The Perfect Pantry

Kasha/buckwheat groats (Recipe: kasha varnishkes)

The Ninecooks World Cuisines Cooking Group — yes, nine of us! — gathers in my kitchen every six weeks or so, to explore the cuisine of a different country or region.

This week, we were off to western Russia, with recipes from Moldavia, Byelorussia (aka "White Russia"), and Georgia. And, though most of the recipes were new to me, I included one from my own family's heritage: kasha varnishkes.

Kasha is buckwheat kernels that have been stripped of their inedible outer coating and crushed into smaller pieces, and then toasted in oil to bring out the nutty flavor. While many people think that buckwheat is a cereal grain, it's actually a fruit seed related to rhubarb and sorrel.

Like onions or garlic or Miracle Whip, kasha is one of those things I'm never without. I don't use it often, but I know it's standing by in the pantry whenever a craving hits (usually around the time the cold weather arrives in Rhode Island). The ultimate comfort food, Kasha varnishkes makes a great vegetarian main dish, though in my family it's the traditional side served with my grandmother's brisket recipe. You can use kasha to stuff baked squash, toss it with sauteéd mushrooms, or instead of bread-based stuffing for turkey, too.

Buckwheat contains no gluten, making kasha sans varnishkes (bow-tie egg noodles) perfect for anyone with wheat allergies.

(Hmmm...kasha without varnishkes? Like separating Abbott from Costello....)

KASHA VARNISHKES
One of the women in the World Cuisines group asked whether, if you have to substitute on the varnishkes, it's the bow-tie part or the egg part that's most important. I had to think about that! For me, definitely, it's got to be bow ties, so use farfalle if you can't find the egg noodles in your market. Serves 6-8 as a side, or 4 as a main course.

1 box Goodman's egg bow-ties, or 1 lb farfalle, prepared according to package directions
1 large onion, diced
1 Tbsp canola oil
1 cup kasha (medium granulation)
1 egg, lightly beaten
2 cups liquid (water or, preferably, homemade chicken stock or low-sodium canned chicken stock)
2 Tbsp butter, optional
1/2 tsp salt, or more to taste
Black pepper to taste

In a small frying pan, sauté the onion in canola oil.  Set aside.

In a bowl, mix the kasha and beaten egg with a fork until all of the kernels are coated with the egg.  In a small pot or in the microwave, bring the liquid, butter, salt and pepper to a boil. Set aside.

In another small pot over medium heat, cook the kasha, stirring constantly with a fork to heat and separate all the kernels, for about 1-2 minutes until all the kernels come apart. Remove from heat, and pour in the liquid and onions. Stir, then cover immediately and cook over low heat for 10 minutes, or until all liquid is absorbed. Transfer to a large bowl and mix with the egg bow ties. Serve hot.

Oregano (Recipe: posole)

In the 1960s, I was in high school, and I was cool.

I had long hair, bell-bottom pants, love beads. I listened to Phil Ochs, played guitar, marched for civil rights and against the Vietnam War. I edited the school newspaper, where I published Lawrence Ferlinghetti poems and artsy photos of trees. On Saturdays, I worked at a "real" job on the city's big-time newspaper, where I learned to write obituaries and a consumer help column ("My clothes dryer exploded and the store where I bought it won't take it back. Can you help?").

And I smoked oregano. Once.

A friend gave it to me as a joke, and we decided to try it. (I admit that I tried the other stuff, too, and yes, I inhaled.)

If I'd been a cook, instead of a trying-to-be-hip high school kid, I would have put that oregano to much better use.

Common oregano (o. vulgare), a member of the mint family, is native to the Mediterranean region, which explains its popularity in Italian and Greek cuisine. Often confused with marjoram (o. majorana), oregano is a hardy perennial that thrives in my New England herb garden. It's grown for its leaves, which are peppery and strong-tasting.

