The Perfect Pantry

Soba/buckwheat noodles (Recipe: asparagus, pepper and peanut soba)

A favorite story from the archives, updated with new recipe, photos and links.

So there we were -- Ted, his sister Jill, Cousin Martin and me -- huddled in the kitchen in my friend Rika's house, in the tiny village of Mihama on the west coast of Japan, in the middle of winter, drinking sake to stay warm, and learning how to make soba noodles.

It was our second visit to Japan, February 1997, windy and snowing, cold beyond cold. We had come to Mihama after a couple of weeks of traveling in Vietnam, where it was hot beyond hot, and our bodies were having adjustment issues.

Rika's house sits right on the beach; except for the kitchen, the rooms are heated only by space heaters, so even without the promise of a cooking lesson, we'd still have gravitated towards the only room that had both heat and food.

Ro*Tel (Recipe: Tex-Mex turkey lasagne)

Nothing takes the chill off rainy days in April better than food inspired by the flavors of Mexico. Welcome to Olé Olé Week, Day One.

Back in November 2008, just after the election, I wrote about the heartbreak of living in a country still divided -- not by politics, but by Ro*Tel®.

Yes, I wrote, I live in a blue state.

Blue, as in singing the blues. As in woe-is-us, no Ro*Tel blues.

In my local supermarket, I found a substitute, diced tomatoes with green chiles, made by an Italian foods manufacturer. Not Ro*Tel, but close enough. I bought a couple of cans for the pantry and resigned myself to a life of deprivation.

The following week, as I cruised the aisles in my local grocery store, I spied a pile of cans on the top shelf in the canned vegetable section -- yellow cans jumping out from the sea of red-tomato-colored labels.

Chinese egg noodles (Recipe: mee goreng/fried noodles)

When Bee invited me to write a guest post for Rasa Malaysia, one of my favorite Asian cooking blogs, I knew I had to tell the tale of my relationship to mee goreng, one of Malaysia's favorite street foods. Please visit Rasa Malaysia for the story and recipe.

There are, I think, two secrets to making great Asian food. One, use a hot hot hot wok. Two, cook with authentic ingredients.

Chinese egg noodles, fresh and dried, are one of the authentic Asian ingredients that have a permanent home in The Perfect Pantry. 

Pine nuts (Recipe: penne with roasted red pepper pesto)

When I look out the window in front of my desk, I see pine trees.

And out the kitchen window? Pine trees.

And from the windows in the living room, bedroom, porch? Pines, pines, pines.

Pine trees everywhere, but not a single pine nut to eat.

How is that possible?

Pad Thai noodles (Recipe: rice noodle salad with shrimp)

Oodles of Noodles Week, Day Two.

There are noodles that tell you what to do with them, and there are noodles that leave much to the imagination.

Pad Thai noodles -- banh pho -- tell you exactly what they want to become.

Lasagne noodles (Recipe: four-cheese lasagne)

Welcome to Oodles of Noodles Week, Day One.

Lasagne noodles with an "e", or lasagna noodles with an "a"?

I have both in my pantry.

Is one right, and the other wrong?

Buckwheat groats (Recipe: vegetarian kasha varnishkes)

Two things readers ask most often about The Perfect Pantry:

Is there a list of everything in your pantry? And, why haven't you written about... (black-eyed peas, fennel pollen, porcupine noses...)?

Yes, there is a list. I don't publish it, but I've written about each ingredient in my pantry, at least once.

To be included in The Perfect Pantry, an ingredient must be something I use to make other things, which rules out Fresca, which I always have in my refrigerator, and also porcupine noses, which I can't imagine anyone would like, as well as many more palatable things that simply don't appeal to me, like black-eyed peas and fennel pollen.

Also, the ingredient must be something I use in more than one way, or that I use in one way, but over and over again.

Buckwheat groats fall into that second category. My pantry, and my childhood, would be incomplete without it.

Oyster sauce (Recipe: chicken lo mein)

The walking route from our first apartment in Boston to my job at a publishing company in the Leather District took me right through Chinatown.

I didn't know how to cook, so the temptation was minimal.

Every day I walked past half a dozen markets, some with produce spilling into the street, others that sold only noodles, or barbecued duck suspended in the window. I never stopped at the bakery that made moon cakes and fortune cookies. I passed up the housewares and cookware.

Seriously.

Today it takes me hours to cover the same few blocks I used to speed through in minutes. And I come home lugging fresh and dried noodles, bamboo steamers, every imaginable variety of choy (greens) and chile peppers, and bottles of condiments, like my very favorite oyster sauce.

Adobo seasoning (Recipe: turkey-chile rotini)

The second of two posts this week featuring ground turkey and pasta, together in our favorite recipes.

Where do you stand on adobo?

We're not talking politics here. No left or right, red state or blue state, alternative energy or education. No defense spending, no financial bailout, no leaving anyone behind.

I mean where do you stand -- because where you are has everything to do with adobo.

In The Philippines, adobo is the national dish, pork or chicken cooked in a sauce made of vinegar, soy sauce, garlic and pepper.

In Mexico, or New Mexico, adobo is the vinegar-based, smoky-hot, tablecloth-staining sauce in which chipotle chile peppers are packed.

