The Perfect Pantry

Beer (Recipe: oven-barbecued brisket)

For a few years around the very early 1980s, Ted and I became inadvertent landlords when the person with whom we'd bought our Boston house went bankrupt, leaving us with an empty apartment and a large mortgage to manage on our small salaries.

Our first tenants were not so great (one was a weekend DJ, and it was the '80s), but then the fates smiled upon us, and sent us for many years a series of tenants who worked for one company.

A microbrewery.

Our home was home to the brewer, the graphic artist, the bookkeeper, and the administrative assistant. They all had one thing in common, in those early days of the company: access to free beer. All the beer they wanted, for friends (and landlords), too.

Cayenne pepper (Recipe: Bob's smoky beef ribs)

Twenty-five years ago, the City of Boston planted a tree in a hole in the brick sidewalk in front of our house.

Every dog in the neighborhood loved, and I do mean loved, that little sapling.

To discourage the gifts those dogs left us (in the days before pooper-scooping was mandatory), we sprinkled cayenne pepper on the ground at the base of the tree. Every so often we'd hear a little sneeze... and we'd watch a very surprised puppy move along, to find a kinder and gentler tree hole.

Pecans (Recipe: classic pecan pie)

When Harry met Sally, sparks did not fly.

What did fly were some of the funniest ad libs in movie history.

In one of my favorite scenes, Harry (Billy Crystal) and Sally (Meg Ryan) visit the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Harry decides they will speak only in funny nasal voices, and ad libs the line, "I would be proud to partake of your pecan pie."

Sally tries to repeat it in just the same singsong way, but cannot, and Harry coaches her. Pee can PIIIEEEEE. She tries again. Pee can PIIIEEEEE.

Would the scene have worked as well with if Harry had said pee KAHN? Who knows?

Ketchup (Recipe: barbecue sauce)

At any time, more than fifty bottles and jars and tubes, fancy and oh-so-ordinary, jostle against each other in my refrigerator door.

Condiments come and condiments go, but some are forever, like hot dog mustard and mayonnaise (well, this stuff), soy sauce and oyster sauce, chili paste with garlic and harissa.

And ketchup.

I'm never, ever without ketchup. Not just because it is the only acceptable adornment for a perfect burger, but because there's so much more you can do with it.

Refrigerated pie crust, and a cookbook giveaway (Recipe: rum raisin pear pie)

Dear readers, you know that I'm a bake-o-phobe, and I know how much you love desserts. I'm really trying, all this week, just for you. Welcome to The Perfect Pantry's first-ever Baked Desserts Week, Day One.

When I turned 40, which was oh-so-many years ago, I made my first two-crust pie.

Well, honestly, it was my first any-crust pie.

And it wasn't even my crust. It was refrigerated pie crust, from the supermarket.

I couldn't have been more proud if I'd made the crust from scratch.

Which I never, for a single minute, considered doing.

Diced tomatoes with green chile (Recipe: Mexicali meatloaf)

With the election behind us and unity on everyone's mind, what I'm about to say might come as a shock.

We are still a country divided.

Divided not by politics or preferences, but by Ro*Tel®. Either you live in a Ro*Tel state, or you live somewhere else.

I live somewhere else, and until last week I had no hope of ever finding Ro*Tel in my local Rhode Island supermarket.

And then, last week, I found diced tomatoes with green chiles, made by our local Italian-products company whose yellow/red/green labels are familiar to any shopper in the Northeast, at the market in my little town!

It's not Ro*Tel, exactly, but it is, give or take a spice or two.

Brown sugar (Recipe: mulled cider)

If you've been reading The Perfect Pantry for a while, you know a lot about me.

You know that I live in Rhode Island, in a log house in the woods, with a nice kitchen and an herb garden and a fire pit outside.

You know that I love Asian noodles and coffee and that stuff that isn't really mayonnaise.

You know that I am old... old enough to think of this whenever someone says brown sugar...

Canned tomatoes (Recipe: cioppino)

You like potato and I like potahto,
You like tomato and I like tomahto;
Potato, potahto, tomato, tomahto!
Let's call the whole thing off!

Are you a member of the Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers Rainy Sunday Afternoon Romantic Comedy Movie Club?

Okay, there is no such club, but if there were, I would be its president. And if you were a member, you'd surely recognize this classic song from Swing Time.

It's a love song, and it's not really about potatoes and tomatoes.

But if there were a love song about tomatoes, I'd be singing along.

A New Orleans pantry giveaway (Recipe: red bean and cheese burritos)

Laissez le bon temps rouller!

Although I don't speak Parisian or Provencal French, or Cajun French, or even the taxi-driver French my husband learned in Montreal, I know what this means.

Let the good times roll!

I still remember everything about our first visit to South Louisiana, where I learned the true meaning of laissez le bon temps rouller. Street life in the French Quarter. Zydeco, and jazz at Preservation Hall. The streetcar named Desire. Voodoo, plantation houses, and the pervading aroma of vinegar on Avery Island.

And the food? Oh, yes, the food: a beignet at Cafe du Monde, a muffaletta from Central Grocery, an oyster po' boy. Waiting on line for hours for shrimp etouffee at K-Paul's. Waiting on line in the middle of the street, with businessmen and politicians, for lunch at Galatoire's. Squeezing the crawfish tails and sucking the heads (or is it the other way around?) at Hymel's with the LSU game on the big-screen TV.

There is no more vibrant regional food culture in America than in New Orleans, and the nice folks at Zatarain's have offered a great New Orleans pantry giveaway to introduce you to some of the traditional foods of their home town.

Old Bay Seasoning (Recipe: New England shrimp boil)

When I was growing up in the metro New York area, my Cousin Martin was growing up in Maryland.

Several times a year, we packed up the car and drove south to visit. My father loved to drive, and, even more, loved to discover new routes to the same old places. A detour of 50 miles was perfectly acceptable, if the road proved interesting or scenic, or if we found a shack with great food along the way.

As we motored through Delaware into Maryland, the road stayed the same but the food changed.

We were driving through crab country.

Every little roadside eatery sold crab cakes, and every concession stand at the highway rest stops sold Old Bay Seasoning. It was the best souvenir of our travels, and my mother always picked up a tin on the way home.