The Perfect Pantry

Arborio, carnaroli, vialone nano (Recipe: mushroom risotto)

Before two Persian restaurateurs opened an Italian trattoria in my Boston neighborhood sixteen years ago, I'd never tasted risotto.

I'd never heard of arborio rice.

I'd definitely never heard of carnaroli.

And I'd most definitely never heard of vialone nano.

All I knew was that I was in love with the rich, full taste of Azita Bina-Siebel's risotto ai funghi, flavored with dried porcini and fresh wild mushrooms, a touch of tomato paste, beef stock, sweet butter, and cream. Even when she took it off the menu, I ordered it. It was worth every one of the hundred million carbs and calories.

I've been making risotto ever since. Of course I've branched out to other flavorings, but I still follow Azita's method, as she so graciously taught it to me when I asked her for her recipe. There's always more than one variety of "risotto rice" in my pantry, but carnaroli, a variety that has been cultivated for only 40 years or so, is my first choice.

Arborio, carnaroli and vialone nano are short-grain rices with a high starch content, native to the Piedmont and Lombardy regions of northern Italy. Carnaroli grows nearly twice as tall as either arborio or vialone nano, making it extremely difficult to harvest (it must be harvested as soon as it matures, before the large grain falls over from its own weight!), and therefore more expensive.

Why do I like it? Why do chefs in Italy prefer it? Well, carnaroli's larger grain plumps to three times its size when cooked, holding its shape while absorbing a staggering amount of liquid along the way, which results in an extremely creamy risotto.

Azita and her brother Babak closed their ristorante in 1995, and opened Lala Rokh, a delightful Persian restaurant featuring recipes from their family heritage, on Boston's Beacon Hill. I'll always be grateful for their early foray into Italian cooking, and for teaching me the how of risotto.

RISOTTO AI FUNGHI
An amalgamation of every great mushroom risotto recipe I've ever tried. Note: if you use homemade chicken stock, you'll need to add salt when you add the stock to the rice. Serves 4 for main course, 6-8 for appetizer.

6 cups chicken broth (I use Swanson 99% fat free, but homemade is great, if you have it)
1 cup water
2 oz dried porcini mushrooms
2-3 Tbsp olive oil
1/3 cup finely minced onion
2  cups Carnaroli rice (or arborio, or vialone nano)
1 cup white wine
12-14 oz fresh mushrooms (button, cremini, shiitake, or a mix), sliced
1 Tbsp unsalted butter
1/3 cup Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese, grated
Black pepper, to taste (be generous!)

Bring broth to boil in a large pot and set aside at a simmer on the stove. In a microwave, boil 1 cup water in a glass measuring cup, then add dried mushrooms, and set aside. Heat oil in a large straight-sided sauté pan. Add onion, and sauté until soft. Stir in the rice, making sure to coat each grain, and let toast for 1-2 minutes. Remove pan from heat, and stir in the wine. When the liquid is absorbed, begin adding broth, 1 ladleful at a time, letting each bit of liquid be absorbed. In the meantime, when the dried mushrooms are soft, strain and reserve the liquid. After 3 cups of broth are added, pour in the mushroom soaking water, being careful to leave behind the sediment in the bottom of the measuring cup. After 5 cups of broth are added, stir in the fresh mushrooms. Continue adding one more cup of broth, reserving 1/4 cup. Stir until mushrooms have given off their liquid and almost all of the liquid in the pan has been absorbed by the rice. Remove pan from heat. Add butter and cheese, and stir vigorously for 2 minutes. Add in reserved 1/4 cup broth, if needed to finish cooking the rice. Season to taste with lots of black pepper, and salt if needed, and serve immediately.

Dill weed (Recipe: leek and red potato soup)

I have laryngitis.

Total, whispering, can't-even-croak-like-a-frog laryngitis.

It's all that's left of a brutal head cold. My nose has stopped running, my appetite has returned, and now I want soup — something rich and hearty, but not dairy (it might curdle from all of the citrus I'm pouring down my sore throat).

I also have potatoes. I have leeks. I have chicken stock. And, though the dill in my herb garden has gone to seed, I have some lovely green dried dill weed on my spice rack.

Native to Central Asia, dill is a member of the parsley family. The fronds, which have a sweet taste, are popular in the cuisines of Scandinavia, Russia, Germany, Iran, and other Mediterranean countries. One of the only herbs used in the cooking of Baltic countries, dill very likely migrated north via medieval monks, who grew it for its medicinal properties. Without dill, there would be no gravlax, no borscht, and no dill pickles. Dill marries well with fish, beets, beans, rice, potatoes, zucchini, carrots and yogurt.

