Bourbon

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.

Thanks to the Kentucky Derby, mint juleps are the best known—and perhaps best loved—of all Southern cocktails. The details are much debated, but the basics are these: fresh spearmint, lightly bruised; smoky-sweet bourbon; cane sugar; and crushed ice. A combination so good, there isn’t much that can be done to improve it.

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.

The cocktail takes its name from the single-barrel ninety-proof bourbon whiskey Eagle Rare, but any high-quality bourbon can be substituted. The small amount of fresh lime juice is needed to add brightness to the drink, not flavor.

Bourbon is a truly American product, with Kentucky producing 95 percent of the world’s supply. According to federal law, bourbon must be at least 51 percent corn, distilled to less than 160 proof, and aged for at least two years in new charred-oak barrels. Bourbon also must be made in the United States. In other words, a foreign product that meets all of the other requirements cannot be sold here as bourbon. I love drinking bourbon straight up or on the rocks and using it in both savory and dessert sauces. It is without a doubt my spirit of choice. I also enjoy mixing it on occasion with other ingredients as long as those ingredients don’t mask the slightly woody, slightly floral taste of the bourbon. This drink is an American twist on the French 75, replacing the traditional cognac with bourbon and adding orange juice for freshness.

When I am in Kentucky, there are two things that I drink a lot of: sweet tea and bourbon. So, when we were creating our cocktail menu for brunch, it only made sense that I would pair my two favorite southern specialties in one glass.

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.

Some bourbons, though they may come from deep in the Kentucky heartland of America, bear within them all the smoky mystery of a single malt Scotch brewed on the edge of a peaty moor in Scotland. To revel in the delicious tension of these two great whiskey regions, smoky up your bourbon with a pinch of smoked salt on the rocks. Take the sensation to its near-ridiculous extreme by making that smoked salt Iburi-jio Cherry, a soft and supple deep-sea salt cold-smoked with cherry wood from that much newer but dead-serious whiskey-making region, Japan. The salt brings just a hint of smoked bacon aroma that whets your appetite even as the drink slakes your thirst.

Whereas my second son was born without a volume control dial, my first son was born without an equalizer. The little one bellows and howls at the ceiling, pounds and slams on the floor. The big one rolls his eyes, giggles, and plays mind games, then lavishes you with smiles. Not surprisingly, their loves and fears and wants are nearly opposite, though not in the way you might expect. The big one, when he isn’t politicking, just wants to create elaborate dioramas of war and space travel. The little one, when he isn’t fighting, just wants to climb into your lap for a cuddle. The younger one loves to cook, the elder is a formidable epicurean. They are made from completely different machinery, as if one was crafted by a Swiss watchmaker, the other by a Tasmanian shaman. But they both love flambéed bananas with smoked salt. Cyprus hardwood smoked salt lends woody glints of bacon to the dish, while the salt’s unique massive crystals lend a perfect crunch. Either way, the dish has everything. Banana sugars caramelizing in hot butter, bourbon exploding into fire, and a globe of ice cream—the whole thing set into a smoky haze, like a carnival entering a battlefield.

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.