The Perfect Pantry

The gift of wok hay (Recipe: garlic eggplant)

A short series of posts about wonderful pantry gifts, and the recipes that spring from them.

This is the story of how a beautiful hand-hammered, carbon steel, fire-iron Chinese wok came into my life.

The story is too good. And, really, I am the wrong person to tell it.

My friend Marcia, who gave me this incredible cooking tool and with it the gift of wok hay, the sometimes-elusive spirit of culinary harmony that comes with a well-seasoned and properly-used wok, will tell you about the wok. First, though, please go to your cookbook shelf and look at the cover of Grace Young's stunning book, The Breath of a Wok. Then turn to page 27.

Ah, yes, now you understand. And this is Marcia's story:

"My daughter and I each own a copy of The Breath of a Wok. While visiting her in Shanghai, I frequented a little Moroccan sandwich shop that served mocha lattes (how's that for a combo?!). The shop is right across from the Shanghai library. So I'd sit there and watch students going in and out, amazed, as the Cultural Revolution had destroyed the previous library and its books. One rainy day, I picked up a magazine and read this article about the wok maker featured in the cookbook, and other shops along the same small street. So here I am, sitting in this tiny shop, watching modern Shanghai which is all bustle and sophistication, reading of something I had learned about back home, something ancient and wonderful.

We began the search.

Coming off main streets are little streets, some of which can be navigated with a car. Then these peter out and the mazes of alleys begin. They are actually little neighborhoods, laid out geometrically, even though at first it was confusing to us. Our driver took us as far as we could go in a car; then we set out on foot. The streets were filled with carts, bikes, people, an occasional cat or Pekingese, very colorful... shops' wares spilled out into the street. The intersections were filled with farmers' markets selling everything imaginable. The astonishing thing about this neighborhood was how old the buildings were, a few stories high -- the lower floors are shops, the upper ones apartments. Every morning quilts were hung on the balconies to air them out. And in the background, just a few streets over, the most modern skyscrapers fly into the air, laden with glowing neon.

We walked along leisurely, going into each impossibly tiny shop. Our daughter wanted a bamboo scrubber. We bought a pineapple. We went down to the end of the street and listened for the hammering [of the carbon steel] that was described in the article. Didn't hear it.

Lydia, we walked those streets over and over, thinking we'd missed it somehow. Of course the article listed a street number of the shop. Ha! We asked several people, and while no one knew the word 'wok', they knew our pantomime of banging and kept pointing back the way we'd come. Finally we found the shoemaker described in the article and again, in a little English mixed with Chinese, we managed to get a sense of where it was. But the shoemaker said that because it was Golden Week, Cen Lian Gen, the wok maker, was probably on vacation.

So, we returned another time. And we followed the sound of the banging and found Mr. Cen and his helper flattening huge sheets of metal to form the woks. We purchased one for our daughter, a large and small one for us, and yours."

A few months later, when Marcia's daughter came to Rhode Island for a visit, she carried three woks with her, and one of them, in an old rice bag, came to live -- came to life -- in my kitchen. Of all of the many woks I've owned, this one, the result of a friend's quest and a long journey, makes me happiest.

SPICY GARLIC EGGPLANT
How do I love this dish? Let me count the ways. From Grace Young's The Breath of a Wok, this simple recipe is a revelation, and in a well-seasoned wok, it is the epitome of wok hay. By steaming the eggplant before frying, you reduce the total amount of oil in the dish while retaining the eggplant flavor. Serves 4, as a side dish.

4 medium Asian eggplants (about 1-1/4 lb)
1/4 cup soy sauce (I use this one)
2 Tbsp Chinkiang or balsamic vinegar
2 Tbsp Shao Hsing rice wine or dry sherry
1 Tbsp sugar
1 tsp salt
1 tsp red pepper flakes
3 Tbsp vegetable oil
1/4 cup minced garlic
1/4 cup minced ginger
1 tsp sesame oil
1/4 cup finely minced scallions

Cut the eggplant into 2-inch sections, then halve each section lengthwise. Cut each half lengthwise into thirds to make sticks. In a small bowl combine the soy sauce, vinegar, rice wine, sugar, salt, and pepper flakes. Set aside.

Put the eggplant in a shallow, heatproof bowl. Place a 1-inch-high steamer rack in a flat-bottomed wok. Add water to a depth of 3/4 inch and bring to a boil over high heat. Carefully put the bowl on the rack, cover, and steam on high heat 5-8 minutes, or until the eggplant is tender when pierced with a knife. Be sure to check the water level from time to time and replenish, if necessary, with boiling water. Carefully remove the bowl from the wok. Pour out the water from the wok and dry the pan.

Heat the wok over high heat until a bead of water vaporizes within 1 to 2 seconds of contact. Swirl in the vegetable oil, add the garlic and ginger, and stir-fry 10 seconds. Add the eggplant and stir-fry 20 seconds. Stir the sauce, swirl it into the wok, and stir-fry until the eggplant is heated through, about 1 minute. Drizzle on the sesame oil and scallions.

More recipes in The Perfect Pantry:
Mrs. Leung's beef and broccoli stir fry
Asparagus-cashew stir fry
Pad Thai
Mee goreng (spicy fried noodles)

The gift of cookbooks (Recipe: sweet potato bread)

A short series of posts about wonderful pantry gifts, and the recipes that spring from them.

Almost every Saturday, my friend Laura visits yard sales. Her "finds" are the stuff of legend.

A real diamond ring forgotten in a box of junk jewelry. A set of mid-century modern patio chairs and table for $10.