A related, less fragrant species of dill grows in India, where it's used to flavor lentil and bean dishes. If you're following an Indian recipe, you might need to reduce the amount of dill by 30-50%.

The Romans believed dill was an effective stimulant for gladiators. Maybe it's just what I need to get back on my feet.

LEEK AND RED POTATO SOUP
You can enrich this soup with a bit of cream at the end, but you really don't need it. Serves 6-8.

3-4 large leeks
2 Tbsp olive oil
2 ribs celery, chopped
2 quarts chicken stock (homemade or unsalted canned)
6 large or 12-14 small red-skinned new potatoes, unpeeled, cut into chunks
Enough water to just cover (if needed)
Dill weed and black pepper to taste
Sea salt, to taste
Garlic croutons, for garnish

Wash and slice leeks, and saute in a stockpot with celery in 2 Tbsp olive oil until limp but not brown. Add remaining ingredients except dill, pepper and croutons, and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to low-medium and cook until potatoes are tender. Puree entire potful with an immersion blender, or in a food processor (in batches, if necessary) and return to stockpot. Season generously with dill and black pepper, and salt if you really need it. Add more stock or water if the soup is too thick. Serve hot with garlic croutons. If you're going to serve this cold, remember that you will need a bit of extra seasoning and salt.

Coconut milk (Recipe: Thai tofu and winter squash stew)

A few years ago, Ted and I visited Trinidad, where we stayed with a family in the town of Arima, a lively Afro-Caribbean community in the center of the country.

Each day we'd set off on explorations, to the Asa Wright Bird Sanctuary, a steel pan competition, the tar pits in the south, or the capital city, Port-of-Spain. And everywhere we went, we passed open-back trucks parked along the side of the road, with hand-lettered signs:

ICE COLD NUTS

Sometimes,

COLD NUTS

and, occasionally,

$1 NUTS.

The nuts were ripe green giant coconuts, and when you purchased one, the seller would hack off the top with a machete. He'd stick a straw in it and hand it to you, like an oversized tropical drink at a tiki bar, and you could sip the very cold liquid inside — entirely refreshing in the hot Caribbean climate.

I was expecting coconut milk, the stuff that comes in a can. Instead, out came coconut water, also referred to as coconut juice or milk, though it's not milk at all.

Coconut milk — also called coconut cream (are you confused yet?) — is made by passing coconut meat through a grater and then squeezing it to extract the milky fluid, which is thinned with water. The resulting milk is smooth and thick, with a slightly sweet flavor. In the can (which is how we usually buy it), the thick "cream" floats to the top, and can be scooped off for recipes that call for coconut cream. The thinner milk remains at the bottom. Shaking the can redistributes the creamy bits.

Coconut milk plays an important role in the cuisines of Thailand, Malaysia, the Philippines, Hawaii, the West Indies, and Sri Lanka.

Those who are limiting their intake of cholesterol should go easy on coconut milk; while it contains no cholesterol, it boasts 552 calories per cup, of which a whopping 88% is fat. And that's what makes it taste so good.

THAI TOFU AND WINTER SQUASH STEW
Great for potluck, when you want to bring something meatless. Recipe adapted from Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone by Deborah Madison. Serves 6.

3 large leeks, white parts only
4 Tbsp peanut oil
4 garlic cloves, finely chopped
4 serrano chiles, minced (remove seeds and ribs for mild heat; leave in for hot!)
2 Tbsp finely chopped fresh ginger root
2 Tbsp curry powder, sweet or hot, to taste
2 tsp light brown sugar
6 Tbsp mushroom soy sauce (or regular soy)
2 14-oz cans unsweetened coconut milk
3 lbs butternut squash, peeled and diced into 1/2-inch cubes
Kosher salt
2 10-oz packages extra-firm tofu, drained, cut into 1/2-inch cubes
Juice of 2 limes
2/3 cup unsalted roasted peanuts, coarsely chopped
1/2 cup chopped cilantro

Halve the leeks lengthwise, then cut them crosswise into 1/4-inch pieces. Wash well in a bowl of water, then drain.

