The Perfect Pantry

Lentils (Recipe: one-of-everything lentil soup)

I missed the 18th Annual National Lentil Festival in Pullman, Washington, last week.

I missed out on a lot of good stuff.

The Lentil Pancake Breakfast. The Legendary Lentil Cookoff. The crowning of the Little Lentil King and Queen. And the Tour de Lentil 100K Bike Ride through the Palouse region of eastern Washington and Idaho, where more than one-third of this country's lentils are grown.

According to the USA Dry Pea, Lentil and Chickpea Council, farmers on the Palouse grow 500 million pounds of dry peas and lentils every year — which sounds like a lot, doesn't it? (On their web site, they claim this is the weight of 250,000 Volkswagons.) Canada is the world's largest producer of lentils, with Saskatchewan the primary growing area.

Like other legumes, lentils are packed with the nutrients, fiber, complex carbohydrates, and folic acid that help control blood sugar, and contribute to overall heart health. They're low-cal (only 230 calories per cooked cup), low-fat, and low-cost, too.

An ancient food that probably originated in the Fertile Crescent (what's now Syria, Israel, Egypt, Lebanon, and parts of Jordan, Turkey, Iraq and Iran), lentils inspire passion in the cuisines of many countries, including India, Turkey, and Italy, where they're popular on New Year's menus; the shape resembles tiny coins, and people eat them to bring good fortune in the new year.

To me, one of the measures of a good soup cook is whether he or she can make a robust, earthy, flavorful, and comforting lentil soup. When I'm in the mood for something bean-ish, but haven't remembered to soak my dry beans ahead of time, lentils are perfect; they don't need a pre-soak and they're not fussy.

ONE-OF-EVERYTHING LENTIL SOUP
All you have to remember about this soup is the number one. Add one small diced carrot, if you wish; I'm not especially fond of cooked carrot, but it will add a bit of sweetness to the soup. Serves 3-4, and makes a spectacular lunch with salad and a grilled cheese sandwich on the side.

1 Tbsp olive oil
1 small onion, diced
1 cup lentils
1 quart chicken stock (homemade or low-sodium storebought)
1 potato, diced
1 tomato, diced
1 cup water
Fresh ground black pepper, to taste

In a three-quart saucepan, heat the olive oil over medium heat. Add onion, and sauté for 2 minutes, until translucent. Add lentils and stock. Bring the stock to a boil, then reduce to simmer and cook, covered, for 10 minutes. Add potato, tomato, and water, and continue to cook until potatoes and lentils are cooked through. If you're using homemade stock, you may need to add salt at this point; if storebought stock (I use Swanson 99% Fat Free), you'll have plenty of salt in the soup. Season with lots of fresh black pepper to taste.

Szechuan peppercorns (Recipe: salt and pepper prawns)

Welcome, Typepad visitors! I'm over-the-top excited that The Perfect Pantry is today's Typepad Featured Blog. Frankly, I never dreamed I'd be keeping company with Dilbert and David Byrne, Chez Pim and Herb Greenberg, Popular Science and the Independent Film Channel. Please make yourself at home — peek in my pantry, where we rummage through fridge, freezer, cupboards and spice rack, one item and one recipe at a time.

File this under "explorations in an ethnic market where you don't speak the language and can't read the package labels and you've wandered up and down the aisles and looked and looked and know what you want is somewhere in the store but you cannot find it."

So you ask everyone in the market, which by the way is in Boston's Chinatown, "Do you have szechuan peppercorns?" Blank stares. You try different pronounciations — sesh-wan, setch-wan, setch-u-on. Pep-per-corn. Pep-pah (the Boston dialect).

Nobody speaks English.

Nobody understands your pantomime.

Fair enough. After all, you are the only one there who doesn't speak the language.

Frustrated but determined, you ask your husband Ted to bring his Chinese friend Margaret to the market to search for these peppercorns. A few days later on their lunch break, they go — but they come home empty-handed, too. Which, frankly, makes you feel a teensy bit better.

This is a true story, by the way. It happened in 1998.