A car.

To me, though, her most exciting finds are cookbooks (well, perhaps not quite as exciting as a diamond ring), classic and contemporary, the relics of other people's culinary whims, sometimes with notes penciled in the margin or recipes cut from newspapers and used as bookmarks.

Wonderful friend that she is, Laura often passes those cookbooks on to me.

My cookbook library also grows every time Ted takes a business trip; how great is it that he always looks for local cookbooks to bring home? I loved the Chinese cookbooks from Vancouver, and the eclectic selection from a great book shop in Toronto. The French-language book of Canadian cuisine, from a trip to his home town of Montreal, presented a bit of a challenge; merci, Pauline, for your offer to help with translation.

Chuck Williams, who owns Eagle Trading Company in Assonet, Massachusetts, the most wonderful used cookbook store in all the world, occasionally adds to my book pile things he thinks I would like. Last year he gave me the gift of Claudia Roden's A Book of Middle Eastern Food. I use it all the time.

Kate's son Max snagged some locally-produced, English-language books from Ecuador; Barbara picked up a book on Argentinian cooking in Buenos Aires. Candy brought a lavender cookbook from a festival in Washington State (along with some lovely culinary lavendar). And Kim, who traveled around the world, sent local cookbooks from every country she visited: Belize, India, Thailand, New Zealand... I still treasure every one.

Thank you, to my husband, friends, assorted relatives and cooking buddies who enrich my life, my cookbook collection, and my pantry -- and who know that I am a world-class, overflow-the-bookcases, can't-have-too-many, unrepentant cookbook junkie.

SWEET POTATO BREAD
A few weeks ago, Laura's yard sale scavenging unearthed the Global Feast Cookbook: Recipes from Around the World, published by the Mystic Seaport Museum. If you want to know how to make bayngan bhurta (eggplant casserole), Aleksandrikook (Alexander torte), boniatos glaseados con ron (rum-glazed boniatos), safran isai (Estonian saffron bread), or jolly jumpbuck in a tuckerbag (lamb in puff pastry), look for this book at a yard sale near you. This bread, a Native American recipe, serves 8-10.

2 large sweet potatoes
1 cup cornmeal
1 cup flour
1 tsp baking powder
1-1/2 tsp salt
2 Tbsp honey
2 Tbsp melted butter + additional for topping
1-1/4 cups warm milk (use whole milk)
2 eggs, lightly beaten

Parboil sweet potatoes in a saucepan for 50 minutes, or until tender-crisp. Cool. Peel sweet potatoes; cut into 1/4-inch cubes.

Preheat oven to 400 degrees F.

Sift cornmeal, flour, baking powder and salt into bowl; mix well. Stir in mixture of honey,  2 Tbsp melted butter, milk and eggs. Fold in sweet potatoes. Pour batter into greased 8x8-inch baking dish. Bake for 1 hour. Cut into squares; drizzle with additional melted butter.

More recipes in The Perfect Pantry:
Apple spice bread
Spice cake
Sweet potato pie

Mexican oregano (Recipe: chipotle-balsamic salad dressing)

Twigs and leaves.

At this time of year, just a few days past peak foliage season in New England, I'm surrounded by twigs and leaves, shed by the maple, oak, pine, cherry, sassafras and birch trees on our land.

When I pulled this bag of Mexican oregano out of the freezer last week, I realized I've got twigs and leaves in The Perfect Pantry, too.

Foliage it might be, but oregano it is not. Mexican oregano, also called Mexican wild sage or Tex-Mex oregano, actually is a member of the lemon verbena family, not related to the more familiar Mediterranean oregano, stronger and sweeter but with a similar lemon-licorice aroma. I first sought out this herb when I started reading Diana Kennedy's and Rick Bayless' cookbooks; their recipes, both traditional and contemporary, often called for Mexican oregano, and I knew nothing about it.

Native to the American Southwest and Mexico, where I've seen the fresh herb for sale in street markets all around the country, Mexican oregano is found in dried form in most other parts of the world. It will keep in a tightly sealed jar at room temperature, or in the freezer, for six months or more. If you don't have a Latino market near you, order online from Penzeys, Mexgrocer or Gourmet Sleuth.

Mexican oregano adds authentic flavor to many bean dishes, soups and stews, and pairs well with beef, chorizo, onions, squash, cumin, garlic, lime and tomato.

SMOKY CHIPOTLE-BALSAMIC DRESSING
Dress up any sturdy salad -- romaine lettuce, steak, grilled veggies or chicken -- with this richly flavored dressing, adapted very slightly from Mexican Everyday by Rick Bayless. Makes 1-1/4 cups.

3/4 cup vegetable oil
1/4 cup balsamic vinegar (this is where you use the vinegar from Trader Joe's, not your oldest, best balsamic)
2 canned chipotle peppers in adobo
1 tsp adobo sauce (from the can)
1 tsp Mexican oregano, crushed lightly in a mortar
Sea salt, to taste

Combine the oil, vinegar, chipotles, adobo sauce, oregano and one teaspoon salt in a blender or food processor, and process until smooth. Taste and season with additional salt if necessary; the dressing should be highly seasoned. Store in a jar with a tight-fitting lid; store in the refrigerator, and shake the jar immediately before use.

More recipes in The Perfect Pantry:
Spicy Sunday skirt steak
Mole colorado
White chili
Frijoles de la olla
Vegetarian Cuban canapes

Olives (Recipe: chicken with preserved lemon tagine)

A few nights ago, Ted and I walked over to Foodie's Urban Market in Boston's South End to pick up a few provisions for a quiet night of dinner and a DVD.