Heat the oil in a wide soup pot. Add the leeks and cook over fairly high heat, stirring frequently, until partially softened, about 3 minutes. Add the garlic, most of the chiles, and ginger; cook 1 minute more, then add the curry, sugar and soy sauce. Reduce the heat to medium, scrape the pan, and cook for a few minutes more. Add 3 cups water, the coconut milk, squash, and 1 tsp salt. Bring to a boil, then lower the heat and simmer, covered, for 15 minutes. Add the tofu to the stew once the squash is almost tender, then simmer until it’s done. Taste for salt and add the lime juice.

Serve the stew over rice with the cilantro, peanuts and remaining chile scattered over the top.

Mexican chocolate (Recipe: mole colorado)

You've got to hand it to Moctezuma II.

He may have lost the entire Aztec empire to Spain, but the guy did introduce his conqueror, Hernando Cortés, to the earliest version of hot chocolate (cacahuatl, the Nahuatl word for "cacao water"). And when the victorious Cortés returned to Spain, he brought chocolate to the king, who loved it, and declared it the King's Official Drink. Spanish royals who married into French nobility brought chocolate to France, and so on and so on as the upper class of Europe intermarried. Isn't that sweet?

Actually, it is sweet. The Mexican chocolate we buy today — most often under the brand names Ibarra, made in Guadalajara, and Abuelita, made by Nestlé and more common in Mexico — is chocolate ground with sugar and cinnamon. And from what I've read, the addition of sugar, cinnamon, almonds or vanilla can be attributed either to chefs in Spain, or to Spanish nuns in the state of Puebla.

What goes around, comes around.

Sweet Mexican chocolate, sold in small disks, makes amazing hot chocolate, cookies, and decadent pecan pie bars. And it's a fundamental ingredient in molé, where it tempers and deepens the flavor of chile peppers. You can substitute unsweetened chocolate, or even dark chocolate, though you'll need to adjust the sugar and spice proportions in most recipes, but it's easy to find real Mexican chocolate in the supermarket, even in my small Rhode Island town.

In Mexico, you froth your hot chocolate with a wooden utensil called a molinillo, held between the palms and rotated back and forth. (We have four in the Ninecooks kitchen.) During the chorus of the popular sing-song rhyme below, children rub their palms together and pretend to "stir" the chocolate. They repeat the verse, faster and faster each time. (Listen to the Chocolate Song, and teach it to your children.)

Bate, bate, chocolate,   
Tu nariz de cacahuate   
Uno, dos, tres, CHO!
Uno, dos, tres, CO!
Uno, dos, tres, LA!
Uno, dos, tres, TE!
Chocolate, chocolate!
Bate, bate, chocolate! 
Bate, bate, bate, bate,
Bate, bate, CHO-CO-LA-TE!

MOLÉ COLORADO
There's a great story behind this recipe, which was given to me by Señora Amparo Gonzales at the Restaurant Regis, Tlacolula, Oaxaca, Mexico. (To read about this recipe, click here and download the free sample menu.) Serves 8-10.

12 chicken thighs, bone-in and skin on
1 Tbsp olive oil
Salt and pepper to taste

4 cloves garlic, chopped
1 medium onion, chopped
2-3 Tbsp canola oil
10 ancho chiles, dried
2 Tbsp raisins
1/4 cup sliced almonds
1/2 tsp cinnamon
8 grinds black pepper, or to taste
1 tsp dried Mexican oregano
3 whole cloves
2 tsp dried thyme leaf
1/4 cup lightly toasted sesame seeds
1/3 cup crushed oyster crackers (or soda crackers – something with low salt content)
1 cup canned ground tomato (or tomato puree, or fresh peeled, seeded chopped tomato)
a 3" x 1/2" piece of Mexican chocolate (Ibarra or Abuelita)
2 cups or more chicken broth
salt and sugar to taste
1 package smallest size corn or spinach tortillas (or whole wheat, or flour – whatever you prefer)

Preheat oven to 325°F. Rub chicken thighs with olive oil, and sprinkle with salt and freshly ground black pepper. Place skin side up in a roasting pan just large enough to hold them. Add 1/4 inch of cold water. Cover with aluminum foil. Roast in the oven for 1-1/2 hours or as long as it takes to complete the rest of the menu. (Believe it or not, the chicken will not overcook. It will get more and more tender.)

Soak the chili peppers in warm water to soften, then remove stems. Drain and chop roughly.

In a small dry (no oil) frying pan, toast the sesame seeds until they just turn light brown. Remove from pan and set aside.