Turns out that, back in 1968, the US Food and Drug Administration had banned the importation of szechuan peppercorns, because they might carry a citrus canker that could endanger the foliage of citrus trees. My old Chinese cookbooks didn't respect the ban; on the contrary, they happily featured this key ingredient — a mainstay of five-spice powder — in my favorite spicy recipes (Ma Po Tofu, Kung Pao Chi Ting), without regard to whether I actually could purchase it in the US. In 2005, the import ban was lifted.

Yes, szechuan peppercorns are back. By law they must be heat-treated to 160°F or higher temperature before entering the US. Though the heat-treating may inhibit (ever so slightly) the peppercorns' full flavor, there's still no taste quite like the pungent, smoky, fizzy-mint tickle on your tongue.

Szechuan (also spelled Sichuan or Szechwan) pepper is not a pepper at all; it's the berry of a deciduous prickly ash shrub. In some older cookbooks, it's called fagaro. The flavor resides in the shell, or husk; the small black seed inside usually is discarded, as it imparts a gritty texture when cooked. Most recipes call for grinding or crushing the shells, both to release flavor and to enable the spice to blend more easily with others.

I still have trouble finding szechuan peppercorns in some Asian markets, though the larger grocers in Boston, like 88 Supermarket, do stock them. So do Penzeys and Gourmet Sleuth, online — and in English, for non-Chinese speakers like me.

By the way, Ted and Margaret did discover one thing on their peppercorn prowl all those years ago. In Chinatown, szechuan peppercorns are called...simply...pepper.

Now I know.

SALT AND PEPPER PRAWNS
A classic recipe. Serves 4-6.

1 lb large shrimp (21-25 or 16-20 size), shelled, deveined, rinsed and patted dry
6 Tbsp peanut oil
2 scallions, cut into 1-inch pieces
2 cloves garlic, thinly sliced
2 dried chile peppers, left whole but seeds removed
1-1/2 Tbsp Szechuan peppercorns
1-1/2 Tbsp sea salt

In a small bowl, mix 2 Tbsp of the oil with the shrimp, and set aside. In another small bowl, lightly pound the peppercorns, and mix with the salt. Set aside.

Heat a wok or large frying pan. When the pan is hot, add remaining oil. Stir-fry the shrimp for 1 minute, and remove shrimp from the pan. Pour off all but 1 Tbsp oil. Bring the wok oil back to heat, and add the chile, garlic and scallions. Stir quickly, and add the shrimp. Sprinkle on the salt and pepper mixture, and stir-fry for another minute. (Do not overcook the shrimp, or they will taste like rubber!) Serve hot or at room temperature.

Pomegranate molasses (Recipe: pomegranate fish)

My husband Ted laughs whenever I come home from the store with a bottle of wine. I'm not much of a drinker, so I shop for wine by the label — not the brand, but the actual label. I can't resist pretty pictures, great graphics, good colors, and clever names like Goats Do Roam.

I shop in ethnic markets the same way. Every now and then I'll have a particular recipe in mind, but more often I wander through the store, filling my basket with things that look interesting. That's how I discovered pomegranate molasses several years ago, in the Syrian Grocery in my old neighborhood in Boston. (Isn't the label beautiful?)

Pomegranate molasses, also called pomegranate syrup, is a traditional Middle Eastern condiment made from the sugar in the juice extracted from fresh pomegranates. Though the fruit is native to Iran, most pomegranate molasses are bottled in Lebanon. Thick and syrupy in texture, pomegranate molasses provides a sharp, tangy, yet slightly sweet flavor to savory dishes like muhammara and braised beef short ribs. It is traditionally used to flavor chutneys, curries, salad dressings, sauces, and marinades and glazes for meats. A drizzle over creamy vanilla ice cream makes a lovely dessert, too.

If you can't find pomegranate molasses in your market, you can purchase it online. It's easy to make your own, too, from pomegranate juice (Pom and RW Knudsen are both available in my local supermarket); boil 4 cups of juice down to make 1/2 cup of syrup.

