There are many foods that are said to be lucky. Of course during this week right before New Year's Day, folks begin preparing for simple meals of pork, fish or black-eyed peas to bring about a little luck and start 2011 off right. Well I have this friend who insists that really any food is lucky so long as you think it so. She's convinced it's all just a nice longstanding tradition and that we should all create our own in the case we're not big fans of the hearty two-toned legume.

So this year I'm deeming Buckeyes lucky. And why not, really? They're basically the best most adult Reese's you've ever tasted except without the cloyingly sweet aftertaste. They're cloaked in rich dark chocolate and are a cinch to throw together as there's no baking involved. We made these on Christmas Eve at my house and they were an instant hit: they're an old Southern recipe and many people remember them fondly from their childhood. Others just can't stay away from a good old-fashioned peanut butter ball. So for this week leading up to New Year's Day, I encourage you to deem a food that you love lucky, whip it up, and enjoy it wholeheartedly. Whether you're a traditionalist or a maverick peanut butter lover, go to town. Life is short. Eat Buckeyes.

Buckeyes
Adapted from: Smitten Kitchen

Yield: 35-40 tablespoon-sized candies

Deb's recipe is from Baked Explorations, one of my favorite cookbooks of the year. And I love this version of Buckeyes because it cuts way down on the sugar you'll typically see and adds graham cracker crumbs which give them a nice texture. I've gone even further with my adaptation using chunky peanut butter and cutting back on the sugar even further. To make your own graham cracker crumbs, just throw your whole grahams into the food processor and pulse until fine.

Ingredients:
1/4 cup (2 ounces) cream cheese, softened
1 1/2 cups chunky peanut butter
1 cup graham cracker crumbs (from about 12 graham crackers)
2 3/4 cups confectioners’ (powdered) sugar
10 tablespoons (1 1/4 sticks or 5 ounces) unsalted butter, melted and cooled
10 ounces dark chocolate (I use 70%), chopped coarsely

Method:
1. In the bowl of an electric mixer, beat the peanut butter and cream cheese until just combined. Add the graham cracker crumbs and beat again until just mixed together. Next add the butter and sugar and start mixing slowly so the butter doesn't slosh around. Mix for ten seconds, stop the mixer and scrape down the bowl, then mix again until the mixture is sturdy and looks like a dry cookie dough. Set aside.

2. Make the dark chocolate coating: Use either a double boiler or a heat-safe bowl nestled atop a pot of boiling water to melt you chocolate. Stir the chocolate continuously so it doesn't burn and so that it remains smooth. Once melted completely, let it cool enough so that you can dunk your finger in it (around 100 degrees) -- this is the optimal temperature for coating candies.

3. Assemble the buckeyes: Line a sheet pan with parchment paper. Using a tablespoon, scoop out a small ball and use your hands to form it into a perfect ball. I used a kitchen scale and measured each ball out to be 1 oz. This way they were all consistent. Place the balls on the prepared sheet with just a little room apart from one another.

4. Using a toothpick or a skewer, dip each ball into the chocolate and roll it about so that almost the entire candy is coated. You'll inevitably have a few that fall off completely in the chocolate. Practice with a few and you'll get it down. Dip quickly and at an angle. You have a little hole at the top from your skewer which you can quickly push back into place with your fingers.

5. Chill the buckeyes until they are set, about 30-40 minutes.

Store in an airtight container in the fridge for 5-7 days.

I romanticize the South. I know I do it and I also know many others fall prey to thoughts of afternoon mint juleps, big willowy trees, and visions of a slower pace of life. Recently during one of my Craigslist property searches/obsessions, I ran across a little Craftsman house in Durham, North Carolina and fell in love. I called the realtor. I’ve never been to Durham and actually, I've never really been to the South (I hear Austin, TX doesn’t count). The house had sold. My coworkers rejoiced; they'd no longer have to listen to my sudden, out-of-left-field obsession with a town I'd never been to and a house I couldn't really afford. So here we are. Back to reality—and a great book by James Beard Cookbook of the Year winner, Joseph Dabney. The publisher contacted me to see if I'd be interested in checking it out, knowing that I have a fondness for Southern food and food history. After reading a brief description, I was sold. In The Food, Folklore and Art of Lowcountry Cooking, Dabney takes readers on a tour of the various regions of the Southern Lowcountry including Charleston, Beaufort, and Savannah. In this tour, he offers traditional recipes, first-hand history and lore, and stories from long-time residents and high-end chefs alike. This is, I'm guessing, a truly representative swath of a part of the country I can't wait to visit.