In a 3-1/2 quart pot or deep frying pan, saute the onion and garlic in canola oil until the onions are translucent. Add the chiles and saute for 2-3 minutes. Add raisins, almonds, spices, sesame seeds, and crackers. Stir constantly over low-medium heat for a few minutes, until you have a thick paste and all ingredients are cooked through. Puree mixture in a food processor with a few tablespoons of broth, and return mixture to the pan. Add tomatoes, chocolate and enough chicken broth to make a smooth sauce. Continue stirring and cook until the chocolate is melted and the sauce is thickened, but still a little bit runny. Add more broth (or water) as needed to achieve desired consistency.  Add salt and sugar if needed.

In a dry skillet or griddle, heat tortillas on both sides until lightly browned but still pliable (1 minute on each side on a hot griddle).

Remove chicken from the oven and place on a serving platter. Cover with molé sauce, and serve with tortillas.

Baking soda (Recipe: raisin-banana scones)

Lately I've been watching the very cool trivia show Cash Cab, on the Discovery Channel.

Ben Bailey, cabbie extraordinaire, cruises around Manhattan, picking up people in his taxi, and driving flawlessly while simultaneously looking into the television camera. He asks his passengers a series of questions, and for each correct answer they win cash, until they either arrive at their destination, or miss three answers and get put out on the street.

Most of the questions have to do with pop culture, history, politics, famous people, books. Easy-peasy, I think, as I answer along from the comfort of my couch.

So, for all the money, here's the next question: Is baking soda alkali or acid?

The clock is ticking, and I'm about to get my third-strike-you're-out. I know that whichever it is, baking powder is the opposite, but I never can remember which is which.

For those who share this mental block, here's my little mnemonic device: in alphabetical order, acid comes before alkali, and powder comes before soda. Baking powder = acid, baking soda = alkali.

According to the indispensable Food Lover's Companion, when baking soda (a.k.a. bicarbonate of soda), an alkali, is combined with an acid ingredient such as buttermilk, honey, yogurt or molasses, it produces carbon dioxide gas bubbles, which causes a dough or batter to rise.

Baking soda neutralizes the acidity, and also makes baked goods more tender. Because it reacts instantly when moistened, baking soda always should be mixed with dry ingredients before adding any liquid, and the resulting batter should go into the oven right away. For example, Irish soda bread, made with baking soda rather than yeast, comes together quickly, rises in the oven quickly — and gets stale quickly. Such is the mixed blessing of using baking soda as a leavening agent.

Food historians believe the use of baking soda dates back to ancient civilization, but modern baking soda dates to the mid-19th Century, well before the days of game shows in taxi cabs.


RAISIN-BANANA SCONES
Gloria Belknap, a French-trained chef who ran a wonderful bed and breakfast in Boston's South End, taught me this recipe years ago. Substitute any dried fruit, apples and cinnamon, oranges, lemon zest or nuts; it's the formula that counts. Makes 10 large fluffy scones.

1 cup raisins, soaked in hot water to cover for 5 minutes, drained
2 cups unbleached flour
2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp baking soda
2 Tbsp sugar
1 stick (1/2 cup) butter, cut into chunks
1/2 banana, cut into chunks
1 egg yolk
3/4 cup lowfat plain yogurt or milk
1/4 tsp red wine vinegar

Preheat the oven to 400°F. In a food processor, blender or large bowl, mix the flour, baking powder, baking soda and sugar; add the butter and pulse the processor on and off a few times until the mixture resembles a coarse meal. In a separate bowl blend the egg yolk, yogurt or milk, and wine vinegar, and add to the processor along with the banana and raisins. Mix until all ingredients are just incorporated; do not overmix. Drop in large spoonfuls onto an ungreased baking sheet, and bake for 15-20 minutes, or until lightly browned. Serve with butter and jam; or cool the scones to room temperature, wrap and freeze.

Pimentón (Recipe: paella a la Valenciana)

In fourteen hundred ninety-two
Columbus sailed the ocean blue.

He made it to Florida
But didn't find any gold.
So, he journeyed again
With new ships and men,
And this time — Eureka!
He discovered paprika.

(And I've discovered a previously-hidden talent for crafting really bad poetry.)

Lucky for us, he brought that paprika (also known as pepper) back to Spain, where he presented it to his patrons, King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella, at a monastery in the Extremadura. The monks planted the seeds, and today the descendants of those original peppers are cultivated throughout that region of southwest Spain, in the alluvial soils along the river in La Vera.

