The Perfect Pantry

Capers (Recipe: confetti spaghetti)

Was it Peter Piper who first pickled a peck of prickly perennial pods?

Inquiring minds want to know.

I want to know.

Who first thought that pickling the unripened flower buds of Capparis spinosa, a bushy Mediterranean plant, would be a good idea? An adventurous cook who lived before 3,000 BC, because history records capers used as a food at least that long ago.

And it was a good idea, for without capers, there would be no remoulade or tapenade, piccata or caponata. And no scallopini. 

Tart, lemon-flavored capers balance out both the sweetness of dried fruit, in one of my all-time favorite Silver Palate dishes -- chicken marbella -- and the oiliness of salmon. Capers pair well with tomatoes and potatoes, eggplant, eggs and tofu, too. (Hint: if you are out of capers, substitute some preserved lemon rind.)

You can make your own Poor Man's Capers at home from nasturtium seeds. If, that is, your nasturtiums grow more robustly than mine do.

Capers are graded into four sizes before soaking in vinegar, salt, brine or oil. The smallest size, called nonpareil, is the most prized, and most pricey. Larger capers are a bit less aromatic.

If packed in brine or vinegar, they should be stored in the refrigerator; salt-cured capers may be stored at room temperature for up to six months. Be sure to rinse all capers before you cook with them.

CONFETTI SPAGHETTI
Adapted from Kitchen Playdates by Lauren Bank Deen (a wonderful gift from my friend Laura). Yes, it's a kids' cookbook, with recipes that include very grown-up ingredients. Make this with spaghetti squash, or substitute any pasta of your choice. Serves 4; can be doubled.

1 large spaghetti squash (or 1-1/2 lb pasta)
2 Tbsp extra virgin olive oil
1/4 tsp kosher salt
1/8 tsp black pepper
6 Tbsp unsalted butter
2 Tbsp capers, drained
1 zucchini, seeded and diced
1/2 red bell pepper, seeded and diced
1/2 orange or yellow bell pepper, seeded and diced
1/4 cup fresh lemon juice
1/4 cup chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste
1 small tomato, seeded and chopped
Grated Parmigiano-Reggiano, asiago or ricotta salata cheese, 1/4 cup or more, to taste

Preheat oven to 400°F. Cut the squash in half lengthwise and scoop out the seeds. Rub the squash inside and out with the oil, and place cut side down on a rimmed baking sheet. Cover with aluminum foil, and bake for 45 minutes or until the rind is slightly soft and yields to the touch. With a fork, scrape out the flesh into an ovenproof bowl. It will look like spaghetti. (Can be done ahead and reheated in a microwave.)

If you are making this dish with pasta, prepare the pasta according to package directions. Drain, and set aside.

Heat a large sauté pan over medium-high heat, and melt the butter. Brown the butter carefully until it turns dark brown in color, but is not burned. Add the capers, zucchini, and bell peppers, and stir quickly to stop the butter from cooking any further. Remove from the heat when warmed through. Add lemon juice, parsley , and coarse salt and pepper to taste.

In a large serving bowl or platter, combine the squash or pasta, butter sauce, and diced tomato. Sprinkle with cheese and serve hot.

More recipes in The Perfect Pantry:
Pasta puttanesca
Caponata
Tapenade

Dried mushrooms (Recipe: potato and mushroom soup)

A few Junes ago, Ted was mowing the occasional blades of grass in our lawn.

Along the edge of the woods, underneath the oak trees, he spotted a couple of oddly shaped mushrooms. Are they morels, he wondered?

Oh, yes, they were morels. And the more we looked, the more we found.

Two quarts of morels!

Have I told you that our land was once used by a charcoal maker? He was known as "The Indian," because he was a member of the Narragansett tribe that has its roots here in Rhode Island. (Nobody we know remembers his name.) There are large concrete platforms buried beneath our grass; on those platforms, more than forty years ago, The Indian burned wood into charcoal. A mushroom forager told us that the residual ash in our lawn creates a happy environment for morels.

I noted the date on the calendar, and the following year, with anticipation -- and with recipes in mind -- we hunted and hunted, but didn't find a single morel. The year after that, just a handful. Last year, none.

We should have dried our harvest that first year.

Dried mushrooms I've purchased from farmers and farm stands in France (cepes) and in the Pacific Northwest (mixed morels, chanterelles and porcini) have kept for more than two years in tightly-sealed glass jars in my pantry, with no significant loss of quality.

