Raquel Pelzel

Easy lemon icebox pie recipe with a graham cracker crust and whipped cream topping.

Moist and rich, the true secret ingredient here is the soy sauce in the frosting. FOR REAL. It adds just a little salty note that really pulls the cake together.

If you have English muffins, cream cheese, and strawberries, you can make these faux danish breakfast treats in a snap!

When you cook broccoli gratin on a sheet pan, every single morsel gets an ample coating of crunch.

Made in a sheet pan, this is simply chocolate cream pie squared.

没有大麻?不problem-skip和你还是have a killer spicy-sweet popcorn. But for those that want to partake, make sure you use only 1/2 teaspoon baked herb in this recipe (you'll have about 1 1/2 teaspoons leftover for another use). And go slow! This stuff is delicious, but you want to start with a little over a cup and wait at least an hour before having more—it often takes that long to feel the effects.

Moonpies are traditionally thrown from Mardi Gras floats in New Orleans, and Mobile, Alabama, but with this easy recipe you can make your own chocolate-dipped graham cracker and marshmallow treats to enjoy at home—no parade or crowds required. For more on moonpies and Mardi Gras, seeMake Your Own Moonpies.

我经常溜进我妈妈的车,骑stowaway-style in the back seat when she left home to "make groceries" at the A&P or Schwegmann's. No sooner had she turned off the ignition than I'd pop my head up and scare the bejesus out of her! In the market, we'd get coffee beans ground fresh from this giant red coffee grinder—I swear it was at least 3 feet tall. My mom gave the coffee man (usually the bagger at the checkout aisle) explicit instructions on the coarseness of the bean grind for her chicory-laced coffee. After he had bagged our beans, I'd stick my nose up the metal spout and inhale the heady aroma that always made me dizzy and happy. In a typical New Orleans home, a pitcher of coffee can almost always be found in the fridge, whether left over from the morning or brewed specifically to make iced coffee later in the day. This coffee and chicory cupped cake is made with a stiff, eggless cake batter that gets topped with a cocoa crumble and then covered with coffee. Baked in actual coffee cups, the cake soufflés up and makes its own built-in lava sauce on the bottom. It's fantastic eaten within an hour or two of baking while the cake is still warm, soft, and molten.

Funerals are a big deal in New Orleans and our family was no exception. Though we didn't send our beloveds off with a jazz funeral and a brass band, we did put out quite a spread to keep the mourners sated. I would sit through the eulogy, the whole time keeping my fingers crossed that I'd meet up with banana pudding at the post-service buffet table at one of the cousin's houses. I'd walk in the gathering and within minutes I'd be scanning the dessert table—nine out of ten times it was there—a giant bowl of canary yellow and banana-flavored righteousness beckoning to be pillaged. Sometimes it was layered with vanilla wafers like a parfait. Sometimes the cookies were half sunken into the abyss. Sometimes there were bananas and sometimes there weren't. I'd always scoop out a giant serving with more than my fair share of cookies. Now that I'm grown, I like my banana pudding flavored with banana liqueur and topped with a vanilla-wafer and cinnamon-tossed crumb topping. The topping always stays crisp and provides an amazing contrast to the soft-tender bite of the chopped bananas and the silkiness of the pudding. It's humble and homey but just different enough from the traditional version that I feel good about serving it in a more sophisticated setting.

Up until I was about 12 years old, my parents took my sister, Tracy, and me to Easter service at St. Louis Cathedral in Jackson Square. The only way they could keep us in check during mass was by bribing us to be good and quiet with promises of post-church beignets at Café de Monde across the street. We'd get so excited about the prospect of massive quantities of sugar that we probably would have done pretty much anything to ensure we got beignets before going home. Mom was a bit of a stickler when it came to sweets; I mean, at our house, Raisin Bran® was considered toeing the line of junk food! So you can only imagine how amped up we were at the mere prospect of real, honest-to-goodness fried dough piled sky-high with a mountain of powdered sugar. Like good southern kids we were dressed to the nines—me in my blue blazer, khakis, and white oxfords, Tracy in her Easter dress—and Mom, like all the proper matriarchs, with an Easter hat perched on her head that has a wingspan of at least 18 inches. No sooner had the crispy-fried beignets arrived than our holiday best was coated in a dusting of white powder, as it was our tradition to see who could blow the snowy confectioners' sugar off of the mountain of beignets and onto the other the quickest. After we'd made a complete mess of ourselves, we'd get down to business and devour our crispy-fried beignets, still hot from the fryer and so amazingly tender.

This is a recipe lost to most New Orleanians, save for a few old bucks and grannys who can remember calas fried rice fritters being sold in the streets first thing in the morning in the French Quarter by women of African descent who carried them in baskets balanced on their heads, shouting out "Belle cala! Tout chaud!" Crisp around the edges with a plump, toothsome belly, these fritters beg to be served with obscene quantities of earthy, sorghum-like cane syrup, though traditionalists may opt for confectioners' sugar instead. A cup of strong coffee or a café au lait is the ideal accompaniment.
While old school recipes call for cooking rice until it's mushy and then letting it rise with yeast overnight, I like my fritters with distinct grains of rice suspended in a light batter that's leavened with baking powder rather than yeast. It's important to make the fritters with cold rice so the grains remain separate and don't clump together in the fritter batter.