Of the many varieties of oregano, the ones I use most often in my cooking are common oregano, and Mexican (which I'll post about at another time, as it's from an entirely different botanical family). I recently added golden oregano, which has a milder flavor, to the herb garden. Local middle eastern markets sell Turkish oregano (sometimes called black, because of its dark colored leaves), which is even more peppery than the common variety.

Oregano pairs well with most vegetables: beans, cabbage, cauliflower, eggplant, mushrooms, onions, potatoes, tomatoes, and squash. Include a tiny bit in a melange of herbs — basil, parsley, sage, rosemary, lemon thyme — tossed with hot pasta, garlic and olive oil, for a simple lunch or dinner.

According to folklore, oregano can encourage good luck and repel snakes (these things seem to be related), and was said to possess black magic powers. Put that in your pipe and smoke it!

POSOLE
A wonderful New Mexican recipe, from Beverly Shafer, that calls for common oregano, even though the dish originates in the Southwest. You can make this with beef or with boneless, skinless chicken thighs, too. Serves 8.

2-3 Tbsp olive oil
1-1/2 lb pork loin, cut into large cubes
1/3 cup all-purpose flour
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 onion, chopped coarsely
Water or chicken stock (8 cups or more, depending on the size of your stock pot)
3 bay leaves
1 Tbsp oregano
3 tsp dried red pepper flakes (for fiery hot), or less, to taste
Salt and pepper to taste
2 29-oz cans hominy, rinsed and drained

In a large stockpot, heat the oil. Lightly dredge the pork in flour. Add the garlic and onion to the pot, and saute 1-2 minutes until brown. Add the pork, and continue stirring until brown, 4-5 minutes. Add twice the amount of water or stock as you have meat in the pot. Simmer, uncovered, for 45 minutes. Add bay leaves, oregano, red pepper flakes, and salt and pepper to taste. Stir in the hominy, and continue to cook 45 minutes to 1 hour; the hominy should be “al dente.”

Green tea (Recipe: honey and lemon green tea cupcakes)

In August, my dear friend Rika and her family visited from Japan. They live in Mihama, a tiny fishing village on the west coast, a couple of hours by train from Kyoto. Though Rika had been to visit us years before, this was the first trip to the US for her husband and three children, and it was the highlight of our summer.

After a whirlwind of sightseeing in Boston and an all-too-brief stay in Rhode Island, they went on to see a bit more of America, leaving behind memories, photos, and green tea — in tea bags! — which I promptly added to The Perfect Pantry.

I'm not a green tea drinker, though I'll never forget the tea ceremony made in our honor on our first trip to Japan twenty years ago. (Hmmm, maybe that's the problem. I remember the tea ceremony, the "chewy" texture of the tea, and I associate that with all green tea. In fact, though, the tea ceremony is usually made with matcha, a powdered green tea.)

I do know that green tea (tea leaves that have been steamed and dried without fermenting) is packed with the antioxidant EGCG (epigallocatechin gallate), said to be a powerful protection against cancer, heart disease and other illnesses. Drinking green tea also can: lower high blood pressure, blood sugar and cholesterol; help boost the immune system; and aid in weight loss.

Wow....if I can't manage to drink it, I'm sure going to learn to cook with it.

For starters, I'll start with savory dishes like shrimp with green tea leaves and honey garlic green tea shrimp, and maybe some green tea dumplings. For dessert, green tea cheesecake sounds delicious, and has an interesting hue.

I feel healthy already.

HONEY AND LEMON GREEN TEA CUPCAKES
From the National Honey Board's web site. Makes 12-14 cupcakes.

1 green tea bag
1/2 cup boiling water
2 cups unbleached all purpose flour
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
Zest and juice (1/4 cup) of one lemon
1/4 cup buttermilk
1/2 cup (1 stick) butter, softened
3/4 cup honey
2 large eggs

Preheat oven to 350°F. Pour boiling water over tea bag and steep for 3 minutes. Remove tea bag and allow tea to cool.

