All Recipes

Simple, satisfying, and full of “tastes like home” goodness. I don’t know about you, but there are days when all I want is something warm, savory, and wrapped in a little Southern comfort. Something that fills the house with a smell that practically hugs you at the door. That’s this dish right here. This cabbage beef bake is the kind of meal that doesn’t try to be trendy — it’s not dressed up with microgreens or hiding behind a fancy name. It’s humble. It’s hearty. And every single bite feels like your grandma wrapped it in foil and sent it …

The kind of dish that makes people ask for seconds — and maybe the recipe, too. Now listen. This isn’t one of those fussy, four-page recipes with ten kinds of stock and French wine you’ve never heard of. This is the kind of rice dish your mama would’ve made when company was coming over — or when it was just too chilly out and you needed something warm, buttery, and soul-soothing to go with dinner. It’s a little French, a little Southern, and a whole lotta comfort. We’re talking caramelized onions, buttery rice, a touch of thyme, and a sprinkle …

Alright, sugar — if you’ve never had Southern shrimp dip before, bless your heart, because you’re about to meet your new go-to dish. This stuff is ridiculous in the best way. It’s creamy, just a touch spicy, and loaded with tender chunks of shrimp. It’s one of those things that seems fancy but takes barely any effort, which honestly makes it even better. We’ve had this at everything from baby showers to backyard BBQs — and no matter the crowd, there’s always someone hovering near the bowl, scooping up “just one more bite.” You know the type. (Sometimes it’s me. …

You know those cookies that somehow feel like a hug from the past? That’s these. Back in my childhood kitchen in the Midwest, you could always count on a plate of these toffee pecan cookies showing up somewhere between the end of summer and the first snow. Usually wrapped in wax paper, tucked into a cookie tin, and sitting real casual on the counter like they weren’t about to be devoured in one sitting. The scent alone — all brown sugar, butter, and toasted pecans — was enough to draw every kid in the neighborhood through the door like cartoon …

I remember the first time I made these crispy little beauties at a potluck — folks circled back not once, not twice, but three times. And every single time, someone would whisper, “Did you say these were… egg rolls?” Yep. But not just any egg rolls. These are Southern-style—stuffed with seasoned pork, tender cabbage, and carrots, then fried to golden perfection. They’re everything we love about comfort food, wrapped in one handheld, crackly bite. Think of them like a little party in a roll: part classic, part unexpected, and all the way delicious. Why You’ll Be Fryin’ Up a Second …

Now, sweetheart, let me tell you — this here dish is the kind of thing that’ll make you feel like you’ve got one foot in the bayou and the other in a Midwestern farmhouse kitchen. It’s simple, it’s sassy, and it’s got enough flavor to make the neighbors “just happen” to stop by right around suppertime. I learned this little number years ago, back when summers were long, kids ran barefoot until the fireflies came out, and nobody was too busy to sit around the table together. Back then, if you had a mess of shrimp, some good seasoning, and …

You know those mornings when the whole house is still quiet, and you’re the first one in the kitchen? The coffee’s brewing, the oven’s warming, and you just know it’s going to be a good day. That’s the kind of morning this Pancake Sausage Casserole was made for. It’s got all the best parts of breakfast in one pan — fluffy pancakes, savory sausage, and that touch of maple sweetness that makes you close your eyes for a second when you take a bite. Around here, it’s a “call the neighbors, the kids, and maybe the mailman” kind of dish, …

There’s something about egg foo young that just feels like a warm hug on a plate. It’s part omelet, part fritter, and one hundred percent comfort. I can still see my grandma at the stove, whisking eggs in the biggest bowl she had, tossing in whatever leftovers were hanging around — a bit of chicken from Sunday dinner, some bean sprouts she swore made it “fancy,” a handful of mushrooms if she had them. She never fussed over exact measurements. “Just enough,” she’d say, “until it looks right.” When the patties hit the oil, the kitchen came alive — a …

Some recipes are just… recipes. And then there are the ones that carry a heartbeat. Nana’s cornbread was like that. When I was little, you could always tell it was baking because the smell of butter and cornmeal would sneak out of the kitchen and wrap itself around the whole house. Nana never measured with cups if she could help it — she’d just pour until it “looked right,” and somehow it was always right. She’d hum while she worked, sometimes letting me stir (which I thought made me a real chef), and by the time that cast-iron skillet came …

Around here, loaded baked beans aren’t just “something to go with the main dish.” They are the dish people talk about. I can’t remember a family reunion, church picnic, or neighborhood barbecue where they didn’t show up in some big, heavy pan — still warm from the oven, with a serving spoon sticking out, just begging you to take a scoop. My Aunt Georgia’s version is the one I grew up with. It’s the kind of recipe you don’t really need to write down after you’ve made it once, because the smell of bacon and onions frying will tell you …