A few Thanksgivings ago, I made what's come to be known in our house as the turkey football — a boneless turkey breast, stuffed with couscous and dried fruit, tied into a cylinder, and laquered to a deep mahogany from frequent bastings of pomegranate molasses mixed with orange juice and honey. It was a thing of beauty, and it tasted a hundred times better than most of the wines I buy for Ted.

POMEGRANATE FISH (Mahi-ye tu por ba anar)
Adapted from A Taste of Persia, by Najmieh K. Batmanglij. Serves 4.

4 fillets of sea bass or trout, approx. 2 lbs
1 tsp salt
4 Tbsp vegetable oil, butter or ghee
1 onion, peeled and thinly sliced
3 cloves garlic, peeled and crushed
1/4 tsp freshly ground black pepper
1/4 cup chopped walnuts
1 Tbsp candied orange peel
1/2 cup pomegranate molasses
1 Tbsp sugar or honey
1/2 tsp saffron threads, dissolved in 2 Tbsp hot water
2 Tbsp fresh lime juice
3 Tbsp pomegranate seeds, for garnish

Wash the fish, pat it dry, and rub both sides with the salt. Preheat oven to 400°F. In a skillet, heat 2 Tbsp oil over medium heat. Add the onion and garlic, and fry 10-15 minutes, stirring occasionally, until golden brown. Add the pepper, walnuts, candied orange peel, pomegranate molasses and sugar; stir-fry for 3 minutes and remove from heat.

Place fish in a greased baking dish. Place 1/4 of the onion mixture on each fillet, roll the fillet up, and pin it shut with skewers. Pour the saffron water and lime juice over the fish and dot the fish with the remaining 2 Tbsp oil.

Place fish in the oven and bake for 10--15 minutes, until the fish flakes easily with a fork, basting from time to time. Arrange the fish on a serving platter. Pour the sauce from the baking dish over the fish, and sprinkle with the pomegranate seeds. Serve with saffron steamed rice.

Cloves (Recipe: Grandma's applesauce)

Liz Claiborne, Hugo Boss, Pierre Cardin and Perry Ellis all make men's colognes with a hint of cloves.

What do they know that I don't know?

When I think of cloves, I don't think of men. I don't think of breath fresheners, antiseptics, aphrodisiacs, or cures for toothaches, either, though all are traditional uses for cloves.

Instead, I conjure up the aromas of applesauce, pumpkin pie, and the screaming-hot lamb vindaloo at the Jackson Diner in New York City.

Cloves (from the Latin word clavus, meaning "nail" — a likely reference to their shape) are the unopened flower buds of a small tree native to the Moluccas, the "spice islands" now part of Indonesia. When the Dutch colonized the Moluccas, they tried to create a monopoly on cloves by destroying seedlings on nearby islands. In the late 18th Century, however, a French official smuggled some seedings to Ile-de-France (Mauritius). Today, though Indonesia is the world's largest producer*, Zanzibar and Madagascar are the largest exporters.

In my pantry, I stock both ground cloves and whole ones, but I use the ground cloves more often. Whole cloves come in handy for sticking into an onion to flavor stock, or sticking into a ham for some reason or other (can you tell I'm not a ham eater?). Ground cloves are great for making your own spice blends. When buying, look for color; the powder should be dark brown. If it's lighter in color, you're probably buying more stems than buds.

Cloves by themselves have a fruity, sharp, almost tongue-numbing taste, and thus are often combined with other spices as an essential member of the chorus, but not always a soloist. Without cloves, we would not have Chinese five-spice powder, garam masala, or quatre-épices. However, cloves in moderation do compliment the flavors of chocolate, ham, oranges, squashes, sweet potatoes, and beets.

*By the way, more than half the world's production of cloves goes neither into food nor towards making men smell good — it goes up in smoke. In Indonesia, almost the entire harvest goes into kreteks, which are cigarettes made with two parts tobacco to one part cloves.

GRANDMA'S APPLESAUCE
This is the world's easiest applesauce. Use a mix of Macintosh, Winesap, Cortland and Granny Smith apples, or whatever's available. I can still picture my grandmother in her kitchen on Remsen Avenue in Brooklyn, cranking the handle on the ricer to make this sauce. I wonder what she would have made of food processors?