On the short list of pantry items I’m never without, dried mushrooms, ground to a powder, enrich soups and stews; reconstituted and left whole, they feature in my favorite risotto, as well as beef stew, saffron orzo with shrimp, pasta with goat cheese and mushrooms, and Tuscan meatloaf. 

Whenever I make vegetable stock, I add dried and fresh wild mushrooms, which contribute the meaty taste we now know as umami -- the fifth taste, along with sweet, sour, bitter and salty. Invaluable in a vegetarian diet as a meat substitute, mushrooms contain protein and all of the essential amino acids, as well as significant amounts of Vitamin D, potassium and phosphorous.

Quality is the key. Buy from a reputable source, preferably from the places known for their mushrooms: France, Italy, Poland, and the Pacific Northwest. Good dried mushrooms aren’t cheap. Don’t buy kibble -- which is, no kidding, what the bits and pieces are called. Your dried mushrooms should look like mushrooms, and you should be able to distinguish one variety from another. Check also for too much "dust" in the bag (a sign of staleness) or tiny wormholes in the mushrooms (a sign of stowaways).

From ancient times, mushrooms have held a place in mythology because of their seemingly magical ability to appear overnight; in many cultures, mushrooms are revered as a symbol of super-human strength, because they can push away stones as they grow upright through the soil.

If you’re in my neighborhood in early June, stop by and check the lawn for super-human morels.

Finders, keepers.

MUSHROOM AND POTATO SOUP
Adapted slightly from Sarah Leah Chase's Cold Weather Cooking, one of my all-time favorite cookbooks, this Polish soup is rich and creamy, and can be made vegetarian if you prefer. Serves 10.

1 cup dried porcini or mixed wild mushrooms (not shiitake)
4 cups water
3 leeks, white and light green parts, rinsed, trimmed
1 medium onion
3 ribs celery
1 large carrot, peeled
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter
1 lb white mushrooms, thinly sliced
1 Tbsp caraway seeds
4 cups beef broth, vegetable broth or water
5 large potatoes, peeled, cut into 1/2-inch chunk
4 cups whole milk
Salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste
1 cup sour cream
1/4 cup unbleached, all-purpose flour
2 tsp sweet Hungarian paprika

Place dried mushrooms and 4 cups water in a saucepan. Bring to a boil, then simmer, uncovered, for 30 minutes. Strain the mushrooms, reserving the cooking liquid. Coarsely chop the mushrooms and set aside.

In a food processor, finely mince the leeks, onion, celery and carrot. Melt the butter in a stockpot over medium-high heat, and add the minced vegetables. Sauté 5 minutes. Reduce the heat to medium, add the fresh and dried mushrooms and caraway seeds. Continue cooking until the vegetables are very tender, 15-20 minutes.

Meanwhile, pour the reserved mushroom liquid into a pot, being careful to leave any sediment behind. Add the broth and potatoes. Simmer until the potatoes are tender, 20-25 minutes. Add the potatoes and liquid to the sautéed vegetables, and mash half of the potatoes against the side of the pot with a large spoon to help thicken the soup.

Add the milk to the soup and heat through, and season to taste with salt and pepper. Whisk the sour cream, flour and paprika together in a small bowl until smooth. Stir into the soup pot to blend. Cook the soup a few minutes over low heat, being sure not to let the soup boil, or it will curdle. Serve hot.

More recipes in The Perfect Pantry:
Mushroom paté
Vegetable dumplings (for potstickers or soup)
Mushroom barley soup
Dry rub for beef

Panko (Recipe: chicken fingers)

I'm the same age, give or take a couple of months, as Peeps and Swanson TV Dinners, but I'm forty years older than panko.

Neither a dance, nor an exercise regimen, nor very cool drum-beating music, panko are the Japanese bread crumbs that have taken Western cooking by storm over the past five years or so. More coarse than traditional dried bread crumbs, panko are really bread flakes; the flakes absorb less moisture and, therefore, food made with them stays more crisp.

There are two main types of panko: white and brown. The white is made from bread without the crusts, and the brown includes the whole loaf. Last time I shopped in my local Asian market, I found this honey panko, which is not really sweet but is definitely more flavorful. The bag says "A Good Bargain," and at just $1.59 for a 12-ounce bag, I have to agree.

Once you've opened the package, store unused panko in a ziploc bag, in the cupboard. Don't freeze panko, as it will absorb moisture and become a bit gloppy. If that does happen, use it in meatloaf, but not as a crust. When a recipe calls for panko, you can substitute cracker crumbs, which are lighter than traditional dried bread crumbs.