The book is organized into thematic chapters detailing the history of various cities and moving on to focus more specifically on infamous foods from the region like Hoppin' John, Goobers and Grits. The first chapter lays out the "big picture" and the mystique of the Lowcountry nicely. Dabney calls it "a different world," and describes coming to Charleston for the first time in the 1950's and experiencing culture shock. Many of the homes were elegant, the gardens lush, and the locals spoke in a much different-sounding dialect than the oft-recognized "twang" up North. Dabney proceeds to discuss the history of the dialect, explores the role of the rice plantations, and sheds light on the West Africa connection.

The inside pages of The Food, Folklore, and Art of Lowcountry Cooking

What I love about the book are the little interviews and profiles of real people discussing their towns, family histories, and connection to the Lowcountry. There is a true sense of pride and a love for place that is becoming rarer and rarer these days--something I certainly envy as a consistently transient, mostly urban dwelling gal with little lasting history in any one place. Much more narrative than traditional cookbook, this is a great read for folks who are interested in Southern culture, history, and language and how all three affect the foodways and traditions of the South. To be honest, I don't know that this is a book I would sit down and read cover to cover, but it is a nice one to pick up every so often and explore bit by bit.

The recipes, while quite varied, are split into logical categories such as Soups, Stews and Gumbos; The Glories of Chicken; and Wild Game in the Lowcountry. There are little tales to accompany each one, so you actually feel as though your great aunt is passing down an old church recipe or you're stumbling across your grandmother's accompanying notes. These traditional recipes have been served at church functions and picnics, and have graced many a casual wedding table. Each inclusion is almost more of a modern-day jewel or legend rather than your average run of the mill recipe. I'm so looking forward to trying the benne seed (sesame seed) biscuits, the different varieties of spoonbread, and their version of Southern banana pudding. But for now, for today, I need a drink.

Gathering my ingredients

There are many great cocktail recipes in Dabney's book but most of them appear to be pretty darn sweet to me. With rather large quantities of grenadine, sugar, and peach brandy I can feel a hangover coming on already. But at the same time, there's something extremely likeable about old Southern drinks. You can almost see yourself sitting on a wide open front porch in the afternoon without a care in the world. So after reading through the history and stories behind each of the Southern cocktails in the book, I created my own version of a Southern Rum Punch with just a little less sugar, some bubbly water for a summery kick, and a few sliced limes. Enjoy.

Two glasses of Sort-of Plantation Punch on a Friday afternoon

Sort-of Southern Punch
Inspired by: The Food, Folklore, and Art of Lowcountry Cooking

Makes: 4 cocktails

Ingredients
1 cup mango or pineapple juice, chilled
1 cup orange juice
1 1/2 cup dark rum
Juice from 2 limes (almost 1/4 cup)
1/2 cup sparkling water or club soda
1/2 cup brewed black tea

Method:
Mix all ingredients together in a pitcher. Stir vigorously a few times to combine the juices, teas and rum. Fill 4 glasses with ice and pour punch to the brim. Serve with lemon or lime wedges as garnish. Preferably on a patio.

The origins of Hummingbird Cake aren't totally clear although Southern Living magazine is credited with the very first reference, and apparently it's their most requested recipe. They published the recipe in 1978, submitted by a Mrs. L.H. Wiggins of Greensboro, N.C. and permutations of it have spread throughout the South under different names. The Food Timeline suggests that the cake descended from Jamaica and was lovingly called Dr. Bird Cake (Jamaica's national bird is the red-billed streamertail hummingbird, also called the Doctor bird because its long tail feathers and decorative top-hat-like crest make it look like an old-fashioned doctor. Sort of).

