This past weekend at the Savannah Book Festival, master storyteller and writer Julia Reed reminded us that, when it comes to cooking, the simplest things are usually the best, especially when the cooking is for people we really care about.

Actually, even for people we don’t care about.

That probably wasn’t her intention: all she did was explain how she fell into food writing “sort of by accident.”

“Sort of,” my foot: Julia got into food writing because, first, she knows how to laugh at herself, something any good food writer needs to be able to do, and, secondly, because she has an earthy and sensible attitude about food, something that, unfortunately, too few contemporary food writers possess. But mostly, it was because of the way she entertained after she moved to New York.

Back in those days (and, I suspect, even in these), what New Yorkers were accustomed to getting at a party was, as she put it, “a damned half-raw snow pea with some brown fish paste squirted down it like toothpaste, and a dried up piece of chicken stuck on a wooden skewer.”

When Julia had a party, it never occurred to her to be clever or fashionable with the food. She just put out what she’d been used to having at parties back home in Greenwood, Mississippi: deviled eggs, country ham biscuits, and a silver punch bowl mounded high with crabmeat Maison—jumbo lump crabmeat dressed with homemade mayonnaise, capers, and chopped green onions.

Now, to anyone who grew up in the South in the fifties and sixties, this is not exotic stuff. But those people had never seen anything like it; they just flat fell out and couldn’t get enough. Think about it, if you were expecting a handful of fish-squirted snow peas and got all the lump crabmeat you could hold, what would you do?

Not surprisingly, a magazine editor saw a natural fit and called the next morning to ask if Julia had ever thought of writing about food.

The main reason that editor and the other guests were impressed was because she wasn’t trying to impress them. She was just serving forth good food in the only way she knew how. Of course, it is the same approach that she takes in writing about food, which is why she's so refreshing to read. It’s a talent we would all do well to cultivate, both at the stove and the computer keyboard.

And while, yes, there was that punch bowl big enough to swim in brimming with succulent Gulf crabmeat, even in that was an elegant, if sumptuous, simplicity.

The table is no place for irony or cleverness for its own sake. People leave such a table with a thoughtful frown and, more often than not, a hope that they can forget it as soon as possible. I’d rather they left mine with a satisfied smile.

Crabmeat Maison a la Reed

Here is one way to insure a satisfied smile, more or less as they make it at Galatoire’s in New Orleans, and as served by Julia Reed.

Serves 12 to 18 as a cocktail hors d’oeuvres, or 8 to 12 as a cold main dish

1½ cups mayonnaise, preferably homemade with lemon juice (recipe follows)

½ cup (more or less, to taste) nonpareil capers, well drained

½ cup (more or less, to taste) thinly sliced scallions (about 4 small ones)

2 generous tablespoons chopped parsley

Salt and whole white pepper in a peppermill

2 pounds jumbo lump crabmeat

Crisp toast points

1. Put the mayonnaise in a large mixing bowl. Gently fold in the capers, scallions, parsley, and a large pinch of salt and liberal grinding of white pepper, both to taste. Cover and chill for at least 2 hours.

2. Gently fold in the crabmeat. Mound it into a large serving bowl (or, as Julia does, a silver punch bowl), surround it with toast points, and stand back for the stampede.

Homemade Mayonnaise

Makes about 1½ cups

2 large egg yolks or 1 whole egg

1 tablespoon lemon juice

1 tablespoon red wine vinegar

1 generous tablespoon Dijon or Creole style mustard

1 teaspoon kosher or fine sea salt

1¼ cups vegetable oil

1. Put the egg yolks, lemon juice, vinegar, mustard, and salt in the bowl of a food processor fitted with a steel blade. Process 1 minute.

2. With the machine on, slowly drizzle in the oil in a very thin, steady stream until it is incorporated and emulsified.

Alternately, you can just use a whisk or hand-held mixer. Whisk together the yolks, juice, vinegar, and salt in a cold mixing bowl. Whisking constantly, slowly drizzle in the oil a little at a time.