Panko makes a great addition to stuffed mushrooms and salmon cakes, or a crispy crust for soft-shell crabs, daikon cakes and mac-and-cheese. 

P.S.: Last week I had a play date in my friend Bob's photography studio, which explains why my panko looks like a movie star today!

CHICKEN FINGERS
Just in time for the big football game (it's big, if you're from New England), here's an easy appetizer. Serves 4; can be doubled or tripled or more.

1-1/4 cup panko
2 Tbsp mayonnaise
1 Tbsp Dijon mustard
Few drops of Tabasco or other hot sauce, to taste
Drop of agave nectar, to taste
Black pepper, to taste
1-1/4 lb boneless, skinless chicken breasts, cut lengthwise into 1-inch strips
Spicy ketchup or honey mustard (store-bought or homemade), for dipping

Preheat the broiler, and line a baking sheet with parchment paper or a Silpat. Place panko in a pie plate or other flat rimmed bowl. In a mixing bowl, combine mayonnaise, Dijon mustard, hot sauce, agave nectar and black pepper, and stir. Dip the chicken strips into the mayonnaise mixture, and then roll them in the panko, pressing lightly to make sure the crumbs adhere. Place on the baking sheet, and cook under the broiler, turning once, for a total of 6-10 minutes, until the chicken is cooked through and the panko is browned. Serve with your choice of dipping sauce.

More recipes in The Perfect Pantry:
Sicilian-style spaghetti
Jennifer's Criminal Crab Cakes
Peppery egg noodles, farmer's cheese and cauliflower gratin
Turkey meatloaf with fig gravy

Introducing "Other People's Pantries"

Ted built this spice rack to hold many of my everyday herbs and spices.

I have another "holding area" in the cellar, for things I use less frequently (yes, I'll show you that, too). And I keep larger quantities of some herbs and spices in the freezer. If my pantry were really perfect, the spice rack would be the length of a supermarket aisle, and everything would be stored at the eye level of a five-foot-two woman. No reaching, no bending.

Our log house kitchen features bumpy walls inside and out. Ted rummaged around in the barn and found an old wooden door, part of which became this spice rack, custom sized (28 inches wide, 22 inches tall) to hold my assortment of old and new jars and tins. The best part is that it looks like it's been there forever.

----------------

I've shown you mine. Now, you show me yours.

Show me your pantry: cupboard, shelves, closet or cellar. Or your spice rack. Spice box. Spice cabinet. Or the corner where you've stacked boxes of pasta or cans of tomatoes.

Show me, and I'll show everyone else, because -- admit it -- we're all curious about Other People's Pantries.

Send (to lydia AT ninecooks DOT com):

• a photo of your pantry (all or part), along with
• your first name,
• city or state or country where you live, and
  
• if you're a blogger, your blog name and URL.

If you want to write something about your photo, please do -- but it's not required. If you've already blogged about your pantry, be sure to include a link to your post.

Photos should be JPGs, ideally 460 pixels wide --and if what I just wrote is gibberish to you, don't worry; just send whatever size and shape photo you have, and I'll make it work. Feel free to watermark your photo if that's what you usually do.

On Saturdays, I'll post the photos, one each weekend in the order in which I receive them, along with your first name, and, if you're a blogger, a link to your blog.

Send everything to lydia AT ninecooks DOT com.

Come on -- snap a photo. Give us a peek inside your pantry.

Onions (Recipe: onion bhaji)

Whenever I cook, I hear voices.

I hear Jacques Pepin, Diana Kennedy, Ina Garten and Martin Yan, all urging me to try, trust, experiment, enjoy.

I hear Julia Child, and sometimes I hear Dan Aykroyd channeling Julia, encouraging me to keep going, even if what I'm creating looks like a googly mess.

I hear my grandmother, telling the little girl in me to keep stirring, keep chopping, pay attention.

When I cook jambalaya, I hear Justin Wilson.

A humorist, storyteller, and talented home cook who spent the first part of his career as a safety engineer inspecting warehouses in South Louisiana, he hosted a cooking show on public television in the 1970s and 1980s, before the rest of the country heard of blackened catfish, etoufeé and andouille.