Each Fall, entire families go out into the fields to harvest the small, round peppers. The peppers are placed in special drying houses where they are smoked over oak wood for 10-15 days, hand-turned every few hours, to create Pimentón de la Vera, a regional specialty that was granted a Denominacíon de Origen (D.O.) in recognition of its unique quality. Like Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese or real balsamic vinegar, each tin of pimentón comes with a mark of authenticity.

Wait a minute....isn't paprika from Hungary? Yes, but it's not pimentón. Legend tells us that when King Carlos abdicated the throne of Spain in 1555 and retired to the Yuste monastery, he tasted pimentón, loved it, and recommended it to his sister, Queen Mary of Hungary. So, if you believe the legend, the two paprikas really are related.

Like cumin but a bit sweeter, pimentón imparts a slightly smoky flavor to any dish. The defining flavoring in chorizo, the lusty Spanish sausage, pimentón adds amazing depth to stews, chili, soups, and roasted potatoes. Pimentón comes in three varieties: sweet (dulce), bittersweet (agridulce), and hot (picante).

Try them all. Though at first I added pimentón to my pantry for paella, I've taken to sprinkling a bit here and there with beans, rice, eggs and fish, too, for a subtle and mysterious flavor boost. Olé!

PAELLA A LA VALENCIANA
There's no better source for paella recipes than Penelope Casas' Paella, which is where this recipe originated. I've adapted the ingredients a bit, but I follow her method faithfully, and my paella comes out perfect every time. Serves 6-8.

2 cups chicken stock, homemade or low-sodium canned
3 sprigs fresh rosemary
Kosher or sea salt
1/4 tsp crumbled thread saffron
3 lb chicken pieces, bone-in, a combination of thighs, drumsticks, and breast (cut into chunks)
8 Tbsp olive oil
1 green bell pepper, finely chopped
1 medium onion, finely chopped
8 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 lb green beans (preferably broad, flat beans, but round ones are fine), ends snapped off and cut in half crosswise
1/2 lb snap peas or snow peas, strings removed
I box frozen artichoke hearts (already quartered)
2 medium tomatoes, finely chopped
2 Tbsp minced flat-leaf parsley
1 tsp Spanish smoked paprika (mild or hot, to taste)
3 cups imported Spanish bomba or valencia rice, or Arborio
1 roasted red pepper (good quality from a jar), sliced lengthwise into 1/4 inch strips

Heat the broth, rosemary, salt, saffron, and 4 cups water in a covered pot over the lowest heat for 20 minutes. Remove the rosemary.

Sprinkle chicken pieces all over with salt.

Keep the broth hot over the lowest heat. Preheat the oven to 400°F for gas, 450°F for electric.

Heat the oil over fairly high heat in a paella pan measuring 17-18 inches at its widest point (or in a shallow casserole of similar size), over 2 burners if necessary. Sauté the chicken over high heat until brown (it should not be fully cooked), about 5 minutes, turning once. (Be careful -- this will splatter.) Add the green pepper, onion and garlic, and cook until slightly softened, keeping the heat high. Stir in the green beans, snap peas, and artichokes, and cook on high for about 3 minutes. Add the tomatoes and parsley, cook 1 minute, then mix in the paprika.

Stir in the rice and coat well with the pan mixture. Pour in the hot broth and bring to a boil. Taste for salt and continue to boil about 5 minutes, stirring and rotating the pan occasionally, until the rice is no longer soupy but enough liquid remains to continue cooking the rice, about 5 minutes.

Arrange the red pepper strips over the rice in a "wagon wheel" pattern, and transfer pan to the oven. Cook, uncovered, until the rice is almost al dente, 10-13 minutes in a gas oven, 15-20 minutes in electric.

Remove to a warm spot, cover with foil, and let sit 5-10 minutes, until the rice is cooked to taste. Return the paella to the stove over high heat and cook, without stirring, until a crust of rice forms at the bottom of the pan (be careful not to burn it). This will take 3-4 minutes.

*Note: the crust is called the socarrat — a thin layer of rice at the bottom of the pan that becomes brown and crusty and is considered the quintessence of the paella. It is scraped off after the rice is served and passed around so everyone can have a share of it!

Canned black beans (Recipe: South End Deep Root Chili)

Once upon a time, a woman named Mary entered a chili contest, a benefit event for one of her causes, and she enlisted the help of her sister and two friends to come up with a signature chili.

She'd seen a recipe for a black bean chili in a magazine, and we started from there. (Cat's out of the bag now...I was one of the recruits.) We worked on our recipe, tweaking a bit, having fun, and — in a stroke of genius — adding some pasta at the end, until we all were pleased with it.

