The Perfect Pantry

Baking spray (Recipe: Lucia's walnut cake)

Baking spray changed my life.

I don't bake often, or very well, and when I do, I can be a bit of a lazy baker.

Up until a couple of years ago, when a recipe said to "butter and flour the pan", I'd drench my cake pans with cooking spray. Then I'd watch little puddles form in the corners as the spray slid down the sides of the pans.

One day my friend Cindy, an executive pastry chef, introduced me to baking spray -- cooking spray with flour added -- "butter and flour" in a single can.

No sliding, no pooling. You spray, and it stays.

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?

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.

Eggs, or no eggs (Recipes: Wacky Cake and Poor Man's Cake)

Please welcome Sarah, who with this post joins The Perfect Pantry as guest blogger. A working artist, sculptor, and consultant on public art projects, Sarah's work has won numerous awards and fellowships, and has been featured in exhibits across the country. She is a dedicated urban gardener and coordinates a large multi-cultural community garden in Boston's South End.

Guest post and photos by Sarah in Boston

When I was a kid, my mom created a special scrapbook cookbook especially for my dad.

He was plagued with terrible headaches and swelling in his hands and feet, and assumed that he had food allergies. Through trial-and-error cooking, they concluded he must be allergic to eggs. 

As a traveling salesman, my dad had to eat most of his meals on the road, so when he came home they tried to calm his system with all his favorite comfort foods.

It wasn’t until he was in his late sixties that he was diagnosed with a rare genetic disease, hereditary angioedema -- not food allergies -- and, after treatment, to his great joy he could eat anything. But two of those egg-free desserts, made with ingredients from my mother's pantry, remained his particular favorites: Wacky Cake (in the top photo), which my mother made for family birthdays, and Poor Man’s Cake.

Fresca (Recipes: Fresca cake, salad, and a cocktail)

When we were in college, my best friend Joyce and I went on a Fresca®-and-tuna-sandwich diet.

Two weeks later, we'd each lost a couple of pounds and gained a life-long addiction to the grapefruit-flavored sugar-free soda.

Last week, in a post about food gifts for food lovers, I wrote that Fresca did not meet the test for a pantry item, though I drink it every day and always have copious amounts in my refrigerator, because it's not used as an ingredient in creating other dishes.

I was wrong.

Pineapple (Recipe: Love in pieces)

Guest post and photos by Peter in Brazil, chef and co-owner of Pousada do Capão

Back in Rhode Island, whenever I could afford it (when Dole ran a Maui Gold supermarket special), I would stand in the produce aisle and carefully smell, pull the leaves from, and gently press my thumbs into dozens of fresh pineapples, until I found the perfect one.

I would nurse that perfect pineapple to full ripeness over the next week or so. Then, my daughters and I, in a rare and special ritual, would sit around a bowl of freshly cut pineapple chunks and savor each golden morsel, each juicy bite.

Like many Northerners, I had been brainwashed to associate pineapple with Hawaii, colonial New England hospitality, Cantonese cocktails, and the archway on Federal Hill in Providence (I know it’s a pine cone on that arch over Atwells Avenue, but it’s amazing how many people think it’s a pineapple.).

Forgive me, Carmen Miranda.

Whole wheat flour (Recipe: apple spice cake)

When Ted and I moved to Boston thirty years ago, we discovered a health food store called Erewhon.

Erewhon.

Nowhere, spelled backwards.

Nowhere -- oops, Erewhon -- sat north of Harvard Square, in a part of Cambridge that could have been called Hippie Central, with a tea and incense shop a block away, and stores that sold old oak furniture and long granny dresses.

We lived in Boston, but made the trip across the river to Erewhon for earthy foods sold out of bins, things like nuts and beans and whole wheat flour.

Pie crust (Recipe: as-American-as apple pie)

All this week, I'm updating posts from the very first month of The Perfect Pantry. New links, new photos, and some great recipes for summer.

When I was growing up, my family didn't "do" dessert.

I don't mean that we didn't eat it. We did, but dessert in our house meant one of two things: fresh fruit, or coffee-chip ice cream by the quart from Grunings, our local ice cream parlor.

There was no in-between.

And so, there was no pie, no making of pie crust, no learning how to criss-cross the lattice.

Eventually I learned to make a pie while working on an article about Little Brothers/Friends of the Elderly, an international community service organization that, among other programs, provides holiday meals to home-bound elders. It was November 1994, and I found myself in the kitchen with Rene Morrissette, the man in charge of getting hundreds of turkey dinners with all the fixings prepared, packed, and delivered by volunteers on Thanksgiving morning to more than 700 "old friends" in greater Boston.

A man who has to make 150 pies doesn't mess around with homemade crust, though he was a master baker who loved to do the from-scratch thing at home. No, Rene was a pragmatist who didn't want to sacrifice quality for quantity. He introduced me to Pillsbury Refrigerated Pie Crust, which General Mills introduced to the marketplace in the mid-1950s.

Pie crust transforms humble fillings into quiche, empanadas and samosas -- and refrigerated pie crust occasionally transforms me into a baker. With both Canada Day and July 4th approaching, I'm planning menus, grocery shopping, and thinking I'll make a dessert that's as American as apple pie.

OLD-FASHIONED APPLE PIE
The classic. Serves 8.

1 package Pillsbury pie crust (2 crusts)
7-8 large tart apples, such as Granny Smith (or a mix with Empire or Macoun)
Juice of 1/2 lemon
3/4 cup sugar
1-1/4 tsp cinnamon
1/2 tsp nutmeg
1/4 tsp salt
1 Tbsp cornstarch
2 Tbsp unsalted butter, cut into 8 small pieces
Egg wash (1 egg beaten with 1 Tbsp water)

Preheat oven to 425°F. Press one pie crust into a 9-inch glass pie pan. Peel, core, and thinly slice the apples, and toss in a large bowl with the lemon juice. In a separate bowl, combine sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, salt and cornstarch, and stir into the apples. Spoon the apple mixture into the bottom crust, and dot generously with the butter. Paint the edge of the crust with a bit of the egg wash, or with water, and place the top crust over the apples. Press down lightly, and crimp the edges (make sure there’s a good seal). Using a sharp knife, make a small hole in the top of the pie. Brush the top crust with egg wash, then make 4-6 slits in the crust. Place on the middle rack of the oven and bake 40-45 minutes. Apples should be tender and the crust a deep golden brown. If the crust is becoming too brown during baking, cover the edges with an aluminum foil "collar." Let cool on a rack for 1-2 hours before slicing, to allow the juices to set. Serve at room temperature.

Also in The Perfect Pantry:
Empanaditas
Chocolate outrageous pie
Sweet potato pie

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

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