Here’s a bit of heresy: pimento cheese, one of the South’s most beloved food icons, may be an import. Food historians have traced the origins of the “pâté of the South” to late-1800s New York City, where it was made with Spanish peppers and creamy Neufchâtel-like cheese. The dish most likely only began its association with the South in the 1930s and ’40s, when Georgia became a top domestic producer of pimentos and Depression-era Southerners were pressing the whey out of cottage cheese and molding the solids into “hoop” cheese. Still, we made pimento cheese what it is today by using mayonnaise to bind the cheese into something spreadable and, yes, adulterating the trio of cheese, mayo, and peppers with other ingredients. Every Southerner’s treasured family recipe has a secret twist—perhaps a teaspoon of sharp yellow mustard, a pinch of garlic powder, or a splash of sherry.

But first, the immutable elements: extra-sharp cheddar (it has slightly less moisture than regular cheddar, which is key to achieving the right texture) and Duke’s mayonnaise, a Southern standard bearer. Our secret twists? First: a little grated Vidalia onion, which distributes evenly throughout the mayo mixture, nearly disappearing but leaving a trace of sweet-sharp flavor. Second: Worcestershire sauce; its combination of malt vinegar, anchovy, and soy sauce—among many other ingredients—adds savory depth.

To the French, grillades are thin pieces of grilled or broiled meat. But to anyone from Creole country or nearby environs, grillades have nothing whatsoever to do with a grill. They’re thin-pounded pieces of tender, milky veal (or eye of round or even pork chops if you prefer), coated in seasoned flour, browned in oil, butter, or bacon grease, then set to simmer in a rich tomato-based sauce. Here the flour from the browned meat helps thicken the sauce as it cooks, although you can certainly play around with filé powder too. It’s dried, pulverized sassafras leaves that, along with okra, helps give extra body to many Creole and Cajun dishes. If the sauce doesn’t look thick enough to your liking, stir in half a teaspoon of filé before adding the mushrooms and parsley. There is one other important distinction to note about Creole grillades: Served over grits, grillades are typically a breakfast or brunch meal. Over rice, they’re dinner.

If someone on your block has a backyard vegetable patch, chances are you’ve come home to find a bag of zucchini and summer squash with a friendly note on your porch. These prolific Southern garden staples combine with another fundamental element of good neighbordom—the make-and-take casserole—in this classic recipe. Slicing the squash into half-inch-thick rounds, then parboiling, draining, and lightly pressing with paper towels helps absorb excess moisture, so the pieces hold their shape and texture while baking. It’s a little extra effort that pays off—no slippery, slimy squash here. The slices are suspended in a custardy, eggy mixture that rises as it bakes, almost crossing into soufflé territory.