The Perfect Pantry

Butter (Recipe: green grapefruit curd)

Ten things I know about butter (you'll be glad to know them, too):

Gifts for food lovers: Books for cooks (Recipe: slow-roasted tomato pesto)

Part Five of an eight-part series.

There are two schools of thought about giving cookbooks to people who love to cook.

Give the classics, the books that last forever.

Or, give the new, the trendy, the books that are hot hot hot right now, the books everyone is talking about, the books laden with photographs, printed on expensive paper, objets for a coffee table, the beautiful, irresistible cookbooks.

Me? I'm from both schools.

Capers (Recipe: roast halibut with orange-caper gremolata)

If you're going to come back in your next life as a jar of capers (though you probably haven't planned on it), you'll want to be picky picky picky.

Make sure you are harvested first thing in the morning, before your bud opens to the sun.

Make sure you are still small, for small (less than one millimeter in size) is more highly prized.

Make sure you are pickled in a brine, or packed in coarse sea salt, but never dried.

Black vinegar (Recipe: peanut dipping sauce)

There's a saying -- a joke -- in my house:

The more you have, the more you buy.

Now, I am not a shopaholic. Really. Oh, occasionally I might go a bit over budget in restaurant supply stores, or a certain favorite used cookbook shop near Fall River, Massachusetts. Or late at night on eBay, when I'm cruising the melamine bowl listings. Or in a shop that sells hand-dyed yarns or Japanese note papers embedded with bits of leaves and gold flecks...

No, in this case, the "you" is me, and the "more" is vinegar. I've had a mental block about it for years. I never remember how much regular distilled vinegar I have in the pantry, or whether I have any of the special ones like champagne or raspberry or seasoned rice or organic cider vinegar hand-pressed somewhere in Canada.

So I buy them all, over and over again, which explains why I have two bottles of black vinegar in my pantry.

Dried peppers (Recipe: savory romesco sauce)

Imagine Laurel without Hardy, Wallace without Gromit, Carrie Bradshaw without Manolo Blahnik.

Unthinkable.

Burgers without buns? Mac without cheese?

Absolutely not.

The Perfect Pantry without dried chile peppers?

Never!

In fact, at this very moment, I have five -- no, six -- uh, seven varieties of dried chiles on hand, not including the peppers in the photo, which went into the recipe below. I've got habañero and the tiny piquin (pronounced pay KEEN), for pure fire. Ancho (smoked poblanos), chipotles (smoked jalapeños) and guajillo, not too hot, for smoky richness. Mulato, dark brown, sweet and a bit fruity, medium hot. Sanaam, small and red, used in Indian cooking (I'm just starting to experiment with these). And, of course, New Mexico red chiles, medium hot and all-purpose.

Chile peppers, native to Central and South America and the Caribbean, are an excellent source of Vitamins A and C. The kick comes from capsaicin, a chemical found in the seeds, ribs and skin. Capsaicin stimulates digestion and circulation, which helps the body perspire and cool. It also "tickles" the taste buds, which explains its popularity in almost every culinary tradition.

Dried chiles are not merely peppers left out on the counter too long; they have their own taste, usually more rich and concentrated than fresh chiles. The heat in the pepper also concentrates as it dries. And the general rule applies: the smaller the pepper, the hotter it is.

When working with peppers, wear rubber gloves or coat your hands with vegetable oil. To tone down the heat of a pepper, cut it open and remove the seeds and the white ribs. Then, wash your hands carefully, and don't rub your eyes. (Do this once, and believe me, you'll never do it again.)

Dried chiles will keep almost indefinitely in the pantry. Store them in a dark, dust-free place. If you're drying your own, make sure they are totally and absolutely dry before you store them, or you will create a happy environment for mold. I usually keep mine in glass jars, so I can see what's what.

Most recipes call for dried chiles to be toasted in a dry pan or on a griddle, then soaked in water to soften, and ground or blended into a sauce. Toasting enhances the flavor; for milder sauces, the peppers are soaked or cooked and allowed to steep in boiling water, without toasting. Remove the seeds and ribs before toasting, so that after the chiles are toasted, they're ready to be ground right away.