5 pounds apples
Cinnamon, to taste
Ground cloves, to taste

In a large stockpot, bring 3 quarts of water to a boil. Slice the apples roughly, leaving the skins on (not only is the fiber healthy, but the skins make the sauce turn pink), but removing the cores. Cook the apples in batches until just about to burst. Place in a food processor fitted with a metal blade (or put through a ricer) and puree. Transfer to a large bowl, and season to taste with a generous few teaspoons of cinnamon, and a large pinch of cloves. Serve warm or cold.

Peanut oil (Recipe: broccoli eggrolls)

Utopian idealist and German inventor Rudolf Diesel had a dream. When he demonstrated his new engine at the 1900 Paris World Exposition, it ran not on petroleum, but on peanut oil.   

In the perfect world, Diesel believed, renewable biofuels like peanut oil could power farm machinery and automobiles.

More than 100 years later, my car still guzzles gasoline, but peanut oil powers my stir-fry cooking, earning it shelf space in The Perfect Pantry.

Low in the saturated fats that can elevate cholesterol, peanut oil is made by passing cleaned peanuts through hullers to separate the kernels; the kernels, which contain 48-56 percent oil, are then crushed, heated and pressed in hydraulic presses. The extracted oil is used in the manufacture of margarines and shortenings, and as a cooking oil. The leftover shells become cattle feed. Two-thirds of the world's peanut harvest is processed for peanut oil.

Most American peanut oils are mild-flavored, whereas Chinese peanut oil, less heavily refined, has a nuttier flavor. It's used in Asian cooking much like olive oil is used in Mediterranean cooking, as an all-purpose frying oil valued for its high smoke point. Smoke point is the temperature to which an oil can be heated before it begins to smoke and discolor, which means the oil is decomposing. Peanut oil's smoke point is 450°F, compared to extra-virgin olive oil (405°F), canola oil (400°F), and butter (350°F). For stir-frying, a small amount of sesame oil (smoke point 410°F) is sometimes added with the peanut oil, to enhance the flavor of the dish.

Peanut oil, my choice for frying everything from tofu to latkes, is a bit pricey in the local grocery store, but is half the price in our Asian market. And the packaging, with a smiling lion's head and those giant peanuts, is irresistible.

KIM'S BROCCOLI EGGROLLS
Kim's college friend Ingrid introduced her to a version of these wonderful eggrolls, and Kim taught me how to make them. Feel free to substitute shrimp for chicken, or to omit the meat entirely and add in chopped water chestnuts and bamboo shoots. This recipe makes approximately 75 eggrolls; they can be frozen and reheated in the oven.

1 small onion, diced
1 lb boneless chicken breast, diced
1 small bunch broccoli, chopped, stems peeled and diced
1/4 lb mushrooms, chopped
Mung beans or alfalfa sprouts — a large handful
2 Tbsp oyster-flavored sauce
3 Tbsp reduced-sodium soy sauce
1 tsp sesame oil
1/2 package sugar substitute, or 1 tsp sugar
2 packages eggroll wrappers
Peanut oil for frying (1 whole bottle)
Plum sauce (a.k.a. duck sauce), for dipping

TO MAKE THE FILLING:  In a nonstick frying pan or wok over medium-high heat, sauté onion in 2 Tbsp peanut oil for 2 minutes. Add chicken, and cook for 3 minutes, turning constantly. Add broccoli, mushrooms and bean sprouts, and cook 5 minutes. In a small bowl mix oyster sauce, soy sauce, sesame oil and sugar substitute, and add to broccoli mixture. Cook for 2 more minutes, stirring constantly, and set aside to cool for 10 minutes or more.

Fill wok half way with remaining peanut oil (or if you have a deep-frying contraption, use that), and heat to a medium-high temperature. While the oil is heating, begin to fill the eggroll wrappers. Place 1-2 tsp of filling in the lower third of a wrapper, fold the bottom up over the mixture, then fold the sides in and roll the wrapper. Seal with a dab of water. (Folding directions are on the back of the eggroll wrapper package.) Fry 3 or 4 at a time for 2 minutes, or until golden brown. Drain on paper towels. Serve with plum sauce.

