Soup/Stew

Home turf: Texas
Local flavor: Chili is practically a religion in Texas. The thick, meaty "bowl of red" dates back to San Antonio in the 1820s. By the 1880s, the city's plazas were full of pushcarts run by "chili queens" who would lure customers with live music. And Texans may argue about chili ingredients—but purists agree that the hearty stew would never, ever involve beans.
Make it a meal: Round things out with cornbread, iceberg wedges with artisanal blue cheese, and Shiner Bock (Texas, $8 per six-pack), a full-bodied Texas brew. A few tablespoons of masa (corn tortilla mix) is used to thicken this chili.

This clam chowder has been an American classic since the early 1800s, and it’s easy to see why. Cream—strike one! White potatoes—strike two! Bacon—should be strike three, you’re out! Here’s the good news: By replacing whole milk and cream with skim milk and yogurt, I had a calorie deficit—which I used to include some bacon.

Enjoy this soup-stew as is or, for a one-dish meal, ladle it over brown rice. Pass the hot-pepper sauce, please!

These noodle-like dumplings, made with bacon fat, are a true taste of Southern cooking. They're easy to prepare and delicious, so it's easy to understand why they were a staple (plus they make good use of that can of bacon fat under the sink that everyone used to have). But the best thing about these tender dumplings is that they really soak up the flavorful braising juices and take on the flavor of the rabbit. I find that it's easiest to braise the rabbits whole, but if you buy them pre-sectioned, that's fine, they'll cook in the same manner. When you are picking the tender meat off the rabbit, avoid shredding it too finely (larger pieces of meat make a nicer presentation), and be extra careful to pick out small bones. I always pick the meat twice to make sure that I've gotten every last one.

To make this dish vegan, skip the crab.

Curry powders vary in flavor and heat; begin with two tablespoons and add more according to your taste.

Don't be afraid of oxtail. Just knowing that it comes from the tail of a cow (it used to be the ox, but most oxtail sold in butcher's shops is from cow now) puts some people off. Have a sense of adventure and try it. Don't just stick with the same old foods. This recipe may sound intimidating, but this is really just great peasant food. There's not a lot of meat on oxtail bones, so you might think it's not worth your time to make it. However, oxtail has a lot of muscle on it, which gets broken down when you braise it. The meat that is there falls apart and becomes gelatinous. That makes this oxtail so damned good. You only need a small amount to feel satisfied, so it's a dish rich in taste for not much price. Plus, when you braise the oxtail, you can braise it in water or chicken stock and have a flavorful stock left over for other dishes. At Papillon, our wild mushroom raviolis bobbed in oxtail broth. Making this recipe will take time, but that's where flavor is born. It's worth your time.