With a pantry full of dried chiles, you're ready to take on red chile enchiladas, pinto bean chili, turkey mole, or a big old bowl of red. You can even custom-blend your own chili powder or nam prik pao, which would make a great gift for the chile-head in your life.

SHRIMP WITH ROMESCO SAUCE
A traditional tapa, this recipe, inspired by Penelope Casas' Tapas: The Little Dishes of Spain, also makes a great sauce for pasta or saffron rice. Ximena sent me the lovely ñoras in the photo -- which are quite mild -- from Madrid. If you can't find them in your local market, substitute New Mexico dried red chiles. Serves 6.

1 large ripe tomato
5 cloves garlic, peeled
2 ñoras or New Mexico dried peppers
1/4 tsp crushed red pepper (hot or mild, your choice)
1/2 cup water
3 Tbsp plus 1 tsp red wine vinegar
1/2 cup plus 1 Tbsp extra-virgin olive oil
1/4-inch slice from a long crusty loaf of bread
10 blanched almonds
Kosher or sea salt
Ground black pepper

1-1/4 lb medium (31-40 size) or large (26-30 size) shrimp, peeled and deveined

To make the sauce, roast the tomato and garlic in an ungreased roasting pan at 350°F for 30 minutes. Place the dried red peppers in a sauce pan with the water and 3 Tbsp of vinegar. Bring to a boil, cover, and simmer for 5 minutes.

Heat 1 Tbsp of the oil in a small skillet and fry the bread until golden on both sides. Transfer to a food processor. In the same oil fry the almonds until golden and add to the processor, along with the boiled red peppers, crushed red pepper, garlic and tomato. With the motor running, pour in gradually the remaining 1/2 cup of olive oil, plus the remaining vinegar, salt and pepper. Strain through a mesh strainer. Taste for seasoning, adjust as needed, and place in a serving bowl. Set aside.

Bring a small amount of water to a boil in a sauce pan, and cook shrimp for 2 minutes until just done. Cool, and serve with the sauce at room temperature. Or combine shrimp and sauce, and serve over pasta or rice.

Also in The Perfect Pantry:
Mushrooms and pepper in puff pastry
Pueblo vegetable stew
White chili
Slow-cooked beef and green chile stew
Spicy turkey rolls

Almonds (Recipe: Señora Gonzales' mole colorado)

Though I've been writing The Perfect Pantry for two years, and have adopted two blogs, and managed to figure out (stumbled upon, really) a few truths about what makes a blog work, I'm always surprised when new or would-be bloggers seek my advice.

The key to a successful blog, I tell them, is to keep a sharp focus and stay on topic.

Don't get sidetracked on stories about New Year's Eve in Mexico, I tell them, when you really mean to write about almonds.

Good advice. And yet...

You already know a lot about almonds: that they are one of the world's healthiest foods, high in antioxidants and Vitamin E, and may help lower LDL (the bad cholesterol) and control blood sugar; that they're related to roses, but commercial growers graft the rootstock onto peach trees; that Spanish missionaries brought almonds to California, which is the only state in the US to produce them.

You probably know, too, that almonds taste great in everything from rhubarb sponge cake to chicken with almonds and green olives, to chocolate almond buttercrunch toffee.

What you don't know is how Ted and Cousin Martin and I spent New Year's Eve in 1992.

Five thousand feet up in the mountains of Central Mexico, Oaxaca is one of those magical places where anything can happen. In our dusty rented Volkswagen Beetle, we drove to the small village of Tlacolula, an hour outside the city, because we’d heard there was a special celebration to usher in the new year. All of the villagers parade through the streets to the church on the zocalo (town square), we were told, carrying models of their houses, to be blessed, and gifts to be offered.

When we arrived in the village, in late afternoon, the only thing open was the grindery, where people bring their coffee, chocolate and grain to be ground. We walked up and down the main street, to the church and back, and didn’t see any signs of preparation for a festival that evening.