Sift together flour, baking soda, baking powder and salt; set aside. In a liquid measure, combine green tea, lemon zest and juice, and buttermilk; set aside. In a mixing bowl, cream butter until fluffy. Add honey; mix well. Add eggs, one at a time. Add half of the reserved dry ingredients to the butter mixture; mix on low until just combined. With mixer running on low, slowly add the lemon tea mixture. Add remaining dry ingredients until just combined. Fill paper-lined muffin tins 2/3 full. Bake 18-22 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in center of a muffin comes out clean. Remove to wire rack; cool.

Pearl onions (Recipe: root-vegetables-with-beef stew)

When Ted and I first started dating, a hundred million years ago, he seduced me with a very romantic dinner of beef bourguignon. Chunks of beef, mushrooms, pearl onions, red wine sauce....

One bite, and I was smitten. (Truth? I was smitten long before that, but I'm not sure he knew it.)

I've never made beef bourguignon, and Ted's never made it again, either — after all, he got the girl — but over the years we've experimented with many variations on beef stew.

The only thing I don't like about making stew is peeling the dozen or more little onions that, for some reason, absolutely have to be in there. My eyes start to burn, and the onion skins get stuck to my skin. I love Ted, and he loves stew, so we've both struggled for years to peel through the tears.

A few months ago, quite by chance, I watched an episode of Barefoot Contessa that changed my cooking life. There was Ina Garten, one of my kitchen idols, dumping a bag of frozen pearl onions into her beef bourguignon. Wow! That was the permission I needed; if it was good enough for Ina, it was good enough for me.

I'm a very recent convert to frozen vegetables, but I do understand the concept of IQF: freeze things at their peak of flavor. I keep a few vegetables in the pantry freezer to add to soups and stews when I can't get fresh veggies during the winter months, but why go back to peeling little onions, when I can open a little bag?

Thank you, Ina!

ROOT-VEGETABLES-WITH-BEEF STEW
Heavy on the root veggies, this is a wonderful stew that can accommodate your personal preferences in the vegetable department. Like all stews, it improves with age, so make it a day ahead if you have time. Can be frozen, but it rarely lasts that long in our house. Serves 8-10.

3 Tbsp olive oil
2 lb beef stew meat (chuck, bottom round, etc.), cut in large chunks
1 cup flour
1 medium onion, sliced
1 clove garlic, whole
1 Tbsp thyme leaf, or a couple of sprigs of fresh thyme
1 bay leaf
1 bottle red wine
2 tsp Dijon mustard
2 Tbsp tomato paste
2 tsp oyster-flavor sauce
1 tsp honey
1/4 tsp black pepper
1/2 tsp cayenne pepper, or more to taste
1/2 tsp paprika
4 large carrots, cut into chunks
1 package (16 oz) frozen pearl onions
8 small red-skinned new potatoes, cut into chunks
1 large rutabaga, wax coating removed, cut into chunks
2 small purple-topped turnips, peeled, cut into chunks
4-5 parsnips, peeled, cut into chunks

Heat oil in a very large stockpot (12 quarts or larger). Dredge meat lightly in flour and, adding a few pieces at a time, brown meat thoroughly on all sides (remove the pieces as they're browned, into a bowl; when all of the meat is browned, add back the reserved meat and juices). Add sliced onion, and the garlic, and cook for 2-3 minutes, until the onion becomes translucent. Then, add the thyme, bay leaf, wine, mustard, tomato paste, oyster sauce, honey, peppers and paprika. Bring to a boil, then cover and reduce heat to lowest simmer. Cook for 2 hours, stirring occasionally. Add all of the vegetables and cook, covered, for another hour until all of the vegetables are tender (the potatoes will start to fall apart a bit). The sauce will thicken nicely, but if you'd like it thicker, stir in a solution of 1 Tbsp cornstarch dissolved in 3 Tbsp water. Serve in large bowls with some crusty bread.

Honey (Recipe: honey gingerbread cookies)

Do bears really love honey, or was that just Winnie-the-Pooh's thing? And what about honey bears? Do they love honey, too?