On the day of the contest, I prepared a large vat of our concoction, which we named South End Deep Root Chili in honor of the mega-toothache Mary had on the day we first tested our recipe. Off she went to the contest. There were nine other entrants, all of whom had made traditional chili.

The cook at the station next to Mary's came over for a taste.

"That's not chili," he proclaimed. "It's going to win, but it's not chili."

And win it did. The prize was a crockpot, which the four of us agreed to share (!). I don't know what became of the crockpot, but the chili has become a house favorite, and that's the primary reason canned black beans are always in my pantry. (I stock dried beans, too, and I'll write about them at a later date, but for this chili the canned beans work well.)

Black beans — a.k.a. turtle beans, black Spanish beans, Tampico beans, or Venezuelan beans — are native to Peru, and were introduced to Europe in the 15th Century by Spanish explorers returning from their voyages to the New World. Portuguese traders brought the beans to Africa and Asia, which explains their popularity in the cuisines of almost every culture. An inexpensive source of good protein, black beans are important in the cuisines of Mexico, Brazil, Cuba, Guatemala and the Dominican Republic.

Black beans' high dietary fiber content makes them a good choice for those with high cholesterol or blood sugar control issues. Research now shows that the darker the seed coat of the beans (and how much darker can you get than black?), the higher the level of antioxidants. They're also rich in iron, tryptophan, manganese, folate — and a one-cup serving provides 172% of the recommended daily amount of molybdenum, which breaks down the sulfites found in prepared foods and red wine.

Canned black beans have many uses, from salad to soup, to feijoada, the national dish of Brazil. However, for Moros y Cristianos, the famous Cuban black beans and rice dish, start with dry beans, so you can control the texture and the saltiness of the finished dish.

SOUTH END DEEP ROOT CHILI
This recipe, which appeared in my cookbook, South End Cooks: Recipes from a Boston Neighborhood, is unconventional but delicious, and like all chili recipes, proportions are not important. Great to serve to your vegan friends (use vegetable stock instead of chicken stock), and super for potlucks. Serves 8-10; can be halved, or doubled.

1-1/2 cups unsweetened apple juice
4 cups diced onion
1 cup diced celery
1 cup diced carrots
6 Tbsp minced garlic
4 tsp ground cumin
10 tsp chili powder, or to taste
4 cans black beans, drained, rinsed and drained again
28 oz chicken or vegetable stock
4 tsp lemon honey (or 4 tsp plain honey + 2 tsp fresh squeezed lemon or lime juice)
1 small dried chili pepper, crushed, or hot sauce to taste
1 28-oz can diced or chopped tomatoes, with juice
1/2 cup orzo (or other tiny pasta)
1/4 tsp salt (taste first if using storebought stock)
Black pepper to taste
Monterey Jack cheese, grated (for garnish)
Sour cream (for garnish)

Preheat a large heavy pot or Dutch oven on medium-high heat. Add apple juice and bring to a boil. Add onions and sauté, stirring, for 2 minutes. Add celery, carrots, garlic, cumin and chili powder. Continue stirring for 3 minutes. Add black beans, stock, honey, lemon, chili pepper and tomatoes. Cover and bring to a boil, then reduce heat to low and simmer, covered, for 15 minutes, stirring occasionally to make sure the beans don't stick. Add orzo, salt and pepper, and continue cooking, covered, stirring frequently, until the orzo is cooked (8-10 minutes). Serve hot, topped with Monterey Jack cheese and/or sour cream. Can be made ahead; cool, cover and refrigerate.

Hoisin sauce (Recipe: asparagus wonton wraps)

I have a theory.

The world divides into three kinds of people: sugar, salt, spicy.

Which are you? Do you crave that last bit of icing in the mixing bowl, or the cream-filled pastry at the bake shop? Or, like me, do you open your mouth and let a bag of potato chips march in? Or — also like me — would you toss everything aside for a nose-dribblingly-hot, spicy bowl of jambalaya?

Whatever your type, hoisin sauce just might tickle your taste buds.

Hoisin (pronounced HOY-SIN), known as Peking Duck Sauce everywhere but in Peking/Beijing, is both a condiment and an ingredient. Made from sweet potato, fermented soybeans, sesame seeds, garlic, chile pepper, wheat flour, salt and sugar, it's a thick, almost gloppy Mandarin-style dipping sauce, reddish-brown in color. (Did I mention that sugar is the first ingredient listed? No wonder it tastes so good!)