From Justin Wilson I learned about the Cajun trinity, the mirepoix of flavorings that start every good soup and stew: celery, bell pepper, and onion. What he actually said was SEL-ray, bell PEPpah, and un-NYUANH, way up in the nasal back of his throat, and whenever I make anything that begins with the trinity, I hear his voice.

In fact, there's very little cooking that does not include onions, which have been cultivated for more than 5,000 years. Of the total world crop, more than 87 percent is yellow onions, 8 percent red, and 5 percent white.

Yellow onions, all-purpose and full of flavor, add richness and a bit of sweetness to almost anything from French onion soup to chutney. Red onions lend their beautiful color and mild flavor to salads and stuffed dishes. Sweet white spring/summer onions, including Vidalia and Walla Walla, are traditional in many Mexican dishes, such as salsa and migas.

Stored properly in a cool, dry place, whole onions will keep for several weeks, or up to several months. I buy yellow onions in three-pound bags and, because I use them frequently, I keep them in a basket on my kitchen counter. You can keep them in the refrigerator, spread on a layer of paper towels in the vegetable bin; the paper towels will wick away the moisture. A screen or rack in a dry cellar works well, too.

Here's the strangest storage method I've read about, but not tried, from the Sweet Onion Source: Take a leg from a pair of clean sheer pantyhose. Drop an onion into the foot, and tie a knot right above it. Drop in another onion, tie a knot, and work your way up the leg. Hang this contraption in a cool, dry, well-ventilated place (perhaps not front and center in your kitchen...). When you need an onion, start at the bottom and cut below the lowest knot. Cut off as many onions as you need, and let the rest hang out.

A few fun facts about onions:

• According to the US Department of Agriculture, men consume 40 percent more onions than women.
• Russian Orthodox churches (think St. Basil's Cathedral, in Moscow's Red Square) are topped with onion-shaped domes because the onion's concentric rings are a symbol of eternity.
• An onion under the pillow is believed to ward off insomnia.
• In ancient times, Greek athletes rubbed onion on their bodies before the Olympic Games to bring them strength and endurance. In World War II, Russian soldiers rubbed onion on wounds, as an antiseptic. I have never ever rubbed onion on anyone's body.
• Parsley is the antidote to "onion breath."
• The Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster #2 is one of six cocktails traditionally garnished with an onion.

Now, really, can you imagine life without onions?


ONION BHAJI
Think spicy onion rings or tempura, and you, too, will be craving this wonderful snack food. This recipe takes inspiration from many sources. Makes 20-24, depending on the size of your onions.

2 large (or 3 medium) yellow or red onions, peeled, sliced cross-wise into 1/4-inch rings (do not separate, but if the rings fall apart, do not fret)
2 cups besan (chickpea flour)
1/2 tsp cayenne pepper, or more or less to taste
1 tsp turmeric
1/4 tsp ground oregano, fennel pollen or cumin
1/4 tsp kosher salt
Oil for deep frying (peanut, canola or rice bran oil)
Sea salt
Raita, chutney or spicy tomato ketchup, for serving

Set the oil to heat in a deep fryer or deep sauce pan. In a large bowl, combine besan, cayenne, turmeric, oregano/fennel/cumin, and kosher salt. Stir with a whisk. Add enough water to make a batter the consistency of thick cream, so add the water slowly. Test the oil by frying a small bit of batter; it should sizzle immediately and rise to the top if the oil is hot enough.

Very carefully add 2-3 Tbsp of the very hot oil into the batter, and whisk to combine. The batter will sizzle, but this is what helps the bhajis crisp. In small batches, just a few at a time, dunk the onion slices into the batter and carefully drop into the oil. Don't crowd the pot, or the bhajis won't brown. Fry until golden all over, 2-3 minutes, turning occasionally. Lift onions out of the pot with a spider or strainer, and place on a platter covered with paper towels. Sprinkle with crunchy sea salt and serve hot, with raita, chutney or ketchup for dipping.

More recipes in The Perfect Pantry:
Curried chicken wontons
Soupe a l'oignon, maison
Jambalaya

Baking powder (Recipe: coffee spice cake)

While cleaning out several decades' worth of accumulated stuff in his barn, my friend Matt discovered a small book, which he passed on to me.

Published in 1939, A Rhode Island Rule Book is not about football, or dating, or straight lines.

It's a cookbook. More precisely, it's a cheat sheet for women (yes, women) who already know how to cook. The introduction explains:

The Rule Book of the past contained only those rules which were too complicated to be memorized by the cook, the mother.