Inquiring minds want to know.

Beekeeping, and extracting one's own honey, are all the rage in rural Rhode Island. This summer, my friend Barbara, an organic farmer, set up her first beehives. So did Tom — a writer. And Kate — a graphic designer (not much left in our jar of her very first crop of honey, pictured above). Of course, bees are the super-pollinators of our vegetable and flower gardens, but does that make honey, the world's oldest sweetener, a superfood?

Inquiring minds want to know that, too.

If you define "superfoods" as those that contain vitamins, nutrients and/or minerals believed to benefit health, disease prevention and/or longevity, does honey make the grade? Yes and no. A lot has been written about honey's antioxidant properties; while honey is not nearly as rich as, say, blueberries or spinach, the darker varieties of honey do provide an additional source of antioxidants in the diet. On the down side, honey also contributes 64 calories, and 17 grams of carbs, per tablespoon.

For cooks, however, honey brings more to the table than sweetness. Honey is hygroscopic (meaning that it attracts water), which makes it good for baking, as it keeps cakes and muffins more moist. In many cases you can substitute honey for half of the sugar called for in the recipe. The National Honey Board offers these tips for baking and cooking with honey:

• Reduce any liquid called for by 1/4 cup for each cup of honey used.
• Add a half teaspoon of baking soda for each cup of honey used.
• Reduce oven temperature by 25°F to prevent over-browning.
• Microwave the honey for a few seconds before measuring. The warm honey becomes thinner and flows much faster, and allows for easier and quicker measuring.
• Coat a measuring cup with nonstick spray (like PAM) before adding honey; the honey will slide right out.
• Store honey at room temperature; if stored in a sealed container, honey will remain stable for years, though it may darken and lose flavor over time.
• If your honey crystallizes, place the jar in warm water until the crystals dissolve, or microwave for a few seconds.

I don't bake very much, or very confidently, but I do use honey in a delicious teriyaki glaze for salmon, made with dark soy, mango juice, and black pepper. A little bit of sweet also balances the flavor in savory dishes like soup, eggplant, cardamom-honey chicken, and baked squash.

By the way, honeybees are the only insects that produce food for humans.

(And, yes, bears do love honey.)

HONEY GINGERBREAD COOKIES
From The Pooh Cookbook by Virginia Ellison, published in 1969. Don't feel constrained; if you'd rather not cut these cookies into Poohs, go right ahead and make Tiggers or Roos! Makes 30 3-inch round cookies. 

1/2 cup sugar
3 cups sifted all-purpose flour
2 tsp baking soda
1 tsp salt
2 tsp powdered ginger
2 tsp cinnamon
1/2 tsp each powdered cloves and nutmeg
1/2 lb butter, cut into dots
1/2 cup honey

Preheat oven to 350°F.

Sift the sugar, flour, baking soda, salt, ginger, cinnamon, cloves and nutmeg together into a mixing bowl. Work the dots of butter into the dry ingredients with your fingertips. When thoroughly worked in, add the honey and stir until blended. Refrigerate for an hour, or longer if possible.

Roll the dough out about 1/8-inch thick on a floured board or between sheets of waxed paper. Cut it into the shapes of Gingerbread Men or Houses or Pooh (bear). Bake for 12 to 15 minutes on a cookie sheet. Remove from oven and, after a minute, from cookie sheet with a spatula to cool on cake racks.

Pilaf noodles (Recipe: rice pilaf)

If these pilaf noodles and I were dating, I'd be embarrassed to say this:

"I've been buying you for years, but until last week, I never knew your name!"

Oh my.

The packaging — in French which, sadly, I do not speak — calls them Cheveux d'Ange (angel hair). After a market tour and cooking lesson with Georgette Hallak, owner of Hallak Middle East Market in North Providence, I now know that their proper Arabic name is chayreyé. I can't pronounce it correctly — I can't pronounce it in French, either — but at least I no longer have to say "hey you pilaf noodles" when I want to get the noodles' attention.

