Start the party with crackers

My preferred way to eat chicken noodle soup as a child was with so many Saltines crushed into the bowl that it ceased to resemble soup altogether. It became something closer to porridge, or gruel, which delighted me. On fall Sundays after church   — after being gently held to account for my sins via felt puppet shows, tiny plastic cups of Welch’s and the Lord’s own cracker, the communion wafer — my mom would have a pot of chicken noodle soup waiting to warm on the stove. I’d change into play clothes, take my bowl and begin the solemn work of crushing an obscene number of crackers into the carrot-flecked broth until the spoon could nearly stand upright. In my imagination, I was, naturally, a Dickensian orphan enjoying my one hot meal.

Crackers were never nondescript to me. They were the quiet architecture of certain meals, the thing that made everything else feel complete.

There were the buttery Club crackers at the Greek diner in the Chicago suburbs where my mom took me as a kid, a place with red pleather booths, a Mediterranean mural on the wall and, eventually, a public death spiral involving $76,000 in back rent before it was razed to build a gas station. In my memory, though, it remains gloriously intact. I would order an open-faced turkey sandwich; she would order a chef’s salad with Thousand Island dressing, which arrived with Club crackers I was permitted to swipe through the rich, tart pink lake at the edge of her plate.

There were other crackers, too: my first grainy Breton cracker, which felt almost impossibly sophisticated beneath its little smear of cream cheese and red pepper jelly at a baby shower; the oyster crackers that came bobbing beside cheddar-topped bowls of chili; the faintly sweet Lunchables cracker, so persuasive in the elementary school cafeteria, carrying its cold circle of ham and processed cheese with the seriousness of a canapé.

Looking back, it seems inevitable that I would eventually want to promote the cracker from supporting player to guest of honor.

Crackers have spent enough time under cheese, beside soup, tucked politely next to salads and dips. And I am hardly the first person to suspect that, with a little butter and heat and attention, the humble cracker can become something worth gathering around.

Scattered through old Southern community and church cookbooks are recipes for spiced Saltines: butter-soaked, herb-flecked, oven-baked until they darken to a toastier shade of gold. One of the better moments in the rise of New Southern cooking was the way these crackers occasionally escaped the church basement and turned up as bar snacks beside Mason jar cocktails, or on appetizer menus next to pimento cheese, smoked trout dip and other things that knew exactly what to do with a sleeve of Saltines.

Now, as we find ourselves deep in the season of simple summer entertaining — and still, always, keeping budgets in mind — I want to give the form a little more appreciation. Because crackers, even very good ones, remain one of the cheapest building blocks of a party. They are shelf-stable, flexible, familiar and almost impossible to make feel fussy. With a little intervention, they can become spicy, buttery, cheesy, crisp-edged and completely worthy of being the first thing guests reach for.

Here are three of my favorite party cracker recipes:

These are inspired by the butter-soaked spiced Saltines that have long floated around Southern church cookbooks, family recipe boxes and bar snack menus. They taste a little like ranch crackers, a little like garlic bread and a lot like the kind of thing people will keep returning to by the handful. The buttermilk powder gives them that signature tang, but you can also skip the individual seasonings and use a packet of ranch seasoning instead.

Ingredients

• 1 sleeve Saltines

• 4 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted

• 2 tablespoons neutral oil or olive oil

• 1 tablespoon buttermilk powder

• 1 teaspoon garlic powder

• 1 1/2 to 2 teaspoons onion powder

• 1 teaspoon dried dill

• 1 teaspoon dried parsley

• 1/2 teaspoon freshly cracked black pepper

• 1/4 to 1/2 teaspoon red pepper flakes or cayenne, to taste

• Optional: flaky salt, for finishing

Instructions

Heat the oven to 300°F and line a baking sheet with parchment paper.

Arrange the Saltines in a single layer on the prepared baking sheet, or place them in a large mixing bowl if you prefer to toss them first. In a small bowl, stir together the melted butter, oil, buttermilk powder, garlic powder, onion powder, dill, parsley, black pepper and red pepper until well combined.