Hummingbird Cake was also known as The Cake that Won't Last. In the late 70's, this cake became well-known in the South because it's so quick to make and it gave people something to do with their over-ripe bananas. But these days, old-fashioned Southern desserts are growing in popularity, and I think you'll be seeing more and more Hummingbird cake or cupcakes in Bay Area bakeries in the months to come. Remember the sudden resurgence of Red Velvet? Yeah, I'm thinking something along those lines. The cake itself has a carrot cake vibe but without the carrots. And in many ways, the balance of flavors is perfect: there is a fruity sweetness from the pineapple, banana and coconut tempered by the tart, smooth cream cheese frosting and crunch of toasted walnuts. It's a nice afternoon treat with tea, and I've certainly been known to convince myself that it's a responsible breakfast choice as well.

On my recent trip to Seattle, I saw Hummingbird Cupcakes at Trophy Cupcake. When I got home, I couldn't stop thinking about them and wanted to emulate the recipe. Most of the research I did yielded a super sweet or overly-heavy crumb, so I set out to adapt my own version and I think you're going to like it. I always appreciate a recipe with a history--a recipe with roots. So even though no one's really all that sure what exactly those roots are, this is a recipe that's endured for many years. In other words, these cupcakes have got legs.

Since I live alone, I didn't want to make a batch that yielded 20 cupcakes, so my proportions are perfect for a small household or a couple with an appetite. Obviously, if you're looking to bake a larger batch, just double it.

Hummingbird Cupcakes
Inspired by the recipe in Classic Southern Desserts

Serves: 8-10 cupcakes

Ingredients:
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
3/4 cup sugar
1/2 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. ground cinnamon
1/2 tsp. salt
1 large egg
4 oz. crushed pineapple, undrained
1 cup mashed banana (2-3 large bananas)
1/2 cup unsweetened, shredded coconut
1/4 cup sour cream
1 Tbsp. + 1 tsp. Canola oil
1 tsp. vanilla extract
1/4 cup walnut pieces (for top of cupcakes)

For Cream Cheese Frosting:
1 8-oz package cream cheese, softened
1/4 cup butter, softened
1 cup powdered sugar
1 tsp. vanilla

Preparation:
1. Preheat over to 350 F.
2. Combine flour, sugar, baking soda, cinnamon and salt in a large bowl. In a separate bowl, stir together the eggs and next five ingredients; add to flour mixture and stir until well combined (don't beat).
3. Line cupcake pan with foil or paper cups and fill with batter. Keep in mind they will rise a little so don't fill too full.
4. Bake at 350 F for 20-25 minutes or until toothpick comes out of center clean. Cool completely before frosting. In the meantime, make the frosting by beating together all ingredients until well combined. Add the sugar slowly and taste as you go--some people like it sweeter than others.
5. During the last 10 minutes of baking, spread the walnut pieces on a cookie sheet or a piece of aluminum foil and toast in the oven.
6. Frost each cupcake and sprinkle walnut pieces on top.

My dad grew up in West Virginia, and is a true lover of good 'ol Southern food. Biscuits and gravy, slow-smoked ribs, fried chicken, creamy potato salad, braised greens, key lime pie, and country ham with red-eye gravy. Now, I've been hearing about country ham for a good long while, but having grown up in Texas, which isn't really the South (but definitely shares many qualities), I had actually never tasted it.

Country hams have a long history in the South. These traditional American hams are salt-cured, usually in a salt brine, which dries them out and preserves them (this is how succulent pig legs were preserved prior to refrigeration). They are then typically smoked, although there are very delicious examples of unsmoked country ham. From what I can tell, the best seem to come from Virginia or North Carollna. In fact, you might have heard of Virginia ham or Smithfield ham, which are both examples of country hams from Virginia. Smithfield hams seem to be the most highly revered, and are aged longer than other country hams. Apparently they are also more deeply flavored and saltier. Each region seems to have their own particular style.

So, this past weekend, for my dad's 70th birthday, we decided to not only fly up to Portland and surprise him, but also give him a true-blue (well, it wasn't really blue) country ham. In fact, we even went one step further, and threw him a birthday party where he, and the ham, were the guests of honor.