Also called Chinese barbecue sauce, hoisin — more sweet than spicy — is most often used on its own, with Asian dishes from dumplings to mu shu pancakes, but it combines well with other ingredients (like peanut butter, honey, and soy sauce) to form more complex grilling and dipping sauces. It's fantastic on stir-fried greens.

Look for hoisin in the Asian foods section of your supermarket. In my Asian grocery, I can buy hoisin in squeeze bottles — convenient, and it lasts forever in the fridge.

ASPARAGUS WONTON WRAPS
These appetizers are fast and easy, unusual, and strangely addictive. Instead of hoisin, use any mustard, wasabi, oyster sauce or condiment of your choice. Makes 24.

12 asparagus spears, trimmed
48 square wonton skins
2-3 Tbsp hoisin (or wasabi mayo, grey poupon mustard, etc.), or more as needed
3 cups peanut oil, for deep frying

Cut each asparagus spear in half crosswise. Place 2 wonton skins on a work surface, keeping remaining skins covered with a damp cloth to prevent drying out. Lightly spread 1 skin with a tiny bit of hoisin. Place second skin on top. Place 1 piece of asparagus diagonally across one corner of stacked skins. Brush edges of skin with water. Roll asparagus, allowing one end to protrude. Repeat with remaining wonton skins, hoisin and asparagus.

In a large wok, heat oil to 375°F or until a small bread cube dropped in oil sizzles and turns golden. Add wraps in batches and fry until golden, about 2 minutes. Using a wire mesh skimmer, remove to paper towels to drain. Serve hot.

Chicken broth (Recipe: turkey-escarole soup)

For a few years — I'll admit it now — I was a stock snob.

Only homemade chicken stock would make the cut in my kitchen. No bouillion cubes, no cans, no boxes, no (gasp!) dehydrated powders. I made stock from raw chickens and roasted chickens. My freezer harbored baggies of necks and wing tips, and the occasional smashed carcass.

I felt virtuous.

And then, of course, the day came when I desperately wanted homemade soup, but had no homemade stock. Off I went to our village grocery store, where I read the labels on all of the cans and boxes of chicken broth. I purchased a few different ones, including organic, and did a little taste test. And I discovered Swanson's 99% Fat Free, which is lower in sodium and higher in taste than any of the packaged chicken broths I tried. (By the way, the packaged organic broth all tasted like dish water.)

I'm using the terms stock and broth interchangeably, though technically they might be different. In my unscientific way, I distinguish stock and broth by their intended use in my cooking. Both are liquids in which chicken and vegetables have been cooked. Stock will go on to form the basis of more complex dishes; I call it broth when I reduce the stock by one third, to a greater strength of flavor. Stock and broth often are made with chicken feet, necks or bones, which have a higher gelatin content that enriches the stock. More often, I make stock with the carcass of a roasted chicken, tossed in a pot with an onion, celery, carrot, a few black peppercorns and a bay leaf.

Now, like many cooks, I stock up on Swanson's 99% Fat Free in boxes and homemade stock in the freezer. Sometimes I combine them in my favorite soup recipes. My only caution: if using canned or packaged stock/broth, do not add any salt to your recipe before you taste. Some packaged stocks, even those marked low-sodium, are incredibly salty, and will provide all the salt you need for your recipe.

Chicken broth in a box will never be as virtuous as homemade broth, but you can't beat the convenience.

TURKEY-ESCAROLE SOUP
This recipe first appeared earlier last winter in my Tidbits e-newsletter, and judging by the number of people who've written to tell me they've tried it, this is a great soup. It started, as many great soups do, as a refrigerator clean-out. Don't forget the parm rind; it makes all the difference. Serves 6-8.

1-1/2 lb ground turkey
2 tsp olive oil
1 onion, chopped
2 zucchini, chopped
8 oz mushrooms, sliced
1 tsp red pepper flakes, or to taste
2 tsp dried thyme leaf
1/2 tsp black pepper
1 large head escarole, washed, roughly chopped
6 oz ground or chopped canned tomato, or fresh tomato
4 cups chicken stock (low-sodium storebought, or homemade)
1 cup water, if needed to cover
1/4 cup small pasta (orzo, pilaf noodles, spaghetti broken into small pieces, etc.)
Rind of Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese (the secret ingredient) -- any size you have

In a stock pot, heat olive oil over medium-high heat, and sauté ground turkey until no longer pink. Add onion, zucchini and mushrooms, and sauté until onions are translucent. Stir in pepper flakes, oregano and black pepper. Add escarole, and stir to combine. When the escarole is just slightly wilted, add tomato and stock, water if needed, pasta, and the cheese rind. After the escarole has cooked down, add a cup or two of water, if the soup seems too thick. Reduce heat to low, and simmer for 15 minutes. If you used homemade chicken stock, you may wish to add salt and more pepper, to taste.