Though these simple egg noodles, which look like vermicelli or straightened-out chopped-up fideo, are the perfect addition to rice pilaf, they've also been finding their way into my vegetable-based winter soups.

Toss in a handful of noodles near the end of cooking, when you want a bit more body to a soup, without an overage of starch. If you can't find chayreyé in a market near you, substitute angel hair or vermicelli pasta, broken up into 2-inch pieces.

But, if you do find them, please don't call them "hey you pilaf noodles"!

RIZ IMFALFAL (RICE PILAF)
You could replace up to 2 cups of the water with chicken broth, for a richer dish. If you use chicken stock, reduce the added salt by half. Serves 6-8.

3/4 cup pilaf noodles, or angel-hair or vermicelli pasta broken into 2-inch pieces
6 Tbsp butter
2 cups long grain rice, washed
1 tsp salt
4 cups boiling water
1/2 tsp cinnamon for garnish

In a large sauce pan or small stockpot, sauté noodles in butter over medium heat until lightly browned, stirring constantly. Add rice and salt. Stir until all butter is absorbed by the rice. Add boiling water. Cover tightly and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to low and simmer for 20 minutes. Remove from heat and let stand, covered, for 5 minutes or until all water is absorbed. Garnish with cinnamon, and serve.

Ground coriander (Recipe: peanut dip)

Once upon a time...

(Our granddaughter Sabina knows that all good stories begin this way.)

Once upon a time, the Sultan Schahriah, who had caught his sultana cheating on him, resolved to marry a different woman every day — and to have her beheaded on the following morning, so no wife could ever get the chance to be unfaithful to him again.

(Sound familiar? It's the premise of The Thousand and One Arabian Nights.)

Scheherezade, daughter of the Grand Vizier, begged to become his next wife, so she could put a stop to this nonsense. To forestall her own death and the death of any other unlucky bride, she crafted a story-within-a-story so intriguing that, night after night, the Sultan spared her life.

In one tale, she told of a merchant, childless for forty years, who was "cured" by a love potion containing coriander. And though this story was very old (the tales were first published in Arabic in 850 AD, from stories handed down through generations before that), Scheherazade might have gotten the idea from the Chinese, who for thousands of years had used coriander as an aphrodisiac.

Coriander — both the leaf and the seed have the same name; cilantro is the Spanish name for the fresh herb — may have been named after koris, the Greek word for "bedbug", as it was said they both emitted a similar odor. Maybe  not, according to some scholars, but I'm one of those people who doesn't like the taste or aroma of fresh coriander (it smells like bedbugs to me), so I like this theory.

Native to western Asia and the Mediterranean, coriander is cultivated in eastern Europe, India, the US and Central America, and it features in the cuisines of all of those regions. After the seeds are thoroughly dried, they're often roasted before being ground with other spices to form the basis of curry powders, masalas, harissa, ras el hanout, advieh, baharat, and dukka.

Coriander combines well with fruits of this season (quince, pear, apples), and with potatoes. Considered one of the "sweet" spices, it finds a home in the kitchen pantries of Mexico, France, Cyprus, Russia, North Africa, the West Indies, Iran and India, where it's cooked into dishes so intriguing that Scheherazade's Sultan would, I'm sure, have loved them.

PEANUT DIP
An easy and unusual appetizer, great with pita chips or crackers.

1/2 cup smooth peanut butter
1/4 cup minced onion (or less, to taste)
1/4 cup fresh lemon juice
1 Tbsp reduced-sodium soy sauce
2 large cloves garlic, minced
1 tsp ground coriander
1/4 cup fresh parsley, minced

In a food processor fitted with metal blade, or in a blender, combine all ingredients and blend for one minute or until well mixed. Serve at room temperature.

Reduced-sodium soy sauce (Recipe: salmon fried rice)

Light, dark, thick, sweet.

Tamari, shoyu, mushroom, shrimp.

Black, green. Chinese, Japanese.