We didn't have anything particular in mind; we were following our cravings. Grapes. Cheese. Chips. Chocolate. We wandered up and down the aisles. Just as we passed the artisan breads, my little eye spied a hand-lettered label...

"Venetian olive rolls."

Oh boy! The last time we'd had those was in Venice, when we'd rented an apartment near the Galleria dell'Accademia, around the corner from a bakery. Every morning Ted would buy rolls that were warm and purplish with chunks of Kalamata olives, and we'd get cheese at a market a few doorways down the street. It's the only time I've ever had olives for breakfast, and it was a wonderful way to start each day.

Like hot sauce and sea salt, olives of multiple varieties merit a permanent place in my pantry. Kalamata, which are Nick's favorite. Cracked green, when I'm lucky enough to get to the Syrian Grocery in Boston's South End. Stuffed green, for tapenade. Black ones in the can, because I love them in salad with nectarines and blue cheese, both strong flavors with which cured olives should not compete.

Olives are the fruit of a small evergreen tree; according to the Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations, the top ten olive-producing countries in 2003 were, in order, Spain, Italy, Greece, Turkey, Syria, Tunisia, Morocco, Egypt, Algeria and Portugal. So it's no surprise that olives figure prominently in the cuisines of those countries.

I love this passage from John Thorne's Simple Cooking:

Olives. If there is a single flavor whose presence gives shape to the eating of all the Mediterranean, it is theirs. Street markets reek of their acescent aroma, brine-soaked tubs proclaim their gaudy multitude: bruise-purple, glaucous, pure emerald green; some plump to bursting, others withered as any prune. In Provence alone, there are dozens of varieties and hundreds of cures, touching every note in a register of bitter, pungent complexity.

How can we understand this appetite? Olives, their olives, are so hard to like except one by one -- the piquant touch on the hors d'oeuvres tray, some tiny slivers scattered over the salad, pasta, or pizza. And even then, we prefer them at their most suave -- nicoise, Kalamata, Ponentine -- sleek miniatures of what is in truth a coarse and gargantuan hunger.

People are passionate about olives, love 'em or hate 'em. If only as a snack food or garnish (after all, they were good enough for James Bond), olives would find their way into my refrigerator from time to time, but the great joy, and challenge, is to use them as an ingredient in other dishes, such as chicken with feta and olives, or pasta puttanesca, or muffuletta salad.

To prepare olives for cooking, you need to minimize the intensity of the brine, or salt, in which they were preserved. Place the olives in a small pan, and cover with water. Bring to a boil, drain, and return olives to the pan. Cover with water again, bring to the boil, and drain. After two or three repetitions, the olives will have lost the briny quality but will retain all of their fantastic flavor.

CHICKEN WITH PRESERVED LEMON AND OLIVES
If there’s one dish that everyone thinks of as typically Moroccan, it’s this one, often called a tagine, and cooked in a pot of the same name. Usually a whole chicken is cut into serving pieces; in this version, I’ve adapted to use boneless, skinless chicken thighs, which cook much more quickly than using chicken on the bone, but still stay moist. The chicken does need to marinate for a while before cooking, so be sure to leave extra time. Serves 6-8.

3 cloves garlic, crushed
1/2 tsp ground ginger
1/2 tsp ground cumin
1/4 tsp ground black pepper
1/8 tsp cayenne pepper, or 1 tsp harissa
1/2 tsp turmeric
Pinch of saffron, crushed slightly
2 Tbsp olive oil
10 boneless, skiness chicken thighs, trimmed, cut into large chunks
1 large onion, finely chopped
1/2 cup chicken stock
4 Tbsp chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley, plus extra whole leaves for garnish
Kosher salt, to taste
1 whole preserved lemon, or equivalent chunks
18 or more pitted cracked green or kalamata olives, cut in half
1-2 Tbsp lemon juice

Combine garlic and spices, plus 1 tsp olive oil, in a large dish. Add chicken, massage all over with the spice paste, and marinate in a ziploc bag, in the refrigerator for 2-3 hours or overnight.

Place remaining oil and onion in the base of a tagine or Dutch oven, and cook over lowest heat until translucent, 3-4 minutes. Add chicken to the pot along with marinade in the bag, plus the stock, parsley and a little bit of salt. Cover, and cook for 10 minutes.

Meanwhile, remove the pith and pulp from the preserved lemon, and rinse the peel. Julienne into thin strips. Place olives in a saucepan with enough water to cover; bring to a boil, then drain. Repeat at least once more, to remove bitterness from the olives.

Add lemon strips and olives to the chicken, cover, and simmer for 30 minutes more, or until the chicken is cooked through. Add lemon juice and adjust seasoning to taste with salt and pepper. Garnish with fresh parsley leaves. Serve with couscous.

More recipes in The Perfect Pantry:
Preserved lemons 
Tapenade 
Vinegar veggies
Mediterranean red snapper
Caponata
Stuffed pepper tapas

Table salt (Recipe: sweet potato pie)

It's not Hawaiian, French or Portuguese. Not grey, not pink, not black.

It's not sea, and not Kosher with a capital K.

In fact, it's so ordinary that the label just says "plain salt".

I call it table salt, because that's what my grandmother called it. When she said "put salt and pepper on the table," this is the salt she meant.