Directions for cooking eggs, fish, meats, and vegetables were unwritten lore handed down from mother to daughter, who learned by doing. These were fundamentals and to know them not was a disgrace...

I am sensing disgrace in my future.

In the chapter titled Cakes and Frostings, the Rule Book states that "Baking powder is new-fangled. Saleratus and cream of tartar will keep cake more moist."

Saleratus? I had to look it up. (See? Disgrace.) Saleratus is sodium or potassium bicarbonate: baking soda, which has been used in baking since ancient times. The "new-fangled" baking powder has been on the market only since 1856.

You can't really talk about one without the other, so once again we're back at the difference between baking soda and baking powder. To recall which is which, remember that in alphabetical order, acid comes before alkali, and powder comes before soda. Baking powder = acid, baking soda = alkali.

Most baking powder consists of baking soda, cream of tartar and/or aluminum sulfate, and corn or wheat starch -- a formula designed to ensure that the chemical reaction that causes leavening happens at the right time. It's a popular ingredient in baked goodies of all types, including rosemary loaf, carrot cake, lemon cupcakes, orange-cranberry biscotti, molasses cookies, eggnog pound cake and cornbread.

Rumford Baking Powder is, for me, the epitome of eating local, as it was developed in East Providence, Rhode Island. It's one of the few baking powders that does not contain aluminum. Many people claim they can detect a metallic aftertaste in food baked with other types of baking powder. My palate isn't that sensitive, but it does seem like baking without more chemicals than absolutely necessary is a good idea.

When using baking powder (or baking soda) in a recipe, be sure to sift it along with the flour and other dry ingredients, to distribute the baking powder evenly and to eliminate any clumps. Store baking powder on a cool, dry pantry shelf, well sealed to keep moisture out, for up to one year.

There are a number of gluten-free baking powders on the market, or you can make your own by combining 1 part baking soda, 2 parts cream of tartar, and 2 parts arrowroot starch.

By the way, in June 2006, the American Chemical Society designated the development of Rumford Baking Powder a National Historic Chemical Landmark.

No disgrace in that.

COFFEE SPICE CAKE
Word for word from A Rhode Island Rule Book, with the original punctuation, here is the recipe in its entirety. No mixing instructions. No guidance on spices. No pan size. No oven temperature. Can you help fill in the blanks?

1 cup of sugar, 2 eggs, 1/2 cup of butter, 1/2 cup of strong coffee
2 cups of flour, 1-1/2 teaspoons of baking powder
Little salt and 2 teaspoons of mixed spices

Frosting
1-1/2 tablespoons melted butter, 1-1/2 cups confectioners sugar, 1-1/2 tablespoons cocoa, and 3 tablespoons strong coffee.

More recipes in The Perfect Pantry:
Drop In & Decorate sugar cookies
Apple spice bread
Raisin-banana scones
Aggression cookies

Kecap manis (Recipe: nasi goreng)

What does ABC mean to you?

Something fundamental, yes? A starting point. A building block.

In the world of food, ABC reminds me of two things.

First, an ABC I don't keep in the pantry: When Ted and Cousin Martin and I traveled through Malaysia, we tasted a dessert called ABC, air batu campur -- literally, "water stone mix" --  a mound of shave ice topped, improbably, with red beans, sweet corn, grass jelly and a drizzle of evaporated milk. Also called ais kacang, it looked like a kind of psychedelic sno-cone.

Second, an ABC I always have in my pantry: kecap manis, a wonderful, sweet soy sauce sold under the ABC brand and, in our house, known as "that ABC stuff in the cupboard."

Kecap -- also spelled ketjap -- manis (pronounced KEH-chup mah-NEESE), is a thick, syrupy, soy sauce fundamental to the cuisine of Indonesia and, to a lesser extent, Malaysia and Singapore. Made of palm sugar, salt, soy beans, garlic and star anise, kecap manis has the consistency of molasses or honey, and an addictive salty-sweet taste.

Used as a dipping sauce, on its own or mixed with sambal oelek and lime, kecap manis also adds flavoring to stews, soups and marinades. Stored in a dry cupboard or in the refrigerator, it will keep almost indefinitely, though it should be replaced after two years.

In addition to ABC brand, you might find Cap Bango, with an illustration of a pelican on the label. Both brands are imported from Indonesia. Cap Bango has a bit of a smoky-sweet overtone. It's harder to find in my local Asian markets, whereas ABC is almost always available.