Kecap. (Ketchup?)

Are you confused? Is the distinction in name only, or are different kinds of soy sauce really different?

And is there one perfect soy sauce for the perfect pantry?

I keep seven (no kidding — I counted) kinds of soy sauce in my kitchen: Japanese reduced-sodium and tamari; Chinese light (not "lite"), dark and black; kecap manis, a thick, sweet soy from Indonesia; and a mushroom soy made from shiitakes. Kikkoman Less-Sodium is my everyday soy, the one I add to stir-fry dishes, soups and marinades, but each has individual qualities that bring authenticity, texture and flavor to my cooking. Each sauce merits its own bit of pantry shelf space, its own day in the spotlight.

Today, the basics:

Soy sauce originated in China (where it's called jiang) more than 2,500 years ago, and gained popularity when China's Buddhist rulers decreed that vegetarianism should become the dominant culinary culture. The need for a meatless seasoning prompted the evolution of a salty paste of fermented grains, including soybeans. In the 7th Century, Zen monks brought soy sauce to Japan (where it's called shoyu).

Though there are many different formulations of soy sauce, there are only two main types: naturally brewed, and non-brewed.

Non-brewed soy sauce is produced by boiling soybeans with hydrochloric acid for 15 to 20 hours. After most of the amino acid is removed, the mixture is cooled to stop the hydrolytic reaction. The amino acid liquid is then neutralized, pressed through a filter, mixed with active carbon and purified through filtration. Color, flavor and "mouth feel" are introduced to this hydrolyzed vegetable protein mixture by adding caramel coloring, corn syrup and salt. The mixture is then refined and packaged.

In contrast, the natural brewing of soy sauce happens in three stages that result in an aged, more complex and smooth-tasting condiment. Here's how Kikkoman explains the process on their web site:

1. Koji-making: To begin the process, carefully selected soybeans and wheat are blended under precisely controlled conditions. Next, a proprietary seed mold is introduced, and the mixture is allowed to mature for three days in large, perforated vats through which air is circulated.

2. Brine Fermentation: The resulting culture, or koji, is then transferred to fermentation tanks, where it is mixed with saltwater to produce a mash called moromi. The next, and perhaps most critical step, is allowing the moromi to ferment for several months using osmophilic lactic acid bacteria and yeasts. During this time, the soybeans and wheat are transformed into a semi-liquid, reddish-brown "mature mash." It is this fermentation process that creates the distinct flavor and fragrance.

3. Refining: Following the months of moromi fermentation, the raw soy sauce is separated from the solids by pressing it through layers of filtration cloth. The liquid that emerges is then refined, pasteurized and packaged as finished soy sauce.

Kikkoman's Less-Sodium Soy Sauce has become a family favorite. It doesn't have the chemical taste of other low-sodium brands, because it's produced the same way as regular soy. However, after the fermentation process is completed, approximately one-third of the salt is removed. Although there is less sodium, all the flavor remains, because the sauce is aged before the excess sodium is extracted.

Reduced-sodium soy works in a wide range of recipes, such as eggplant and tofu with spicy garlic sauce or asparagus with black bean sauce — even soy sauce sorbet!

SALMON FRIED RICE
A dish created by accident, now a family favorite. One day when I was improvising a fried rice dish with leftovers, I reached into the fridge for a box of storebought chicken broth, but pulled out mango nectar instead, and before I realized it, I'd poured it into the wok! With a bit of soy sauce, it became a kind of Polynesian dish — not what I'd intended, but delicious. Note that this recipe calls for cooked rice; if you don't have any leftovers, prepare rice in a rice cooker according to package directions, and let it cool slightly. Serves 4 as a main dish.