Instant coffee (Recipe: outrageous brownies)

I was a Beatle-loving, poetry-writing, hooky-playing, hippie-dippy, sometimes-vegetarian, coffee-guzzling teenager.

My parents drank instant coffee, and when I was growing up, so did I.

At some point in my junior high years, I received one share of Chock Full o'Nuts stock as a gift, so I announced that, as a loyal stockholder, I would ("henceforth," I'm sure I said) drink only Chock Full. They didn't make instant coffee, so my mother went right on buying whatever brand she usually bought, and my principles disintegrated after a day or two of coffee withdrawal.

My parents were easy-going about the coffee thing, and I can't remember an age when I didn't drink it. Black, no cream, no sugar. I was no coffee sissy back then, though I add a bit of skim milk now.

One summer, during college, I worked for a consulting firm in Manhattan. I commuted into the city from New Jersey with my friend Judy, and we walked every morning from the subway station to our Park Avenue office buildings. We'd grab a cup of brewed coffee and a muffin — the astronomical cost of which meant it would have to suffice for both breakfast and lunch — and that, believe it or not, was when I first realized that even the worst fresh-brewed coffee tastes better than the best instant coffee.

So, why do I keep instant in the pantry?

One word: chocolate.

Coffee and chocolate have synergy; each enhances the flavor of the other. (Think mocha latte, or chocolate-covered coffee beans.) Incorporate a teaspoonful of instant coffee into chocolate cakes, candies, and cookies, and the chocolate flavor will pop.

Invented in 1901 by chemist Satori Kato of Chicago, instant coffee wasn't mass marketed until the Brazilian government approached Swiss conglomerate Nestlé about developing a dehydrated coffee that would have a longer shelf life and could be reconstituted with water. The result of this collaboration, Nescafé, was introduced on April 1, 1938, but with the outbreak of World War II, Nescafé didn't find much of a market in Europe. However, it was exported to the US, which helped re-launch the instant coffee in Europe by including it in American soldiers' meal rations. After the war, Nescafé's worldwide popularity grew, and by the 1950s and '60s, instant coffee became the norm.

Bakers have long known about the happy relationship between coffee and chocolate. The kitchen wizards at King Arthur Flour sell something they call baking espresso, $4.50 for two ounces, and their recipe for Chocolate-Brownie Torte looks absolutely outrageous.

Like these brownies.

OUTRAGEOUS BROWNIES
Gooey perfection, from The Barefoot Contessa Cookbook. Makes 20 brownies.

1 lb unsalted butter
1 lb plus 12 oz semisweet chocolate chips
6 oz unsweetened chocolate
6 extra-large eggs
3 Tbsp instant coffee granules
2 Tbsp pure vanilla extract
2-1/4 cups sugar
1-1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 Tbsp baking powder
1 tsp salt
3 cups chopped walnuts

Preheat the oven to 350°F. Butter and flour a 12x18x1-inch baking sheet.

Melt together the butter, 1 lb of chocolate chips, and the unsweetened chocolate in a medium bowl over simmering water. Allow to cool slightly. In a large bowl, stir (do not beat) together the eggs, coffee granules, vanilla, and sugar. Stir the warm chocolate mixture into the egg mixture and allow to cool to room temperature.

In a medium bowl, sift together 1 cup of flour, the baking powder, and salt. Add to the cooled chocolate mixture. Toss the walnuts and 12 oz of chocolate chips in a medium bowl with 1/4 cup of flour, then add them to the chocolate batter. Pour into the baking sheet.

Bake for 20 minutes, then rap the baking sheet against the ovenn shelf to force the air to escape from between the pan and the brownie dough. Bake for about 15 minutes, until a toothpick comes out clean. Do not overbake! Allow to cool thoroughly, refrigerate, and cut into 20 large squares.

Capers (Recipe: chicken marbella)

I love capers — the classy film "To Catch a Thief," the ditzy "How to Steal a Million", the ridiculous "Pink Panther", and anything funny with Robert Redford. 