If you can't find kecap manis, you can make your own. Simmer soy sauce and palm sugar or brown sugar together until the mixture turns to syrup. Or mix one part molasses with two parts soy sauce. Here's another recipe that adds the flavor of lemongrass, garlic and star anise.

Kecap manis would taste great on cottage cheese, but unlike American tomato ketchup (which shares the same word derivation, from the Cantonese koechiap, meaning "sauce"), it could never pass for a vegetable.

NASI GORENG (Indonesian fried rice)
The Dutch East India Company plied the spice trade in Indonesia for 200 years, and traders returning to Holland brought with them a taste for livelier food. Today Indonesian groceries are available in every Dutch market. A mainstay of the Indonesian rijsttafel -- a buffet of many small dishes served with rice -- nasi goreng is also a typical breakfast dish that makes good use of leftover rice and bits of meat, chicken or fish. Serves 4-6.

1-1/2 cups basmati rice (or 3 cups leftover cooked rice)
3 cups water
1 large clove garlic, minced
2 Tbsp canola oil
1/4 tsp galangal
1-1/2 tsp ground coriander
1 tsp ground cumin
2 bunches scallions, minced
1 large carrot, minced
3 stalks celery, minced
2 cups minced chinese cabbage or bok choy
3/4 lb cooked chicken breast (or other leftover meat), diced
1/2 lb mung bean sprouts
4 Tbsp kecap manis
1 tsp sambal oelek (or other hot sauce, or cayenne pepper), or more to taste

Cook rice with 3 cups water, and set aside to cool completely (or cook rice ahead and refrigerate for at least 1 hour). Add the oil to a wok or frying pan over medium heat. Add the garlic, and stir for 30 seconds. Then add galangal, coriander and cumin, and stir to make a paste. Taste, and adjust the seasonings if necessary. Stir in the scallions, and continue to cook for 2-3 minutes. Add carrots, celery and chinese cabbage or bok choy, and continue stir frying for 2-3 minutes more. Add the rice, a bit at a time, and stir to coat the rice with the seasonings. Add chicken and bean sprouts, and continue to stir. Add kecap manis, mix well, and then add the sambal oelek. Taste, and add sea salt to taste. Serve hot.

More recipes in The Perfect Pantry:
Pie-ella
Vegetable fried rice
Prawn fried rice

Food blogs and birthdays: nothing to fear

When I tell people I'm a food writer, they generally respond in a couple of ways.

Ooooh, that's exciting!

Fun, yes. Lots of fun. But exciting like Andrew Zimmern "put anything in your mouth even when you have to hold your nose" exciting? No.

Ooooh, you must get lots of free food!

I don't, of course.

Ooooh, you must know the best restaurants in town!

Again, no. I'm one of those food writers who doesn't review restaurants. It's not that I'm not opinionated, but I'd rather write about farms and markets, cooking classes and food producers, and food-related experiences I think my readers will enjoy. Also, I live out in the woods, almost twenty miles from the nearest fine-dining restaurants.

Ooooh, where can I see your writing?

Well, in magazines. And I write a food blog.

Food blog? Ummmm.... errrr.....

Uh-oh. That's the conversation stopper.

If I had a nickel for everyone I know who swears that he or she never ever reads blogs (said with the same disdain reserved for standing barefoot in an alligator swamp, or going to the dump on a crowded Sunday, or voting for certain political candidates), I could treat myself to a large coffee at Dunkin Donuts.

It's not that my friends don't read blogs. They love my site, they tell me. They love the recipes. They love learning about new ingredients. They're not talking about my web site, of course. They're talking about The Perfect Pantry. A blog.

I understand. Early on, blogs had a reputation as online brain spill written by self-absorbed people with deeply uneventful and overexamined lives. I steered clear, too, for the longest time.

Like me (I think), blogging has improved with age. Some food bloggers have published, quietly and free to all readers, the equivalent of several cookbooks, teaching basic recipes and techniques, and broadening our collective knowledge of ethnic cuisines and healthy eating.

Through blogs, we explore new places, new ingredients, and new ways of thinking about food. Professional chefs, bakers and talented home cooks share ideas, advice, adventures, beautiful photography, and some darned good recipes.

There's a lot of bad writing out there (my pet peeve, as many of you know), but there is also beautiful, informative, amusing and simply wonderful storytelling.

I hope you find some of those things here, from time to time. Even if you never ever read blogs.

So. On the theme of improving with age: yesterday was my birthday. My friend Kathy calls this my "speed limit" birthday, though, honestly, it's been years since anyone has driven that slowly, at least here in Rhode Island.