In The Perfect Pantry, adobo is often both the vinegar-based chicken dish and the sauce that envelops those wonderful chipotles, but it's also something else -- a dry spice blend, including garlic, onion, black pepper, Mexican oregano, cumin and cayenne red pepper, and sometimes salt.

Saved by the pantry (Recipe: pasta salad)

Guest post by Arlo from Ottawa, Canada

We're moving again, and at a time when life couldn’t be busier. It’s the last week of school so all kinds of year-end activities to attend, a graduation ceremony for my potential daughter-in-law, St. Jean Baptiste Day, and somewhere in-between I have to pack.

I don’t know about you, but I hate packing.

No, let me correct that. I love packing when it’s just me with a suitcase full of paperback novels and a sunny destination to look forward to. But with a carpenter husband (basement full of tools and wood), two musician sons (instruments, drums, sound equipment), one computer-fanatic son and a teenage daughter who can’t bear to part with anything she’s accumulated since grade five, it's much harder. Not that I have to actually pack for them, but they keep stealing my best packing boxes!

For the past week I've been reducing my grocery purchases and using up all my pantry and frozen food. I had just finished cleaning my refrigerator, a preferable chore to scrubbing the oven, when a friend called to remind me of our “Healing Aboriginal Women” group potluck for the next night.

How could I have forgotten?

I was so stressed I had to watch the Food Network for the next two hours to chill out.

There is nothing as calming as watching robust women cook. It’s like they actually eat the meals they prepare, as opposed to surviving on the tiny spoonfuls they taste. But even Nigella and Ina could not inspire me. That day, their recipes all required a trip to the butcher shop or the ocean, and I had barely enough time to look for my favourite lucky potluck bowl (packed, somewhere). Plus my dish had to have NO meat, seafood, eggs, cheese or peanuts (just to be safe). We healing Aboriginal women are a fussy bunch.

In my newly cleaned vegetable bin, I had one lonely small red onion, a garlic bulb, very ripe cherry tomatoes, a greenish green pepper, a sad bunch of parsley and half a lemon. Compost bin stuff, really, but I was determined to use everything. The next day was full of appointments and no time to shop, so I thought -- Arlo, just improvise!

I went to my trusty (and yet un-packed) pantry, and dug out:

• Seashell pasta
• Can of chopped artichokes
• Can of black Spanish olives
• Small jar of capers
• Jar of roasted red peppers
• Sunflower seeds
• Lemon juice in a cute squirt bottle
• Teensy sample jar of Dijon mustard
• Balsamic and red wine vinegars
• Extra virgin olive oil
• Italian and Greek seasonings
• Chile flakes, black pepper, sea salt

I was cooking for seven, many with dietary issues. I did secretly pack some feta cheese, on the side and covered, so the vegans wouldn’t be offended. Tofu would have worked, too.

Although I couldn’t think of a traditional Native dish that met everyone’s requirements (Deep fried rosehips? Fiddleheads? Boiled mountain water?!), I did come up with a dish we all thought was delicious.

Saved by my pantry, once again.

HEALING-AND-MOVING-ON PASTA SALAD
A great dish for healing, packing, moving, and potlucks. Improvise from your own pantry. Serves 8.

2 lbs dried pasta
1 small onion
1 small green pepper
Cherry tomatoes, as many as you wish
Small handful of parsley
3-4 cloves garlic, to taste
1 lemon
1 can each, drained: artichokes (hearts or chopped), black pitted olives, roasted red peppers, capers
1 Tbsp Italian seasoning
1 Tbsp Greek seasoning
1/4 tsp crushed chile flakes
1 Tbsp sea salt
1/2 tsp black pepper
1 tsp Dijon mustard
1 large squirt lemon juice
3 Tbsp balsamic vinegar
1/4 cup red wine vinegar
2/3 cup extra virgin olive oil
A few sunflower seeds, for garnish

Cook pasta according to package directions. When al dente (just about cooked), drain and rinse. Place in large bowl.

While pasta is cooking, dice onion, green pepper, tomatoes, and parsley (save a few pieces to garnish). Finely grate the garlic. Zest the lemon (I use the same tool, so the lemon cleans the garlic out of the grater). Drain and roughly chop the artichokes, black olives, roasted red peppers, and capers.

In a jar, shake a tablespoon each of Italian and Greek seasoning, a quarter teaspoon crushed chile flakes, tablespoon sea salt, half teaspoon black pepper, big teaspoon Dijon mustard, juice of the lemon, 3 tablespoons balsamic vinegar,  one quarter cup red wine vinegar, and two thirds cup olive oil. Shake to combine.

Mix everything together, and present in a pretty dish. (This is easier if remember where you packed your pretty dish. I used an ice bucket with handle to transport and second-choice lucky potluck bowl to serve). Garnish with sunflower seeds and parsley.

I wish I’d remembered to add that can of chickpeas on the counter. You won't forget, will you?

More recipes in The Perfect Pantry:
Clean-the-fridge chicken soup
Twisted three sisters soup
Curried pasta salad
Curried orzo chicken salad
Fregula sarda with leeks and sausage