I'm not quite as in love with the kind of capers you put in your mouth — and yet they are always in The Perfect Pantry, because sometimes a recipe calls for them, and nothing else will do.

The caper is the unopened flower bud of a wild shrub that thrives in Mediterranean climates, from Spain and France to the northern Sahara and Iran. The pink flowers have an extremely short life, opening in the morning and wilting by noon. Very early in the day, the unopened buds are picked by hand. They're allowed to wilt for a day or two, then are graded for size — nonpareil (0-7 mm), surfines (7-8 mm), capucines (8-9 mm), capottes (9-11 mm), fines (11-13 mm), and grusas (14+ mm). The smallest capers, nonpareils from France, are considered the best.

After grading, capers are immediately brined in vinegar, or dry-packed in salt, so they need to be rinsed before use. They pair well with artichokes, fish, fatty meats like lamb, olives, potatoes, and tomatoes, and are an essential component of tapenade. The taste is fresh, salty, pungent, and slightly flowery-lemony. In fact, they taste a bit like nasturtium buds, which make a good substitute.

The most famous dish featuring capers? Veal Piccata. The most elegant? Pancetta and Capers Crostini. The best-named? Swordfish a la Fauxvençal.

CHICKEN MARBELLA
This is the famous Silver Palate recipe, adapted only slightly. Serves 8-10, or more as part of a large buffet, which is my favorite way to serve it, but it's also perfect for potlucks or picnics.

12 boneless chicken breast halves, cubed
1 head garlic, peeled and chopped
1/4 cup dried oregano
Freshly ground black pepper   
1/2 cup red wine vinegar   
1/2 cup olive oil   
1 cup pitted prunes   
1/2 cup pitted green olives with pimiento (small size, or chop larger ones)
1/2 cup capers with a bit of juice   
6 bay leaves
1 cup light brown sugar   
1 cup white wine   
1/4 cup flat leaf parsley, chopped (optional)

In a large nonreactive (glass or stainless steel) bowl, combine chicken, garlic, oregano, pepper, vinegar, oil, prunes, olives, capers, and bay leaves. Cover and let marinate, refrigerated, overnight.

Preheat oven to 350°F. Arrange chicken in a single layer in shallow baking pan, and spoon marinade over it. Sprinkle with the brown sugar and pour in white wine. Bake 35-40 minutes, uncovered, basting frequently with pan juices. Place in a bowl, sprinkle with parsley. Best served at room temperature. Can be made ahead (a couple of days); this dish improves with age!

Powdered buttermilk (Recipe: apple spice bread)

When most people think of Rhode Island, they think of Newport mansions and the America's Cup.

Jazz festivals.

Clambakes on the beach.

Rhode Island Red chickens. (Okay, not everyone thinks of chickens....)

Until I moved here, I was one of those people. If you'd told me I was moving to apple country — that, in fact, I'd be buying my Macouns at an orchard named Apple Land — I would have said "hah!".

But here I am, smack dab in apple land, where I can buy Jonagolds and Cortlands, Mutsu and Macintosh, from August until March.

The thing about apple land is that it's miles from here to anything like a grocery store. So I always keep powdered buttermilk, an essential ingredient in my favorite apple spice bread and other baked goodies, in my pantry.

What is buttermilk? And what makes it cultured? 

First thing to know: real buttermilk contains no butter, and it's not so much milk as the liquid left behind after butter is churned. Commercial (cultured) buttermilk, however, is made by adding a lactic acid bacterial culture to skim milk, which is then left to ferment for 12-14 hours at approximately 69°F. The milk sours and thickens.

For some reason, cultured buttermilk is sold only in a quart size, which is fine if you're planning to drink it, but most recipes for baked goods call for much smaller quantities, and the opened quart container festers in the back of the fridge, turning into a science experiment. Using powdered buttermilk eliminates the "buy a quart, use a cup" dilemma.

Fresh buttermilk makes a great tenderizer for chicken and lamb; when baking, add powdered buttermilk to offset the chemical reaction of foods like blueberries that turn batters a dingy blue.