This particular jar of table salt has been in my pantry for years; I transferred the salt from the cylindrical container to a glass jar to minimize the amount of moisture that gets into it. I use table salt only for baking, and I don't bake very often. This salt, the house brand from my local supermarket, is not iodized, so it does not add a chemical flavor to baked goods. It does contain an anti-caking agent.

Let's talk about iodized salt for a minute, because when I was growing up, iodized salt was the norm. Created in 1924 by the Morton Salt Company, iodized salt was touted as a way to help prevent thyroid disease and promote good health.

Iodine, part of a hormone, thyroxin, which is responsible for maintaining a person's metabolic rate, comes from the sea and from soil that has previously been under the sea. Saltwater seafood, sea vegetables (such as kelp, hijiki, arame, nori, and laver), vegetables grown in iodine-containing soil (found on any land that was previously under the sea), and animals grazing on plants growing in iodine rich soil all are good sources. Iodine deficiency remains a serious public health issue in many parts of the world, especially where the soil does not contain iodine; though it seems like those areas would be far from home, the Great Lakes region of the US is one area where the soil is not iodine-rich.

Why is table salt preferred when baking cupcakes, brownies, pie crusts, cookies and breads (yes, even the now-famous no-knead bread)? Because the larger the salt crystal, the more time it takes to dissolve. Table salt has the smallest crystals, and dissolves most reliably.

The folks at Morton Salt have some great trivia questions on their site, about Columbus and Napoleon and Caesar and George Washington, but here's the trickiest:

Question: Which of these can't you live without?
Answer: (a) Money; (b) Love; (c) Salt; (d) Chocolate.

You know which answer the Morton folks chose. Which would you choose?

SWEET POTATO PIE, CRUST AND ALL
A classic dessert for the holiday table, this recipe makes enough filling for two pies, and you’ll want to make two! To make crust for two pies, don’t double the amounts; make two individual batches of dough, or substitute ready-made pie crusts.

For the crust (enough for one 9-inch pie):
2 cups all-purpose unbleached flour
1/2 tsp salt
1/4 cup very cold unsalted butter or margarine
1/4 cup very cold vegetable shortening
1/3 cup ice water

For the filling (enough for 2 pies):
6 large sweet potatoes
3 large eggs
1/3 lb margarine or butter
2 Tbsp baking powder
1 tsp ground ginger
2 tsp ground cinnamon
1/2 tsp ground nutmeg
1/2 cup light brown sugar
1/2 cup honey
1/2 can condensed milk

To make the crust: In a large bowl combine flour and salt. Using a pastry blender or two knives, cut in butter and vegetable shortening. Add ice water and stir just until the mixture comes together. Work the dough as little as possible. The larger the pieces of shortening and butter that remain, the flakier the crust will be. Wrap the dough in plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes or until firm. (Chilling not only lets the dough relax; it also firms up the fat.)

To make the filling:  Place sweet potatoes in a pot with water to cover, and boil until soft. Drain, and remove skin from potatoes. In a large bowl, mash potatoes well with a potato masher. Add baking powder, ginger, cinnamon, nutmeg, brown sugar, honey and condensed milk, and whip together until smooth. 

Partially bake the pie crust:  Press the crust into a 9-inch pie plate, and decorate or crimp the edges. There are several ways to keep the crust from shrinking or rising up while it bakes (called "blind baking"): either line the crust with aluminum foil, and fill with rice or dry beans; or line with foil, and invert the pie crust over another pie plate of the same size (the crust bakes as a “sandwich” between the two pie plates). Bake in a 425°F preheated oven for 10 minutes, or until the crust is a light golden color. 

Raise oven heat to 450°F. Pour sweet potato mixture into the pie shells, and bake for 45 minutes or until pies are firm (because some ovens are “hotter” than others, check the pies after 45 minutes -- it could take a total of an hour for the pies to cook).

More recipes in The Perfect Pantry:
Spice cake 
Honey gingerbread cookies
Outrageous brownies

Rice paper wrappers (Recipe: salmon and Asian pesto potstickers)

Sometimes, in the pantry, you've got to be ruthless.

Ted and I just designated for our upcoming yard sale an enormous platter with a turkey embossed on the bottom; we never use it for anything other than Thanksgiving turkey -- which we only make once every few years (and I think it was designed to hold a 25-pound bird). I'm also parting with a wok that's too big to fit on the stove (will we really use it on the fire pit some day?) and some of the extra whisks and spatulas I picked up at someone else's yard sale for almost nothing. And maybe a few springform pans, none of which seem to be exactly the right size for ... well ... anything.

When it comes to food in the pantry, I have a much harder time letting go. (The same can be said about cookbooks, but let's not go there.) So, as I travel through my pantry with you, looking carefully at each item and learning more about it, I've been asking myself, "Is this something I use in more than one way, in more than one dish, more than once a year?"

In the case of rice paper wrappers (banh trang), the answer is yes, yes and yes. Although associated almost exclusively with fresh Asian spring rolls (also called summer rolls or salad rolls), this ingredient passes the "more than one" test and earns its place on the pantry shelf.

Made from rice flour, salt and water, rice paper wrappers are flat, brittle, semi-transparent circles  that come in rounds from 6 to 14 inches in diameter, and also are available in quarter-rounds (shaped like little pie wedges). Sold in round plastic boxes, these noodles must be moistened in lukewarm water to make them pliable. Rice paper wrappers can keep forever in the pantry, but the older they are, the more likely they are to break or to tear when moistened.

Banh trang -- also called rice paper rounds or sheets -- have no flavor, so they are perfect carriers for any combination of taste and texture, from banana turnovers to apple strudel, to rolls filled with everything from smoked salmon to mango to swiss chard.