Drizzle the seasoned butter mixture over the crackers, using a pastry brush or clean hands to make sure each cracker gets a little attention.

Bake for 12 to 16 minutes, until the crackers look glossy, smell deeply savory and have turned a slightly toastier shade of gold. Let cool on the baking sheet, then finish with a little flaky salt if desired. Serve warm or at room temperature.

Shortcut: Replace the buttermilk powder, garlic powder, onion powder, dill and parsley with 1 packet of ranch seasoning, then add black pepper and red pepper to taste.

Think of this as savory frico brittle: buttery Ritz crackers, broken into uneven pebbles and hunks, tossed with Parmesan, herbs and a little fat, then baked until the cheese melts into crisp, golden clusters. It’s excellent served in a bowl as a snack, but it’s also very good scattered over whipped ricotta, tomato soup, marinated beans, roasted vegetables or a big Caesar-ish salad. The hot honey is optional, but it nudges the whole thing into sweet-salty cocktail snack territory in a way I highly recommend.

Ingredients

• 1 sleeve Ritz or other buttery crackers, broken into pebble-sized pieces and larger irregular hunks

• 1 1/2 cups finely shredded Parmesan cheese

• 2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted

• 1 tablespoon olive oil

• 1 teaspoon fennel seed, lightly crushed

• 1/2 teaspoon finely chopped rosemary

• 1/2 teaspoon garlic powder

• 1/2 teaspoon onion powder

• 1/2 teaspoon freshly cracked black pepper

• Pinch of red pepper flakes, optional

• 1 to 2 teaspoons hot honey, optional

Instructions

Heat the oven to 350°F and line a baking sheet with parchment paper. In a large bowl, combine the broken Ritz crackers, Parmesan, fennel seed, rosemary, garlic powder, onion powder, black pepper and red pepper flakes, if using.

Drizzle with the melted butter and olive oil, then toss gently until the cracker pieces are coated but not pulverized. Spread the mixture onto the prepared baking sheet in a thin, even layer, letting some of the Parmesan fall into the gaps so it can melt into lacy edges.

Drizzle lightly with hot honey, if using.

Bake for 8 to 12 minutes, until the Parmesan is melted, bubbling and golden at the edges. Let cool completely on the baking sheet, then break into clusters and shards. Serve as a snack, or use anywhere you’d use croutons, breadcrumbs or a very persuasive little cheese crisp.

These are exactly what they sound like: tiny oyster crackers tossed with butter, olive oil, Pecorino and far more black pepper than feels reasonable. The cheese clings to the warm crackers, the pepper blooms in the fat and the whole thing eats like the bar snack version of cacio e pepe. Serve them by the bowlful with cold drinks, or scatter them over tomato soup, chili, Caesar salad or roasted vegetables.

Ingredients

• 4 cups oyster crackers

• 3 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted

• 1 tablespoon olive oil

• 3/4 cup finely grated Pecorino Romano, plus more for finishing

• 1 1/2 to 2 teaspoons freshly cracked black pepper, plus more to taste

• Pinch of kosher salt, optional, to taste

Instructions

Heat the oven to 300°F and line a baking sheet with parchment paper.

Place the oyster crackers in a large bowl. In a small bowl, stir together the melted butter, olive oil, Pecorino and black pepper. Pour the mixture over the oyster crackers and toss until evenly coated. Spread the crackers onto the prepared baking sheet in an even layer.

Bake for 10 to 14 minutes, stirring once halfway through, until the crackers are warm, fragrant and lightly toasted. While still warm, shower with a little more Pecorino and another grind or two of black pepper. Let cool slightly before serving.

This story originally appeared in The Bite, my weekly food newsletter for Salon. If you enjoyed it and would like more essays, recipes, technique explainers and interviews sent straight to your inbox, subscribe here.