A few weeks ago, someone from Harper Studio noticed that I had a few of Emeril Lagasse’s recipes posted on the site (like zis one and zees) and asked if I’d like to check out a copy of his new book, “Emeril at the Grill.” And I’m all like, free cookbook? Grilling? Emeril? BRING IT.

The book is a fairly small paperback, but it’s packed with 158 recipes (and gorgeous full-page photos) that definitely aren’t the same-old same-old. It’s designed for year-round grilling and entertaining, with recipes like Watermelon Margaritas, Pork and Chorizo Burgers with Green Chile Mayo, Tandoori-Style Chicken Drumsticks, Thai-Style Beef Salad and Grilled Banana Splits. Complex flavors with very simple preparations.

Wait, did I forget to mention the steaks? This is Emeril’s Grilled Marinated Flank Steak with Chimichurri Sauce. If you’ve never had chimichurri, it’s an herbaceous (oh, that word!) Argentinean sauce with a consistency that falls somewhere between a vinaigrette and a pesto. It’s the most popular condiment in Latin America, which makes sense, since Argentinians eat more beef than anyone else in the world. We’re talking about 176 pounds of beef per person. I’m surprised Jeff isn’t packing our bags.

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Cookout sides are always a challenge, especially at our house. Jeff hates potato salad, slaw and guacamole. Really anything cold. And I’m not a fan of using the oven while he’s grilling. I don’t want to be cooped up in the house baking anything – potatoes, beans, fries, whatever – when I could be outside, sipping something cold. So, this summer I’m on a mission to find sides that will make us both happy.

Here’s the first winner: a light version of Mexican Grilled Corn or elote.

Traditionally, elote is a Mexican street food, but you’ll find vendor carts in major U.S. cities and across the South, especially in Texas. Vendors serve the roasted corn-on-the-cob either on a stick or with the husk pulled down (to use as a handle) and offer different condiments for your cornsicle – choices like crema Mexicana (a Hispanic creme fraiche), mayo, sour cream, butter, chili powder, lime juice, cheese, hot sauce and lemon pepper. A typical vendor might dip the corn in crema, dust it with chili powder and sprinkle on a little lime juice. Others slather the corn in a mixture of mayo, sour cream, chili powder and lime juice and roll it in crumbled cotija cheese (a Mexican cheese similar to Parmesan or Pecorino Romano). Read More…

About a year ago, Jeff found this Slashed Chicken with Herb Butter in one of my Williams-Sonoma catalogs, and he didn’t just want to eat it, he wanted to make it. And I was not about to stop him. A whole chicken rubbed down with butter, parsley, chives, chervil, thyme and lemon zest? Baby, let me get out of your way.

When Jeff makes this chicken, I IRON HIS SHIRTS. Enough said.

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So, I haven’t posted in more than a week, because we were vacationing with family in Arizona, home of the Grand Canyon and an IKEA. One of them was so vast and beautiful, I had to step back and catch my breath. The other was the Grand Canyon. Kidding! But can you buy a lovely blue bowl at the canyon for less than $3? I think not.

The great thing is that you don’t have to choose between those particular wonders. You can enjoy them both. The same holds true for these Chipster-Topped Brownies, which have a brownie layer topped with a chocolate-chip cookie layer.

What could be better, except maybe an IKEA inside the Grand Canyon?

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A little over a year ago, I read Molly Wizenberg’s lovely post about one of her favorite rituals: reading from Edna Lewis’ “The Taste of Country Cooking”at the start of each season. Since then, it has become my ritual, too.

It’s easy to get swept away in the way Miss Lewis (eulogized as “the South’s answer to Julia Child”) writes about her childhood in Freetown, Va., a tiny farming community founded by freed slaves, including her grandparents. Memories and menus organized by season. The sounds of farm animals kept in the kitchen during winter snows. The pleasure of following the plow and walking barefoot in the warm, freshly turned soil. The joy of welcoming the cows home in the fall after they’d grazed in the community pasture all summer. Snapshots of the best memories of country life in the 1920s and 30s. Read More…

The day after we got married, Jeff and I sat down to a romantic New Year’s Day dinner in Hawaii with a huge room full of rabid Hawaii Warriors fans, who were there to rally around the big-screen TV and cheer on the Warriors in the Hawaii Bowl. We were debating whether to head somewhere else when the waiter arrived to give us the lowdown on the day’s special, a buttery piece of walu with a side that he wasn’t too sure about. He apologized, went back to the kitchen, returned and confessed that he didn’t have a clue about the special side: black-eyed peas. Black-eyed peas on New Year’s Day in Hawaii? We stayed.

Black-eyed peas and I go way back. When I was a child in Hee-Haw overalls, I was one of a herd of kids kept during the day by an older neighborhood woman named Jo. Almost every day, she’d serve us the same lunch: pot roast, corn, potatoes, green beans and black-eyed peas with sweet tea. So, I’ve been eating black-eyed peas for three decades. Southerners have been eating black-eyed peas for three centuries. George Washington Carver encouraged farmers to plant black-eyed peas, because they add nitrogen to the soil. They’re also nutritious, which is why we cook them with pork. To balance the scales. Read More…

They make it look so easy. Grandmothers, I mean. They just whip out the chicken and the cast-iron skillet and fry up a batch while they’re listening to “Divorce Court,” like it ain’t no thing. You ask them how they do it, and they act like it’s just country cooking. Natural. Effortless.

Grannies lie.

OK, they don’t lie, but there’s nothing simple about frying chicken, especially for beginners. So many decisions. Fryer versus pieces. Oil versus shortening. Cast-iron skillet vs. large pot. Southern-style versus spicy versus extra-crispy. Paper towels versus wire racks. And then there’s the whole overnight soaking thing. So, it helps to have a dependable starter recipe, like this No-Fail Fried Chicken, and some pointers.

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In a previous life, I made tiramisu almost every day. A rich, creamy, boozy, fully-caffeinated tiramisu. One whiff, and you’d be awake for three days. It was a heavyweight. So, I was looking forward to trying Dorie Greenspan’s Tiramisu Cake to see if you could get that tiramisu flavor in a lighter version, one without the hassles of soaking and balancing individual ladyfingers on their ends.

Because creating that ring of vertical ladyfingers encircling the tiramisu, with exactly three ladyfingers per slice, was once the bane of my existence. They break. They shift.

Swing low, sweet chariot. Read More…