I celebrated with my first post on a wonderful group blog called The Daily Tiffin.

What's a tiffin?

It's a lunch box, really several stacked lunch boxes, for moving food from place to place. Each box, or compartment, contains a different part of the meal -- one for rice, one for vegetables, one for bread, and so on. The stack clips together to make a whole meal, just as the sixteen writers at The Daily Tiffin bring together their expertise and viewpoints on a fun and healthy family lifestyle. Mostly women, and one dad, they hail from Germany, England, Malaysia, and the US.

Once a month, I'll be sharing a slightly different spin on some ingredients and cooking tools in The Perfect Pantry, sometimes with recipes. Please take a look.

Ted gave me the beautiful antique tiffin box pictured above a couple of birthdays ago. I love the symbolism of the tiffin -- parts locking together to form a whole -- especially for my birthday, as I often think of my life, and my work life, in those terms.

Yesterday, I filled the compartments with fortune cookies.

Fifty-five fortunes. Fifty-five chances to find happiness, friendship, wealth, wisdom, and a winning lottery number.

It's going to be a good year. I like the odds.

Carnaroli rice (Recipe: risotto alla Milanese)

Arlecchino. Pantalone. Pulcinella. Carnaroli.

One of these things is not like the others.

The popular characters of the Commedia dell 'arte, Italy's reigning comedy improv for the past five hundred years, might tickle the funny bone, but only carnaroli tickles the taste buds.

Along with its supporting cast (arborio, baldo, and vialone nano), carnaroli plays one role in my pantry.

One starring role -- in dozens of risotto variations.

Carnaroli, a relatively new short-grain rice hybridized in the 1950s, comes from Novara and Vercelli, two towns between Milan and Turin in northern Italy. It grows nearly twice as tall as the other rice varieties, making it difficult and expensive to harvest. (Be sure that the carnaroli you buy is from Italy, as it's now being grown in other countries, such as Argentina.)

Classified as a superfino because the grains are longer than 6.4 millimeters, carnaroli can absorb a staggering amount of liquid, swelling to three times its size. High in amylopectin (one of two components of starch), carnaroli produces a very creamy risotto, which is one reason chefs prefer it. The other reason is that it's a bit more forgiving; there is a longer time between when carnaroli is just cooked, and when it morphs into something you'd use to mortar a brick wall.

When you're cooking with short-grain rices, note that the proportion of liquid to rice is approximately 4-to-1, compared to the 2-to-1 ratio for cooking long-grain white rice. If you can't find carnaroli, substitute arborio, which is available in most supermarkets these days (sometimes marketed as risotto), or any other short-grain variety.

Try carnaroli in risi e bisi or gumbotto or riz au lait á la framboise, or work your way through any one of a thousand variations of risotto.

Then, take a bow. Carnaroli, the star of the pantry, will make you a star in the kitchen.

RISOTTO ALLA MILANESE
The ultimate, classic risotto, made with so few ingredients that each one needs to be the best you can afford. Once you understand the method of risotto, you can make it with anything you find in your pantry. Serves 4 as a main course, 6-8 as appetizer.

7 cups chicken broth (homemade stock or low-sodium store-bought)
1/2 cup water
1/4 tsp saffron threads
2-3 Tbsp olive oil
1/3 cup finely minced onion
2 cups carnaroli or arborio rice
1/2 cup dry white wine
1 Tbsp unsalted butter
1/3 cup parmigiano-reggiano cheese, grated
Fresh ground black pepper, to taste

Bring broth to a boil in a large pot and set aside at a simmer on the stove. Boil 1/2 cup water and pour into a glass measuring cup; add saffron threads and set aside. Heat oil in a large, deep skillet. Add onion, and sauté until soft but not brown, 2-3 minutes. Stir in the rice, making sure to coat each grain, and let toast for just a minute. Remove pan from heat, and stir in the wine. It will bubble up, so keep your distance! Return the pan to the heat. When the liquid is absorbed, begin adding broth, 1 ladleful at a time, letting each bit of liquid be absorbed. After 2 cups are added, stir the saffron water into the rice. Continue adding broth, reserving 1/4 cup at the end. Remove from heat. Add butter and cheese, and stir vigorously for 2 minutes. Add in reserved 1/4 cup broth and stir to desired creaminess. Season to taste with black pepper, and serve immediately.