What do you wrap in rice paper wrappers?

SALMON AND ASIAN PESTO POTSTICKERS
Makes 20 two-bite appetizers.

For the pesto:
4 garlic cloves, crushed
1/2 cup cashews, chopped
Large bunch of cilantro, leaves only
Large bunch of Thai basil, leaves only
1/2 cup peanut oil
Sea salt, to taste

For the packages:
1-1/2 lb skinless salmon fillets
20 dry rice paper rounds, smallest available (preferably 6-inch size)
20 whole parsley or cilantro leaves
1 Tbsp peanut oil
Dipping sauce: your choice of sweet chili sauce, soy sauce or nuoc cham

Put all pesto ingredients in a small food processor and grind to a fairly smooth paste. Set aside.

Cut the salmon into 20 two-inch squares. Dip a rice paper wrapper in warm water to soften, and lay it flat on a clean dish towel. Put a parsley or cilantro leaf in the center, then top with a piece of salmon and a teaspoon of pesto. Fold up the sides of the wrapper to form a neat square (trim edges if wrapper is too big). The damp wrappers will stick closed. Place on a plate, seam side down (the pretty leaf will be facing up, visible through the rice paper). Repeat until all of the salmon and rice papers are used.

Heat peanut oil in a frying pan and cook the parcels, sealed side down, for 3 minutes until brown on the bottom. Transfer to a steamer set over boiling water and steam 4-6 minutes, OR add 1/2 cup water to the frying pan, cover, and turn the heat to simmer for 4-6 minutes. Check every couple of minutes to make sure there is still enough water in the pan to create steam. Serve hot, room temperature, or cold, with dipping sauce of your choice.

*** Note: The packages can be made ahead and fried ahead of time, covered with plastic wrap, and chilled. Steam when needed, or cook completely in advance and serve cold or at room temperature. You can also freeze the parcels before cooking.

More recipes in The Perfect Pantry:
Nime chow (fresh Vietnamese salad rolls) 
Vegetable dumplings

Lentils (Recipe: spiced lentils with squash and raisins)

What's brown, and green, and black and yellow and pink?

What's high in fiber, protein, potassium and folate?

What has the same antioxidants found in tea, fruits, red wine and cocoa beans?

What's low on the glycemic index?

What's fast and cheap, and available absolutely everywhere?

Lentils, of course.

Shaped like a lens, which is the origin of the name, lentils are a legume, perhaps one of the oldest known agricultural products. Lentils were found in Egyptian tombs dating back to 2400 BC, and perhaps were grown in the gardens of Babylon around 800 BC. In modern times, the primary producers are India and Canada, with additional production in the Mideast and the Palouse region of the northwest United States.

Apart from their unquestioned status as a "superfood", lentils offer one great advantage to cooks. They do not need a pre-soak. Just rinse them, pick through to remove any little stones, and start cooking your favorite lentil soup, stew, salad, pasta, and burgers.

Lentils will keep forever in a sealed bag or jar. The color does fade over time, but the flavor holds. As with all pulses, the older they are, the longer they take to cook.

By the way, thirty-plus years ago, Robert McCloskey, author of Make Way for Ducklings, wrote a book called Lentil. It's about a little boy who learns to play the harmonica -- and not a legume in sight.

SPICED LENTILS WITH SQUASH AND RAISINS
Turn any leftovers into a wonderful soup with the addition of chicken stock or water. This is one of the few instances when either lemon zest or minced preserved lemon rind can be used to enhance the flavor of the dish; most often, you really can’t substitute for preserved lemons. Serves 6-8, with couscous.

1-1/4 cups brown lentils
3/4 cup canned chopped tomato
1 onion, finely chopped
3 cups water (plus more if needed)

3 Tbsp olive oil
3 cloves garlic, minced or grated
1/2 tsp ground cumin
1/2 tsp ground turmeric
2 tsp harissa, or more to taste (or 1/4 tsp cayenne pepper)
1 tsp paprika
1 Tbsp tomato paste
1/2 tsp sugar
1 tsp kosher salt
1/2 tsp black pepper, or more to taste

1  lb butternut squash, peeled, cut into 1-inch cubes
1 cup raisins
1/2 preserved lemon, pith removed, rind chopped OR grated zest of one lemon
Juice of one lemon, as needed
Honey or agave nectar, as needed
4 tsp finely chopped flat-leaf parsley

Rinse the lentils in a sieve. Place in a Dutch oven with tomatoes, onion, and 3 cups water. Cover and bring to a simmer over low heat, and cook for 10 minutes.

In the meantime, in a small nonstick frying pan, heat the oil over low heat. Add garlic, sauté for 15 seconds, then add cumin, turmeric, harissa, paprika, tomato paste and sugar, and cook, stirring constantly, for 2 minutes until it forms a dark, aromatic paste. Add mixture to the lentils, along with salt and pepper.

After the lentils have cooked for 15 minutes total, add the squash and raisins, plus an additional cup of water. Continue cooking for 15 minutes. Add the preserved lemon and half of the parsley. Cook until lentils and squash are done. Taste and adjust seasoning with fresh lemon juice, honey, salt and pepper to taste. Garnish with remaining parsley, and serve over couscous.

More recipes in The Perfect Pantry:
Lentils with spinach and preserved lemons
One-of-everything lentil soup
Punjab five jewels
Lentils and brown rice

Parsley (Recipe: tzatziki)

Simon and Garfunkel would feel right at home in my herb garden.

