Jean Anderson

These light and airy biscuits owe their texture to three leavenings: yeast, baking soda, and baking powder.

I can't believe I'd never heard of this recipe until I was halfway through writing this cookbook and then only because my good friend Fran McCullough, a primo New York cookbook editor now retired and living in the historic town of Hillsborough just north of Chapel Hill, e-mailed one morning full of enthusiasm: "Have you ever heard of Atlanta Brisket?" She'd eaten it for the first time the night before at some local "food do" and was blown away by its flavor and succulence. A quick online search turned up this shocker. Eli N. Evans, my across-the-hall Gramercy Park co-op neighbor for nearly 20 years, is an aficionado of Atlanta Brisket. Who knew? President Emeritus of The Charles H. Revson Foundation of New York and like me a born-and-bred Tar Heel, Eli is the author of three acclaimed books: The Provincials: A Personal History of Jews in the South, Judah P. Benjamin: The Jewish Confederate, and The Lonely Days Were Sundays: Reflections of a Jewish Southerner. The irony here is that I'd hand recipe "tests" across the hall to Eli and his family, never dreaming that he knew a thing about cooking.

This hearty dish was inspired by frango na púcara, a Portuguese chicken dish that's cooked in a terra-cotta jug. We've streamlined the method, but kept all of the smoky, tangy, sweet flavors. 

Unlike most braises, these ribs aren't browned before they're simmered. The long, slow simmer tenderizes the meat, and the ribs get their brown, shiny exterior from a soy and brown sugar marinade. 

This oxtail recipe is hearty and perfect on pasta.

I remember exactly when I first encountered these celestial biscuits. It was in the early 1970s as I prowled the South in search of great grassroots cooks to feature in a new series I was writing for Family Circle magazine. Through country home demonstration agents, I obtained the names of local women who'd won prizes at the county and state fairs. I then interviewed two or three of them in each area before choosing my subject. And all, it seemed, couldn't stop talking about "this fantastic new biscuit recipe" that was all the rage—something called Angel Biscuits. The local cookbooks I perused also featured Angel Biscuits, often two or three versions of them in a single volume. Later, when I began researching my American Century Cookbook, I vowed to learn the origin of these feathery biscuits. My friend Jeanne Voltz, for years the Women's Day food editor, thought that Angel Biscuits descended from an old Alabama recipe called Riz Biscuits, which she remembered from her childhood. Helen Moore, a freelance food columnist living near Charlotte, North Carolina, told me that a home economics professor of hers at Winthrop College in South Carolina had given her the Angel Biscuits recipe back in the 1950s. "I remember her saying, 'I've got a wonderful new biscuit recipe. It's got yeast in it.'" Others I've queried insist that Angel Biscuits were created at one of the fine southern flour millers; some say at White Lily, others at Martha White (and both are old Nashville companies). In addition to the soft flour used to make them, Angel Biscuits owe their airiness to three leavenings: yeast, baking powder, and baking soda. Small wonder they're also called "bride's biscuits." They are virtually foolproof.