According to Irish folklore, drinking a glass of buttermilk will offset a hangover. Adding a clove of garlic to it will offset just about anything else that comes your way.

APPLE SPICE BREAD
I stumbled across this recipe in the New York Times Bread & Soup Cookbook by Yvonne Young Tarr at least a decade ago, and I've been making it ever since. It's definitely more cake than bread, and I always serve it as a dessert. The combination of apples and spices just screams "Fall is here!", and the arrival of apples at my local farmstand this week makes it irresistible.

2 cups all-purpose unbleached flour
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp salt
1/2 tsp nutmeg
1 tsp cinnamon
1/4 tsp ground cloves
1/4 cup whole wheat flour
1/2 cup vegetable shortening
3/4 cup light brown sugar
2 eggs
1 tsp pure vanilla extract
1 cup tart apples (Granny Smith, Macoun, or a mix -- approx. 3 large apples), grated
1/2 cup buttermilk (made from powdered buttermilk)

Preheat the oven to 350°F. Sift together first 6 ingredients. Stir in whole wheat flour. Set aside. In a large bowl, or stand mixer, cream the shortening and sugar. Add vanilla and eggs, and stir to combine. Then, alternating a little bit at a time, add dry ingredients, buttermilk and apples to the egg mixture. Spray a bread pan with PAM and pour in the mixture. Bake for 1 hour. Let cool for 15 minutes, then turn out onto a rack and let cool to desired serving temperature. Serve slightly warm with fresh whipped cream or vanilla ice cream, or serve cold. (Can be frozen.)

Instant couscous (Recipe: sweet couscous for a crowd)

Last winter, I treated the Ninecooks kitchen to a couscoussier, a double-decker pot used to create traditional Moroccan stews and couscous. The stew goes in the bottom, and rising steam infuses and plumps the couscous resting in the perforated top compartment.

It's a beautiful thing, but I have yet to use it.

I tried. I really did. The #1 Cooking Group made a menu called Preserving the Lemon, which included three dishes inspired by Moroccan cuisine. We used our tagines, but when it came time to set up the couscoussier — and start the slow process of rinsing, drying, steaming and steaming again — we looked at each other and, in unison, said, "Instant couscous!"

Can you blame us? After all, what could be easier? You bring liquid to a boil with some olive oil or butter, add the couscous, slap the cover on, and turn off the heat. The couscous cooks itself in 5 minutes, and all you have to do is fluff it.

Couscous is both a pasta (yes, really), and the name given to stews that often are served with it. Made from ground semolina, couscous originated in the cultures of North Africa and features in those cuisines much the way rice is a fundamental of Asian cooking. You can dress it up or dress it down, go sweet or savory, and mix it with any leftovers in your fridge (roast chicken, shrimp, bell pepper, grilled veggies, herbs).

By the way, couscous does not come in small, medium and large sizes. Real couscous — the small "grains" — dates to 13th Century Berber civilization. The larger Israeli couscous is an extruded and toasted pasta product, which dates to the 1950s, when it was created by an Israeli marketing firm.

One of these days, I'll take that couscous pot down from the shelf, dust it off, and make couscous the traditional way, steamed atop a spicy Moroccan chicken stew. But now I have to get dinner on the table, so it's off to the pantry for a box of the instant!

COUSCOUS FOR A CROWD
Invented for a dinner for International Honors Program students and faculty more than 20 years ago, this simplest of dishes was designed to feed 60 people — and used more than 2 pounds of pine nuts!  This quantity (4 servings) is a bit more manageable, but you can multiply to your heart's (and your guests') content.

1-1/2 cups water
1 tsp butter
1 cup instant couscous
1/4 cup pine nuts
1/2 cup raisins, a mix of brown and golden
Large pinch of cinnamon, to taste
Tiny pinch of salt
1/4 cup lemon juice
black pepper, to taste

In a small pan, bring water and butter to a boil. Stir in the couscous, cover, and remove from heat. Let stand 5 minutes. In the meantime, toast the pine nuts in a dry frying pan until just golden in color, 2-3 minutes. Mix all ingredients with the couscous and serve at room temperature.