I have it all: parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme.

Can you see them in this photo?

I have lemon thyme and lemongrass, Thai basil and purple basil, chives and garlic chives too, but for some reason, I've never been able to grow dill.

Fresh herbs are an important part of The Perfect Pantry, even though they are only available from the garden for five months of the year. Of the four herbs of song, parsley will be first to go, as night temperatures begin their descent into winter. (Most of the tender basil has bid farewell for the year, though there is a fresh batch of pesto in the freezer.) It's a shame, too, because this year my parsley field produced the most glorious plants, rich in color and flavor, and, for the first time, I began to use my flat-leaf parsley not only as a garnish, but also as a valued ingredient in my cooking.

Fundamental to most cuisines of Europe and the Mediterranean area, parsley comes in two main varieties: curly, which we all know from its rampant overuse as a garnish; and flat-leaf, also called Italian or French parsley, which has the best flavor.

Rich in Vitamins A and C, and iron, parsley is a biennial herb related to celery; in fact, the word "parsley" derives from a Greek word meaning "rock celery." Native to the eastern Mediterranean region, it's cultivated in many parts of the world.  Parsley is essential to several basic sauces and garnishes, including chimichurri, gremolata, salsa verde, chermoula and persillade -- and, of course, to tabbouleh.

To store parsley, wash it and dry almost completely. Wrap the damp parsley in a paper towel, and put the bundle inside a ziploc bag. Stored that way, it will keep in the refrigerator for up to a week.

Parsley is one of those herbs I used to take for granted, but this year, when the last of the parsley succumbs to a hard frost, I will miss it.

TZATZIKI
This all-purpose yogurt sauce, adapted from a recipe our friend Greg taught to the #1 Cooking Group last night, is the perfect accompaniment to grilled lamb, chicken or salmon. It's the last hurrah for my herb garden, and a big hurrah for the two-year anniversary of one of the blog world's most enduring and endearing features, Weekend Herb Blogging, the brainchild of Kalyn's Kitchen. As the dill in my garden bolted ages ago, parsley, along with cucumbers, are the star of this show, with a bit of store-bought dill. Makes 2-1/2 cups.

2 cups plain whole-milk yogurt
1 small seedless (English) cucumber, unpeeled, or 1 regular cucumber, seeded
1 Tbsp plus 1/2 tsp kosher salt
1/2 cup sour cream
1 Tbsp white wine vinegar
Juice of 1 lemon
1 Tbsp olive oil
1 clove garlic, minced or grated
1 tsp minced fresh parsley
1/2 tsp minced fresh dill (or use more parsley, if there's no dill in your garden)
Pinch of freshly ground black pepper

Do ahead: Place yogurt in a cheesecloth-lined sieve and set it over a bowl. Grate the cucumber and toss with 1/2 teaspoon of salt; place in another sieve and set it over another bowl. Place both bowls in the refrigerator for 3 – 4 hours so the yogurt and cucumber can drain.

Transfer thickened yogurt to a large bowl. Squeeze as much liquid from the cucumber as you can, and add to the yogurt. Mix in remaining ingredients, and adjust seasonings to taste.

More recipes in The Perfect Pantry:
Frittata with broccoli and garden herbs
Vegetable paella with spicy garlic sauce
Pasta puttanesca
Tyropita (cheese-filled phyllo triangles)
French potato salad with basic vinaigrette

Bookworms in the Pantry 2007: The Complete List

Imagine my surprise when, back in February, I discovered Bookworms in my pantry. It started with one -- my friend Marcia, who lives up the road -- and spread from Rhode Island to The Philippines to Michigan to Washington DC to Wisconsin, to North Carolina, to England ... well, it turns out that there are bookworms everywhere! More than twenty-five Pantry readers shared their favorite reads.

Each Bookworm recommended five food-related non-cookbooks to add to our collective library. On this list you'll find Michael Pollan and Julia Child, of course. Ruth Reichl and Anthony Bourdain. Calvin Trillin, Nigel Slater, Lewis Carroll, MFK Fisher, Kermit Lynch, Dr. Seuss. There's something for everyone.

More or less alphabetically, here's the entire list for 2007 (books mentioned more than once are indicated in parentheses), including suggested additions that arrived by email.