But getting the ham did take some planning. First, you need to find a reputable place that sells real, exceptional country hams. I had read an article about Calhoun's Country Hams in Saveur, and so I thought, not really knowing where else to turn, to give them a call. I was greeted on the phone with true down-home Southern hospitality. They answered all my questions, and I figured out what I wanted: a 15-lb (the smallest available) uncooked bone-in country ham, which takes about 7-10 business days to ship. Because the hams are salt-cured, you do not have to refrigerate them, as long as you keep them in a cool place (like my brother's basement, next to his Kegerator) and make sure they stay nice and dry.

We served my dad's ham as part of a huge Southern birthday feast, complete with buttermilk biscuits, hush puppies, scalloped leeks and potatoes, roasted asparagus, and sauteed collard greens with apple cider vinegar. To top it all off, we ended with a tall citrus cake. My dad was in heaven. And frankly, after tasting the ham, so was I.

How to Make Yourself a Real Good Country Ham

Cooking a country ham is easy, but takes some time. The first thing you need to do is to scrub the ham clean with a vegetable scrub brush and some warm water, it's best to do this in the sink. I recommend trying this prior to drinking. Although that did make for some interesting fun. There will likely be bits of mold here and there, but that's normal and nothing to worry about.

Next, find a big container. I find that a cooler works best. You want something large enough to submerge the entire ham. Lie the ham in the container and fully submerge it in cold water. The reason for doing this is to suck some of that salt out. Like I said above, these hams are salt-cured and very salty. And if you aren't used to it, like me, then it's best to soak your ham. Soak the ham for about 24 to 48 hours. Yep, you heard me right. And change the water as often as you can, maybe every 4 to 8 hours or so. There's no sense soaking it in salt water if you are trying to remove some of the salt.

Once your ham is clean and soaked, remove it from the water, and put it in the largest stockpot or deep roasting pan you can find. Again, you want to submerge it. The largest pot we had was actually a canning pot and still the top of the bone stuck out, but that's fine, as long as the bulk of the ham is under water.

Fill the pot with enough water to cover the ham, cover the pot loosely with foil, and set it on the stovetop. Bring the water to a slow rolling boil over high heat, then reduce the heat to maintain the slow boil. Boil the ham for about 3 hours or so. You want it to come to about 140°F at the thickest part of the ham.

Preheat the oven to 400°F. Remove the ham from the pot and set in a large roasting pan or a rimmed baking sheet (you can double this up to make sure it's nice and sturdy). Use a sharp knife to trim as much fat from the ham as possible. There will likely be quite a bit.

In a bowl, stir together about 1/3 cup brown sugar with about 1 tablespoon grainy mustard until it's like a paste. Slather it all over the ham. With your hands. Don't be afraid. Bake the ham for about 15 minutes until the paste glazes the ham and it looks all bubbly and delicious.

Carve the ham using a very sharp knife, cutting the ham into the thinnest slices you can.

Calhoun's Country Hams
219 South East Street
Culpeper, VA 22701
Toll-free 1-877-825-8319

I flew to North Carolina last week for my grandmother's funeral. She was 87 and she couldn't do anything for herself by the time she died. A woman named Tonya would come by the house every day, and later the nursing home, and feed her and bathe her and turn on Andy Griffith for her to watch. Tonya was with her when she died, and the day before that when my grandmother had said, "Hold me," it was Tonya who pulled down the bed rails and put her solid bronze arms around my grandmother's soft, fleshy ones.

When I stepped off the plane in Raleigh, the air was hot and thick and I wished I'd changed out of my jeans before I left the airport. My brother picked me up, along with my mother and my sister, and when I got into his truck they started telling me about all the food people had brought over.

"You would not believe how much food we have back at the house," my mom began, shaking her head so that her graying hair bounced against her forehead. "Fried chicken, pecan pie," -- she pronouces it PEE-can -- "chess pie, potato salad, cole slaw. We have enough to feed an army."

My sister took up the litany, counting the dishes off on her fingers. "Barbecued chicken. Deviled eggs. Chocolate cake." Even in the darkened car, I could see her eyes sparkle, but not with tears. Eating feels good, even when everything else feels bad.