Black vinegar (Recipe: cold aubergine salad)

For some reason — I'm not questioning — I've received many wonderful cookbooks as gifts this summer.

(PS: I love gifts of cookbooks much more than gifts of food, and just as much as gifts of wooden spoons and cooking utensils from faraway places...in case you were wondering, or making a list and checking it twice....)

Barbara brought an encyclopedic cookbook from Argentina, and Bev returned from Peru with a charming locally-published volume filled with recipes we can't quite understand (though both books have been translated into English, which might be part of the problem). Kate's son Max brought two local cookbooks from his travels in Turkey and Greece; I discovered them in my mailbox one Saturday morning — a delightful surprise.

Ted hit the bookstores in Toronto on a recent business trip, and came home with three treasures, including Flavours of Vancouver, a fundraiser for Save The Children Canada, and the original British edition of Ken Hom's Quick Wok: The Fastest Food in the East.

I always open books in the middle or at the end, never at the beginning. I don't know why. I read newspapers and magazines back-to-front, too. So, I stuck my thumb in the middle, opened Quick Wok, and landed on Cold Aubergine Salad, a recipe that calls for black vinegar.

It was a sign.

I've been using Chinese black vinegar for years, so it's always in my pantry. Black vinegar has a more assertive taste than regular old white vinegar, somewhat like a cross between balsamic and Worcestershire. The aging process gives it a slightly woodsy and smoky flavor. Because it is both sweet and rich, black vinegar is recommended for braised dishes, or as a marinade or dipping sauce.

The best quality black vinegar — also called black rice vinegar, Chinese brown rice vinegar, brown rice vinegar, Chinkiang vinegar, Chekiang vinegar, Chenkong vinegar, and Zhejiang vinegar — comes from the province of Chinkiang in southwestern China. Pulitzer-Prize winning author Pearl Buck lived in Chinkiang as a child, with her missionary parents.

Purchase black vinegar online or in your local Asian market; compared to balsamic, it's a bargain. Be sure to read the ingredient list carefully; I have several black vinegars in my pantry, from China and Taiwan, each a bit different. Look for one that lists rice, or something rice-like, as the first ingredient. Tasting is the only way to find the vinegar that will become your favorite.

KEN HOM'S COLD AUBERGINE SALAD
A lovely vegetarian dish from Quick Wok: The Fastest Food in the East. Aubergines are eggplants; any kind will taste great, though I prefer the long, skinny Japanese eggplant, which has fewer seeds. Serves 4 as a side dish.

1 lb aubergines

SAUCE
1-1/2 Tbsp sesame oil
1-2 tsp chili oil
2 Tbsp finely chopped garlic
1-1/2 Tbsp finely chopped fresh ginger
3 Tbsp finely chopped spring onions (scallions)
2 Tbsp light soy sauce
1 Tbsp sugar
1 Tbsp Chinese black vinegar

GARNISH
Handful of fresh coriander sprigs (optional)

Cut the aubergines into 2-inch squares. Do not peel them.

Next, set up a steamer or put a rack into a wok and fill it with 2 inches of water. Bring the water to the boil over a high heat. Put the aubergines onto a heatproof plate and carefully lower it into the steamer or onto the rack. Turn the heat to low and cover the wok tightly. Steam gently for 30-40 minutes or until the aubergines are very soft to the touch. When they are cooked, remove from the wok, transfer to a platter and allow to cool thoroughly. (Can be prepared ahead up to this point; cover and refrigerate the aubergines for up to 24 hours. Bring back to room temperature before completing the recipe.)

Now, make the sauce. Wipe the wok clean and reheat it. When it is hot, add the sesame and chili oils. When they are very hot and slightly smoking, add the garlic and stir-fry for 40 seconds.

Add the rest of the ingredients, mix thoroughly, and stir-fry for 1 minute. Remove the wok from the heat and allow the sauce to cool.

When you are ready to serve, pour the sauce evenly over the aubergines and toss well. Garnish with the coriander if using and serve at once at room temperature.