• A Cordiall Water, by MFK Fisher
• A History of the World in Six Glasses, by Tom Standage
• A Moveable Feast, by Ernest Hemingway
• A Natural History of the Senses, by Diane Ackerman
• Adventures on the Wine Route, by Kermit Lynch (2)
• Alice Waters and Chez Panisse: the Romantic, Impractical, Often Eccentric, Ultimately Brilliant Making of a Food Revolution, by Thomas McNamee
• Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking-Glass, by Lewis Carroll
• American Diner Then and Now, by Richard J.S. Gutman
• The Anatomy of Dessert, by Edward Bunyan
• Anecdotes of Destiny and Ehrengard (includes "Babette's Feast), by Isak Dinesen
• Animal, Vegetable, Mineral, by Barbara Kingsolver (2)
• An Omelette and a Glass of Wine, by Elizabeth David
• Aphrodite: A Memoir of the Senses, by Isabel Allende
• The Apprentice: My Life in the Kitchen, by Jacques Pepin
• Are You Really Going to Eat That? Reflections of a Culinary Thrill Seeker, by Robb Walsh
• The Art of Eating, by MFK Fisher (2)
• Back Story (and the Spenser mystery series), by Robert B. Parker
• Becoming Whole: The Story of My Recovery from Breast Cancer, by Meg Wolff
• The Belly of Paris, by Emile Zola
• The Big Oyster, by Mark Kurlansky
• Blessed Are the Cheesemakers, by Sarah-Kate Lynch
• Blue Jelly: Love Lost and the Lessons of Canning, by Debby Bull
• Blue Trout and Black Truffles, by Joseph Wechsberg
• The Body in the Bouillon: A Faith Fairchild Mystery, by Katherine Hall Page
• The Book of Salt, by Monique Truong
• The Botany of Desire, by Michael Pollan
• Bread Alone, by Judith R. Hendricks
• Bread of Three Rivers: The Story of a French Loaf, by Susan Mansfield Taber
• The Century in Food: America's Fads and Favorites, by Beverly Bundy
• Chocolat, by Joanne Harris (2)
• Cod, by Mark Kurlansky (2)
• Comfort Me with Apples, by Ruth Reichl (2)
• Coming Home to Eat: The Pleasure and Politics of Local Food, by Gary Naban
• Consuming Passions: A Food-Obsessed Life, by Michael Lee West
• Cooking for Mr. Latte, by Amanda Hesser
• Crescent, by Diana Abu-Jabar
• The Day Everything Tasted Like Broccoli (Maximum Boy #02), by Dan Greenburg
• The Dead, by James Joyce
• The Debt to Pleasure, by John Lanchester (2)
• Devil in the Details: Scenes from an Obsessive Girlhood, by Jennifer Traig
• The Devil's Larder, by Jim Crace
• Dictionnaire Gastronomique, by Bernard Luce
• Down and Out in Paris and London, by George Orwell
• Eating Between the Lines: The Supermarket Shopper's Guide to the Truth Behind Food Labels, by Kimberly Lord Stewart
• Extra Virgin, by Annie Hawes
• Extremely Pale Rosé: A Very French Adventure, by Jamie Ivey
• Fast Food Nation, by Eric Schlosser
• Fat Land, by Greg Critser
• Feeding a Yen, by Calvin Trillin (2)
• Floyd in the Soup, by Keith Floyd
• Food in History, by Reay Tannahill (2)
• The Food of France, by Waverly Root
• French Lessons, by Peter Mayle
• From Here You Can't See Paris, by Michael S. Sanders
• Garlic and Sapphires, by Ruth Reichl (4)
• The Gastronomical Me, by MFK Fisher
• The Girl with a Pearl Earring, by Tracy Chevalier
• Gluten-free Girl, by Shauna James Ahern
• Green Eggs and Ham, by Dr. Seuss
• Havana Salsa, by Viviana Carballo
• Heat: An Amateur's Adventures as Kitchen Slave, Line Cook, Pasta-Maker, and Apprentice to a Dante-Quoting Butcher in Tuscany, by Bill Buford
• Her Fork in the Road, edited by Lisa Bach
• The Hills of Tuscany, by Ferenc Mate
• Home Cooking: A Writer in the Kitchen, by Laurie Colwin
• How to Make an Apple Pie and See the World, by Marjorie Priceman
• Hungry Planet, by Peter Menzel and Faith D'Aluisio
• In Search of Lost Time, by Marcel Proust
• Interpreter of Maladies, by Jhumpa Lahiri
• I Will Never Not Ever Eat a Tomato, by Lauren Child
• Julie and Julia: 365 Days, 524 Recipes, 1 Tiny Apartment Kitchen, by Julie Powell
• Killer Calories (Savannah Reid Mysteries), by GA McKevett
• Killer Pancake, by Diane Mott Davidson
• Kitchen Confidential: Notes from the Culinary Underbelly, by Anthony Bourdain
• The Kitchen Diaries, by Nigel Slater
• La Cucina, by Lily Prior (2)
• The Land was Everything, by Victor Davis Hanson
• The Life of Hunger, by Amelie Nothomb
• Like Water for Chocolate, by Laura Esquivel (2)
• The Magic of Provence, by Yvonne Lenard
• The Mammoth Cheese, by Sheri Holman
• The Man Who Ate Everything, by Jeffrey Steingarten
• The Measure of Her Powers: An MFK Fisher Reader, by MFK Fisher and Ruth Reich
• The Mistress of Spices, by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni (2)
• Monsieur Pamplemousse series, by Michael Bond
• More Home Cooking: A Writer Returns to the Kitchen, by Laurie Colwin
• The Mortdecai Trilogy, by Kyril Bonfiglioli
• Mostly True, by Molly O'Neill
• Murder Al Fresco, by Nadia Gordon
• My Life in France, by Julia Child
• The Nantucket Diet Murders (Eugenia Potter series), by Virginia Rich
• The Nasty Bits, by Anthony Bourdain
• The Omnivore's Dilemma, by Michael Pollan
• On Food and Cooking, by Harold McGee
• On Persephone's Island, by Mary Taylor Simeti
• On Rue Tatin, by Susan Hermann Loomis
• One More Day, by Mitch Alborn
• The Oysters of Locmariaquer, by Eleanor Clark
• Oranges, by John McPhee
• Paula Deen: It Ain't All About the Cookin', by Paula Deen
• The Physiology of Taste, or Meditations on Transcendental Gastronomy, by Brillat-Savarin
• Pomegranate Soup: A Novel, by Marsha Mehran
• Poet of the Appetites: The Lives and Loves of MFK Fisher, by Joan Reardon
• Pot on the Fire, by John Thorne
• Road Food, by Jane and Michael Stern
• Salt, by Mark Kurlansky
• Second Nature, by Michael Pollan (2)
• The Secret Life of Lobsters, by Trevor Corson
• The Seven Silly eaters, by Mary Ann Hoberman and Marla Frazee
• The $64 Tomato, by William Alexander
• The Short Stories of Saki, by HH Munro
• The Soul of a Chef, by Michael Ruhlman
• Spice: A History of Temptation, by Jack Turner
• The Supper of the Lamb, by Robert Farrar Capon
• Sweets: A History of Candy, by Tim Richardson
• Take Big Bites, by Linda Ellerbee
• Talking with My Mouth Full, by Bonny Wolf
• Tender at the Bone, by Ruth Reichl (2)
• The Tequila Worm, by Viola Canales
• Thunder Cake, by Patricia Polacco
• Titus Andronicus, by William Shakespeare
• Toast, by Nigel Slater (2)
• Tsukiji: The Fish Market at the Center of the World, by Theodore Bestor
• The Tummy Trilogy, by Calvin Trillin
• Typical American, by Gish Jen
• Under the Jaguar Sun, by Italo Calvino
• The Van, by Roddy Doyle
• Vie de France, by James Haller
• Vineyard Blues, by Philip R. Craig
• Voice of the Violin (Inspector Montalbano Mysteries), by Andrea Camilleri and Stephen Sartarell
• The Way Life Should Be, by Christina Baker Kline
• The Whole World Over, by Julia Glass (2)
• We Could Almost Eat Outside: An Appreciation of Life's Small Pleasures, by Philippe Delerm
• Why We Eat What We Eat, by Raymond Sokolov
• Women Who Eat: A New Generation on the Glory of Food, by Leslie Miller
• The World is a Kitchen, edited by Susan Brady and Michele Anna Jordan
• The Zen of Fish, by Trevor Corson