Sweet cream butter (Recipe: lemon-currant biscotti)

A dairy cow weighs more than 1,000 pounds.

A butter cow — specifically, the Iowa State Fair's famous Butter Cow — weighs 600 pounds, enough butter to coat 19,200 slices of toast.

I know what you're thinking.

Salted butter, or unsalted?

(Are you really thinking that, or are you wondering, like I am, what happens to all of that butter at the end of the fair? Does the cow melt in the heat? Do cow birds eat butter? Does the Butter Cow sleep in a barn at night? Does it moo?)

Good questions. The Butter Cow is made from pure cream butter. If the cream is pasteurized, the result is called sweet cream butter, also known in my house as regular butter. If the cream is not pasteurized, the product is called raw cream butter. To both kinds, salt is added for taste, and as a bit of a preservative.

Everyone remembers, from grade-school visits to the the local farm, that butter is churned from cream. What we think of as butter comes from cow's milk, which produces the sweetest butter; in other parts of the world, butter also comes from water buffalo, camel, goat, sheep, llama, reindeer and yak. In fact, in Tibet, a host may place a bit of yak butter on the head of a guest as a gift for a happy new year.

Today's ingredient makes me wonder about how easily I'm seduced by packaging. Yes, the box is beautiful, and that's probably why Kate's Homemade Butter caught my eye in the local supermarket a few years ago, but I promise you that it's the taste that keeps me buying this particular item for my pantry.

Made by the Patry family in Old Orchard Beach, Maine, Kate's contains only sea salt and fresh pasteurized cream from cows that are not treated with growth hormones, and it's churned in small batches. The butter is a lovely pale yellow, lacking that supernatural glow that comes from artificial food coloring. It also lacks the harsh salty taste of many commercial brands; the sea salt provides a gentle enhancement to the inherent flavor of the sweet butter.

Whole Foods and other local markets carry Kate's here in New England. If you can't find it, look for farm-fresh, small-batch butters in your supermarket. They cost more, but they're worth it.

LEMON-CURRANT JOHNNYCAKE BISCOTTI
I named these after the local Rhode Island cornmeal used to make johnnycakes, which are a kind of thin pancake. Of course you can substitute white or yellow stoneground cornmeal for the Kenyon’s, or use the same recipe to make orange-cranberry biscotti. Makes 20 cookies.

1/2 cup (1 stick) butter, softened
1 cup granulated sugar
2 large eggs
1 tsp pure vanilla extract
Zest of 2 large lemons
Juice of 1 lemon
2-1/2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour
1/2 cup Kenyon’s stoneground (white) cornmeal
1-1/2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp kosher salt
1 cup currants

Preheat oven to 325°F. Line a baking sheet with a Silpat or parchment paper.

In a stand mixer fitted with the paddle, or in a large bowl with a hand mixer, beat butter and sugar at medium speed until well blended. Add eggs, vanilla, lemon zest and lemon juice, and beat until combined. Add flour, cornmeal, baking powder and salt, and beat until combined. Stir in the currants.

Turn the dough onto a very lightly floured countertop and bring together in a ball. The dough will be sticky, but carry on! Divide dough in half, and place each half on the baking sheet, a few inches apart. Pat each half into a log approximately 10 inches long, 2 inches wide, and 1 inch high. (You may need to wet your hands to keep the dough from sticking.) Place baking sheet in the oven for 25-30 minutes, or until the logs start to turn golden at the edges. Remove from the oven and, with a wide spatula, transfer logs to a wire rack to cool for 15 minutes.

Using a very sharp non-serrated knife, slice each log into 3/4-inch slices, and place slices on their side on the baking sheet. They will not expand, so the slices can be placed 1/4 inch apart. There will be some crumbling, because of the cornmeal in the dough. Don’t worry – let them crumble! Return biscotti to the oven and bake until golden brown on top, about 20 minutes. Turn the biscotti over, and bake an additional 15-20 minutes, until the biscotti are brown and crisp.

Transfer to a wire rack to cool completely. Store in an airtight container.