More recipes in The Perfect Pantry:
Green herb risotto
Risotto with grapefruit
Mushroom risotto
Pie-ella

Lemons (Recipe: avgolemono — chicken soup with rice and lemons)

Peter, Paul and Mary, I love you guys.

I love Puff, that magic dragon, and the big blue frog, too. I know where all the flowers have gone, and what's blowin' in the wind.

But when you dissed the lemon ... well, what you were thinking?

Lemon tree, very pretty,
and the lemon flower is sweet.
But the fruit of the poor lemon
is impossible to eat.

Impossible to eat?

More like impossible to do without. 

Whether you're going sweet or savory, unless you live in a country that grows limes instead of lemons (Mexico, for instance, or much of Southeast Asia), you probably can't imagine cooking without lemon.

The Citrus limon, native perhaps to northwest India or China, is a thorny and prolific tree, a cross between a lime and a citron; though it grows only 10-20 feet tall, it flowers year-round and can produce up to 2,000 fruits per year. Leading producers are the United States (California, Arizona and Florida), Italy, Spain, Greece, Israel and Turkey.

Eureka and Lisbon are the most common varieties; in my local grocery stores, the lemons are never labeled. Eureka has a textured skin, a short neck at one end, and a few seeds; Lisbon has a smoother skin, no neck, and is seedless. In California you can find Meyer lemons, in season; a hybrid of lemon and mandarin orange, they're sweeter than the other varieties.

How to choose and use a lemon (this applies only to fruit, and not to defective cars):

• Look for fruits that are thin-skinned and heavy for their size, to yield the most juice.
• Make sure the fruit is fully yellow; if it's greenish, it's not quite ripe, and if it has brown patches, it's overripe.
• Store lemons at room temperature, out of direct sunlight, for up to a week. For longer storage, refrigerate for up to a month.
• For even longer storage, strain and freeze the juice (handy to do in ice cube trays), and dry or candy the lemon peel.
• For storage up to a year and a whole new world of culinary possibilities, turn fresh fruits into preserved lemons.
• To get the most juice out, press down gently but firmly and roll the lemon back and forth on the countertop a few times.
• Room temperature lemons will yield more juice, so if your lemon is cold, pop it into the microwave for a few seconds before squeezing.
• If you don't have a lemon reamer, stick a fork into the side of the whole lemon, and twist the lemon back and forth while holding the fork still; you'll be amazed at how much juice comes out, and the seeds stay behind.

Lemons are one of the world's healthiest foods, for exactly the reason you'd guess: an abundance of antioxidants and Vitamin C. They're also one of the world's most versatile flavorings, starring in (and perking up) lemon meringue pie cupcakes, sesame and lemon chicken, strawberry-lemon bars, Meyer lemon butter cookies, hashed Brussels sprouts, and, of course, lemonade.

So, Peter, Paul and Mary, maybe it's time to rethink the whole love-and-betrayal theme of the Lemon Tree Song. After all, lemons -- the ones you keep in the kitchen -- never let you down.

AVGOLEMONO (Chicken soup with rice and lemon)
My friend Greg makes a wonderful version of this famous Greek soup; this recipe, slightly different, came to me from Effie Pesiridis, whose family owned a convenience store for many years in Boston's South End. Serves 6-8 generously.

3 whole boneless chicken breasts
3 heaping handfuls long-grain rice (approx. 2 cups)
3/4 stick butter
Salt
Juice of 2 lemons
3 eggs

In a large stock pot cover the chicken breasts with water. Bring to a boil and continue to cook 20 minutes, or until the chicken is just cooked through. Remove the chicken and set aside to cool. To the stock in the pot, add rice, butter and a pinch of salt (or more to taste). Cook at a low boil for 20 minutes, or until the rice is cooked (if the soup is too thick, add some boiling water). Shred the chicken with your fingers into large pieces, and add to the soup. In a small bowl, beat the eggs until frothy; slowly beat in the lemon juice. Mix 1 cup of the hot soup slowly into the eggs, being careful not to cook the eggs. Then slowly beat the egg mixture back into the soup, stirring constantly. When all the egg is incorporated and the soup has thickened slightly, it’s done. Serve hot, with crusty bread.

More recipes in The Perfect Pantry:
Lemon curd
Traditional hummus
Honey and lemon green tea cupcakes
Spiced lentils with squash and raisins
Brick-grilled chicken breasts or thighs
Lentils with spinach and preserved lemon
Shish taouk (garlic chicken on skewers)