Southern Living, No Tate Like Home

It’s easy to get sentimental when we talk about our hometowns. Whenever someone mentions my own—Atlanta, Georgia—I feel the warm cinnamon sting of my mema’s mandelbrot cookies on my tongue, smell her slow-simmered pot roast in the air, and see my sweet stepfather coming in from the yard with a handful of boiled peanuts and an ice-cold bottle of Coca-Cola. I’m not alone, of course: From The Wizard of Oz to As I Lay Dying, literature the world over echoes with the tug of home.

While we all reserve a special space in our hearts for the places that raise us, we carry some of our fondest memories a bit deeper: in our bellies. Nothing transports you faster—to your parents’ dinner table, your favorite hangout, your elementary school bake sale—than the flavor of a dish you enjoyed there.

All hometown food is special, of course, but I daresay Southern hometown food is extraordinary. Down here when we talk about what’s for dinner, we’re talking about so much more than fried chicken and biscuits, pulled pork, or pots of bubbling burgoo. We’re talking about race and class and religion and music and our unique slice of the collective Southern culture.

This book is devoted to exploring not only the food but the appetites and traditions of tasty hometowns across six Southern regions that have more than geography in common: The big-hearted cooking of the heart of Dixie. The musical, French-tinged, high-low, melting-pot cuisine of the Cajun country. The Tex-Mex flair and big-money swagger of big, bold Texas. The sweet-hot, smoky charms of the bluegrass, bourbon, and barbecue trail. The pure, clear-as-a-mountain-stream flavors of the Piedmont. And the harbor-influenced tables of the wide-ranging coastal South.

The chapters are chock-full of delicious recipes inspired and contributed by Southern Living readers, chefs, and locals-done-good in each region—from Texas brisket, New Orleans gumbo, and Carolina barbecue to Miranda Lambert’s mama’s meatloaf, Charles Frazier’s soup beans, and Eva Longoria’s mint lemonade. Each is served up in the company of the people, places, and stories that make every bite and sip so incredible. You’ll get the lowdown on favorite dishes and also a genuine taste of the regions where the recipes and their keepers grew up.

I hope these pages bring you the unparalleled pleasure of enjoying local specialties the way the natives, including some very celebrated ones, do. And wherever it is that you call home, may the rich history and enduring character of these unforgettable places inspire you to discover and appreciate the magic of your own hometown.

Bon voyage, and welcome home.

Kelly Alexander

Chapel Hill, North Carolina

P.S. For me, nothing says Atlanta like my late grandmother’s mandelbrot, which we ate at every birthday party, Jewish holiday, and “just because” occasion. (You might not equate Atlanta with Jewish culture, but the city has had a vibrant Jewish community since right after the Civil War, when newspaperman Henry Grady’s vision of the “New South” lured many Jewish businessmen there. My grandparents arrived after World War II, when my grandfather was stationed nearby at Fort Benning.) My grandmother, Lillian Pachter, sent me wax-paper-lined shoeboxes of mandelbrot until she became too old to bake, well after I’d graduated from college. I make it for my children today. Turn the page for the recipe.

Mema’s Mandelbrot

Mandelbrot are the twice-or-thrice-baked cookies popularized in Ashkenazi Jewish cooking (mandel means almond and brot means bread in Yiddish) that bear more than passing resemblance to Italian biscotti. This is perhaps because a large population of Jews lived in Italy’s Piedmont region, where biscotti is said to have originated. It probably originally appealed to the Jews because it’s made with flour, sugar, eggs, and oil—not butter—and thus is pareve, or kosher, for the Sabbath. Noted for their distinctive, addictive crunchiness, mandelbrot are terrific with coffee or, on a warm day, a tall glass of iced sweet tea.

Makes about 3 dozen Hands-On Time 15 min. Total Time 1 hour, 5 min.

5 1/2 cups all-purpose flour, divided

2 heaping tsp. baking powder

Pinch of table salt

4 large eggs

1 1/2 cups sugar

3/4 cup vegetable oil

1 tsp. orange zest (optional)

1/4 cup pulp-free orange juice

1 tsp. vanilla extract

1/2 cup finely crushed almonds

1 Tbsp. sugar

1 1/2 tsp. ground cinnamon

1. Preheat the oven to 350°. Sift 4 cups flour, baking powder, and salt into a large bowl. Make a well in the center; set aside. In another bowl, gently beat together the eggs, 1 1/2 cups sugar, oil, orange zest (if using), orange juice, and vanilla. Pour the egg mixture into the well in the dry ingredients in 2 additions, stopping to stir in between. Add the almonds, and stir until a very sticky dough forms. Turn dough out onto a heavily floured surface, and knead with floured hands, adding remaining 1 1/2 cups flour if necessary, until dough is smooth. Divide into 4 (13- x 1 1/2-inch) logs. Place on generously greased baking sheets. In a small bowl, mix together the 1 Tbsp. sugar and cinnamon; dust top of each log with cinnamon-sugar mixture.

2. Bake at 350° for 22 to 25 minutes or until tops are dark blond but not yet golden. Remove from the oven (leave oven on), and cool 5 minutes. While still warm, slice diagonally into even strips about 1 1/2 inches wide to make individual cookies. Place cookies, cut sides down, on the baking sheets; return to oven, and bake 20 minutes, turning cookies over after 10 minutes to crisp and brown the other side.

Kelly Alexander

Chapel Hill, North Carolina