We spent much of the ride home talking about what they'd eaten the night before, and which neighbor or church friend or circle member had brought what dish. When we got home, everyone peeled off to bed but me and mom. We cut into a chocolate sheet cake made from Duncan Hines mix and store bought frosting. I ate a square of it standing up in my grandparents' red kitchen, and then cut off another small sliver just to even things out. It was fluffy and fresh and delicious. It reminded me of birthday party cake from when I was a kid.

I read over a piece of paper on the kitchen table that listed all the food that had been dropped off and by whom. The funeral house prints these forms up and brings them to the deceased's house, along with a podium with a light attached to it and a book that sits on top of it for visitors to sign.

The next morning, I woke up and took a shower. I put on a dress I'd bought with money my grandmother sent me for my birthday, and shoes I'd bought the previous summer for my grandfather's funeral. We drove to the cemetary and sat down on chairs covered in scratchy crushed blue velvet. My grandparents' ashes had been comingled -- that is the official term for mixing them together -- and they were held in a wooden box engraved with intertwining hearts and the words "Together Forever." They were both blessed and later buried in that hot, muggy air, and even as I cried, I couldn't help but notice that the preacher used a word I'd never heard before -- undergird. In the car on the way home I asked my brother and sister if anyone had ever heard it before. No one had.

Back home, my cousins immediately set about heating up the food. Most of us crowded into the kitchen; some of us were hungry, some tried to help, but I think most of us just didn't know what else to do. My cousin Sheila hadn't been able to sleep the night after my grandmother died, so she got up at 4:30 in the morning and baked a pound cake.

When we finally sat down to eat, we had three kinds of chicken (roasted, barbecued, and fried), deviled eggs, sandwiches, baked ham, yeast rolls, ham rolls, three kinds of potato salad, cole slaw, corn pudding, rice pilaf, broccoli casserole, asparagus casserole topped with Pringles (I kid you not), lasagna, baked beans, bread-and-butter pickles, and chicken salad. We all sat around in the living room with plates on our knees, sipping sweet tea, catching up with people we hadn't talked to in a year, complaining about the heat and humidity.

There were just as many desserts as anything else. Lemon chess pie, pecan pie, chocolate cake, the most marvelous chocolate fudge pie (it's basically gooey, nearly-cooked brownie batter in a flaky pie shell), pound cake, banana pudding. What we didn't eat, we wrapped back up and put out again for dinner that night, after the memorial service at the church, after I stood in the receiving line and met all the people who had fed us.

Grandma's Fried Chicken
Serves 4

Ingredients:
1 whole chicken, cut into legs, thighs, breasts, and wings
buttermilk (optional)
flour
salt and pepper to taste
Crisco

Method:
In my grandmother's words: "I'm not the fryer in the family," she started out by saying. "That's Margaret [her sister]. But I've fried a lot of chicken. What you want to do is salt and pepper and flour the chicken. Teri [her cousin] says you should soak it in milk before you flour it. He brought us some fried chicken one time and it was mighty good, but I don't know. Then you want to cook it in hot grease. You can use Crisco or you can use the liquid, it doesn't matter. We always used Crisco. But anyway, you want to cook it in enough hot grease to cover the chicken.

"Daddy called himself the Master Fryer, and Mother always said, 'I guess you are. All you do is stand there and fry it and I have to do all the rest of it and all the cleaning up.' We had fried chicken every Sunday morning for breakfast with biscuits.

"But anyway. The smaller the chicken the better. It's done when you can stick a fork in easily and no blood appears. Maybe 20 minutes, but watch it. Then just put it on a paper towel to drain."

Additional instructions:
All measurements are approximate because you really only need enough to suit you. Cover the chicken in buttermilk for a few hours, up to overnight. Pat it good and dry, then salt and pepper it to taste and dredge in flour, shaking off the excess. Or, you can toss the flour in a paper bag, season it to your liking (cayenne adds a nice touch) and then toss the chicken parts in one by one.

Heat the Crisco about halfway up a cast iron skillet until it's melted and a small piece of bread bubbles and fries on contact. Then add the pieces, one or two at a time to prevent the oil from cooling down. Turn them after about 5-8 minutes, depending on size and type of meat; keep in mind dark meat needs longer to cook than white meat. Drain on a plate covered with paper towels and serve hot. Also good cold the next day.