If this isn't the very best list of food-related non-cookbooks anywhere, I'll eat my hat. And if there's no hat in my pantry (after all, it's not really perfect), I'll eat something else.

Eggs (Recipe: albornia de chayote)

The last of three posts for my friend Peter, an American chef who's running a beautiful inn and restaurant in the mountains of Minas Gerais, in southeastern Brazil. I'm revisiting some favorite posts this week on The Perfect Pantry, featuring recipes that he might adapt to local ingredients. Ted and I plan to visit some time next year; we'll let you know whether any of these recipes find their way onto the menu at Pousada Capao.

A few years ago, while working on a magazine article (never finished) about "designer eggs" (never found them), I interviewed a woman in our town who's  both a licensed veterinarian and a holistic practitioner. I needed a chicken refresher course, and she invited me to her farm for a lesson in which-came-first.

Of all the things she told me, the one I remember is this: you can tell what color an egg will be by checking the ear lobes of the chicken.

I'm not kidding.

White ear lobes, white eggs. Brown-ish ear lobes, brown eggs.

Anyone who's lived in New England knows the famous advertising jingle: "Brown eggs are local eggs, and local eggs are fresh!" But if, as they say, you're not from here, you might not know that brown eggs are the norm in this part of the country, thanks primarily to our very own state bird, the Rhode Island Red — a brown hen, with brown ear lobes.

Eggs have been called a "perfect" food. According to the Egg Nutrition Center, eggs contain almost every essential vitamin and mineral needed by humans except Vitamin C. Eggs have a biological value (efficacy with which protein is used for growth) of 93.7%, compared with 84.5% for milk, 76% for fish, and 74.3% for beef, and they are especially rich in the antioxidant lutein.

Nutrition claims aside, for cooks eggs are a perfect food. Without them, we'd have no frittata, no torta espanol, no soufflé. No brunch, come to think of it, without omelets, eggs Benedict, French toast. No egg salad sandwiches. No Spit in the Ocean (my dad's specialty).

My favorite Country Hen eggs, from nearby Massachusetts, are laid by chickens fed an organic diet high in Omega-3. These chickens have a very happy life, housed in barns with natural sunlight, no cages, and porches. When you crack the eggs, the deep yellow yolks sit up straight and tall. Yes, they are twice the price of supermarket eggs that have been refrigerated for days or weeks and trucked in from who-knows-where, but I can see and taste the difference.

And, they have a beautiful, irresistible, George Hamilton tan.

ALBORNIA DE CHAYOTE
Chayote, also known as mirliton, is a pale green, almost pear-shaped squash, with a dimple on the bottom. It's available in my local grocery store, and in markets serving Latino communities. Popular in the southern US and the Caribbean, chayote has a mild flavor and good texture. If this vegetable is new to you, try it in scrambled eggs. Serves 6.

2 green chayote squash, quartered, pith removed, and diced (do not peel)
1/2 green pepper, diced
1/2 red pepper, diced
1/2 yellow pepper, diced
1 onion, diced
2 Tbsp sofrito (storebought or homemade)
7 eggs

Bring 2 cups of water to the boil in a saucepan. Add the chayote, and boil uncovered for 30 minutes until the chayote is cooked through. Drain and set aside.  In a large frying pan, heat sofrito, and stir in peppers and onion. Sauté, stirring often, 3-4 minutes over medium-high heat. Add the chayote, and cook 1 minute. In a large bowl, beat the eggs and stir into the vegetable mixture. Reduce heat to low, and stir constantly until the eggs are cooked, approximately 4-5 minutes.

More recipes in The Perfect Pantry:
Frittata ring
Matzoh brei
Frittata with broccoli and garden herbs
Cheesy omeletta