was my original thought. Momofuku does mean “lucky peach” in Japanese, after all. But I decided we needed something that would hit home even more for guests. Did you know dried blueberries existed? I didn’t, until I surveyed Whole Foods’ dried fruit selection for a dried peach alternative. The clouds parted, and it was clear. We needed a blueberry-and-cream cookie, reminiscent of a blueberry muffin top (the best part of the muffin).

Since most people don’t have a commercial Hawaiian shaved ice machine, this recipe has been adapted to make ice pops. Use molds or ice cube trays with standard wooden ice pop sticks, plastic spoons, swizzle sticks, or even chopsticks.