2 Tbsp peanut oil
3 scallions or 1 small yellow onion, diced
1-1/4 lb salmon fillet, cut into 2-inch chunks
6 oz shiitake or button mushrooms, stems removed, sliced
1 Tbsp sesame oil
2 cups cooked Nishiki or other short-grain rice, or leftover rice from a takeout meal
3/4 cup mango nectar or orange juice
2 Tbsp oyster-flavor sauce
3 Tbsp low-sodium soy sauce

Heat a well-seasoned or nonstick wok, and add the peanut oil and scallions or onion. Stir fry for 30 seconds, and add salmon. Stir for 1 minute, or until salmon is lightly browned on the outside. Add mushrooms and sesame oil, and stir for one minute. Add rice, and stir for 2-3 minutes, until rice is heated through and grains are separated. Add remaining liquids, and stir until well mixed. Serve hot.

Vanilla extract (Recipe: ice cream chocolate chip cookies)

Chocolate and vanilla, the culinary Romeo and Juliet: grown in different areas of the world, stored in different parts of the pantry, but they find a way to be together in the end.

All the great chocolate desserts — ice cream, brownies, cakes and cookies — depend on vanilla to enhance the chocolate flavor. The Aztecs may have discovered this synergy, but the first people to spread the word were Spanish conquistadors, who got hooked on a chocolate drink flavored with vanilla at the court of Moctezuma, and sent vanilla pods back to Spain.

Vanilla pairs well with flavors other than chocolate, too, such as the "warm" spices: cardamom, cinnamon, cloves, and saffron. Usually we associate vanilla with sweets, but it works with savory foods like seafood, chicken, and vegetables.

Vanilla planifolia, a perennial, climbing orchid native to Central America, produces pods which actually have no aroma or taste until they are fermented. Vanilla extract, invented in the late 19th Century by pharmacists as a remedy for upset stomach, is made by macerating vanilla pods in ethyl alcohol — not bourbon whiskey, as the name implies. (The name originated in the 1800s, when the French developed large vanilla plantations on Réunion, which was known as Ile de Bourbon.)   

If you plot on a map the countries that produce vanilla — Tahiti, Mexico, Indonesia, Madagascar and Réunion — you'll see that they are all within a similar latitude north or south of the Equator. Do the same with chocolate; you'll find that the major chocolate producers are all much closer to the Equator. This is a fun thing to do with a giant world map and a group of kids, as we did earlier this year in the Ninecooks kitchen at a chocolate and vanilla tasting.

At that tasting, fourteen parents and middle-school gourmands-in-the-making chose vanilla extract made by Charles H. Baldwin & Sons, a fifth-generation business in West Stockbridge, Massachusetts, as the favorite, besting the best quality Madagascar, Tahitian and Mexican vanilla extracts. The Baldwin family has been making Bourbon vanilla extract since 1888, and still uses the original oak vats to age the extract before bottling.

Most of the time I use Baldwin extract, but my cousin Martin brought some wonderful elixir from Tahiti, which has a rich and pronounced flavor that's lovely in baked goods and creme anglaise. I've also got a bottle or two of the popular Madagascar vanilla extract, and some from Mexico that I don't like quite as much. Thanks to reliable online sources like King Arthur Flour, you can sample high-quality vanilla extracts from several different countries, and find your own favorite.

ICE CREAM CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES
On rainy Sunday afternoons, Ted and I sometimes go "antiquing" — not for real antiques, but for old stuff. One of our favorite vendors had a stash of cookbooks last week: a Diana Kennedy book on Mexican regional cuisine, a book by a Hollywood producer, and The Search for the Perfect Chocolate Chip Cookie, by Gwen Steege, from which I've adapted this recipe. Ice cream in a cookie dough? Who could resist?! Yield: 4 dozen.

1-1/4 cups flour
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
3/4 cup margarine, softened
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1/2 cup light brown sugar, firmly packed
1/3 cup unsweetened cocoa
1-1/2 tsp vanilla extract
1 large egg
1/3 cup chocolate ice cream, softened
6 oz (1 cup) semisweet chocolate chips
3/4 cup coarsely chopped walnuts

Preheat oven to 350°F.

Combine flour, baking soda and salt; set aside. In a large mixing bowl, combine margarine, sugars, cocoa, and vanilla, and beat until creamy. Add egg and ice cream; beat well. Gradually add dry ingredients, and mix well. Stir in chocolate chips and walnuts. Drop by well-rounded teasponnfuls onto lightly greased baking sheets (or sheets lined with a Silpat or parchment paper), placing cookies about 2 inches apart. Bake for 14-16 minutes until well set. Do not overbake.

Onions (Recipe: French onion soup)

Soup week comes to an end.

When you think of a pantry, what comes to mind?

Tins of tuna?

Cans of Spaghetti-O's?

Big boxes of cereal from the big-box store?

For me, pantry means any ingredient used frequently in the creation of other dishes. Beans, pasta, sugar, flour, spices, oil, vinegar, vanilla, mustard and mayo — all belong in a cook's pantry. I stock frozen items, too, like peas and pearl onions, that feature in recipes for stews and soups. And there are the perishables that I use in many of my recipes: lemons, Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese, yogurt, garlic, and onions.

This notion of fresh foods in the pantry isn't at all far-fetched; the word pantry derives from the Middle English pantrie, from Old French paneterie, from panetier (pantry servant), from panis, which is Latin for bread; originally, the pantry was where bread was stored, and where food prep was done.

Very few savory dishes come out of my kitchen without onions somewhere in the preparation. I can't think of a single cuisine that doesn't use some form of onion as an essential flavoring. Without onions (and shallots, and scallions, and leeks) we'd have no poulet yassa, no basque lamb stew, no Croatian beef in onion sauce, no onion bhajji, no spring onion bread, no pissaladiere.

The National Onion Association has collected lots of onion trivia: eat parsley to get rid of onion breath; Libya has the highest per capita consumption of onions; the Beatles' song "Glass Onion" is on the White Album; there are fewer than 1,000 commercial onion growers in the US.

And there are dozens of suggestions for how to cut onions without crying. Some are ridiculous (chop onions under running water), or just plain frightening (cut onions next to a gas stove with the burners turned on), but the swim goggles thing really works (Pauline proved it, in one of our group cooking sessions!).

Store onions in a cool, dry, ventilated place, not in plastic bags or in the refrigerator. I pile mine in a large wooden bowl, right on the countertop, where they keep company with a few heads of garlic and rarely languish for more than a week or so.   

SOUPE A L'OIGNON, MAISON
Homemade French Onion Soup, from Julia herself. The French Chef, episode 97. Serves 6.

A heavy 4-quart saucepan or casserole
3 Tbsp butter
1 Tbsp olive oil or cooking oil
About 1-1/2 lbs or 5-6 cups thinly sliced yellow onions
1 tsp salt
1/2 tsp sugar
3 Tbsp flour
2 quarts hot beef bouillon (you may dilute canned bouillon with 2 cups of water)
1 cup red or white wine
1 bay leaf
1/2 tsp sage
Salt and pepper to taste

Melt the butter with the oil in the saucepan or casserole, add the sliced onions and stir up to coat with the butter. Cover the pan and cook over moderately low heat for 15 to 20 minutes, stirring occasionally, until onions are tender and translucent. Then unover the pan, raise heat to moderately high, and stir in the salt and sugar. (Sugar, by caramelizing, helps onions to brown.) Cook for about 30 minutes, stirring frequently, until onions have turned an even deep golden brown.

Then lower heat to moderate, stir in the flour, and add a bit more butter if flour does not absorb into a paste with the onions. Cook slowly, stirring continually, for about 2 minutes to brown the flour lightly. Remove from heat.

Pour in about a cup of the hot bouillon, stirring with a wire whip to blend flour and bouillon. Add the rest of the bouillon and the wine, bay, and sage, and bring to the simmer. Simmer slowly for 30 to 40 minutes, season to taste with salt and pepper, and the soup is done. If you are not serving immediately, let cool uncovered, then cover and refrigerate.

Serve with French bread and grated Parmesan cheese.