We asked everyone we met, “When is the celebration?” Midnight, we were told. Eight o’clock. Ten o’clock. It’s tomorrow. What celebration?, some said.

Finally, we found a taxi stand near the zocalo, and we asked the taxi drivers, because taxi drivers everywhere know everything.

“Huh?” they replied.

Confused and disappointed, we decided to eat. Could they recommend a restaurant?

They nodded and pointed down the street to the Restaurant Regis which, as it turned out, consisted of three Formica-topped card tables on the ground floor of a small, run-down hotel.

Soon after we sat down, Señora Amparo Gonzales appeared. In our very limited Spanish we asked for a menu. She said no, there was no menu, but she had enchiladas. And cerveza (beer). Okay, we said. A few minutes later out came three plates of chicken enchiladas in the most amazing mole (MOH-lay) sauce we’d ever tasted. Wow! We had to have the recipe.

The señora was delighted, and flattered, and she began to list the ingredients as I wrote down what I could understand. When we didn’t know the word in Spanish, she would run into the kitchen and bring the ingredient to our table. Ah, saltines! Raisins! Cloves! Almonds! Soon we had a list of ingredients, but when we asked for quantities and cooking instructions, our language skills failed us.

A few weeks after we returned home, we decided to recreate the mole while our taste memory was intact. We invited ten friends, all of whom are adventurous and experienced cooks. With the list of ingredients in hand, and our taste buds primed, we worked and worked, adding here, stirring there, until at last we created the sauce we remembered from a magical New Year's Eve at the Restaurant Regis in Tlacolula.

A sauce that, I promise you, would not be the same without almonds.

CHICKEN WITH MOLE COLORADO
Don't be intimidated by the long list of ingredients. That's typical for a mole, but the cooking method is simple. Here the rich sauce is served over chicken, but it’s great with rice, enchiladas, leftover cooked turkey, or steamed vegetables. Serves 12 or more; can be frozen. [Note: recipe updated from the archives.]

12 chicken thighs, bone-in and skin on
1 Tbsp olive oil
Salt and pepper to taste

4 cloves garlic, chopped
1 medium onion, chopped
2-3 Tbsp canola oil
10 ancho chiles (smoked dried poblanos)
2 Tbsp raisins
1/4 cup sliced almonds
1/2 tsp cinnamon
1/4 tsp fresh ground black pepper, or to taste
1 tsp dried Mexican oregano
3 whole cloves
2 tsp dried thyme leaf
1/4 cup lightly toasted sesame seeds
1/3 cup crushed oyster crackers (or soda crackers -- something with low salt content)
1 cup canned ground tomato (or tomato puree, or fresh peeled, seeded chopped tomato)
A 3" x 1/2" piece of semi-sweet chocolate (Ibarra or other Mexican or Oaxacan chocolate is best, because has sugar mixed in)
2 cups or more chicken broth
Salt and sugar to taste (if the chocolate is sweet enough, you won't need sugar)
1 package smallest size corn or spinach tortillas (or whole wheat, or flour, whatever you prefer)

Preheat oven to 325°F. Rub chicken thighs with olive oil, and sprinkle with salt and freshly ground black pepper. Place skin side up in a roasting pan just large enough to hold them. Add 1/4 inch of cold water. Cover with aluminum foil. Roast in the oven for 1-1/2 hours or as long as it takes to complete the rest of the menu. (Believe it or not, the chicken will not overcook. It will get more and more tender.)

Soak the ancho peppers in warm water to soften, then remove stems. Drain and chop roughly, and set aside.

In a small dry frying pan, toast the sesame seeds until they turn light brown, 2-3 minutes. Remove from pan and set aside.

In a deep stock pot (6-8 quart size), sauté the onion and garlic in canola oil until the onions are translucent. Add the chiles and sauté for 2-3 minutes. Add raisins, almonds, spices, sesame seeds, and crackers. Stir constantly over low-medium heat for a few minutes, until you have a thick paste and all ingredients are cooked through. With an immersion blender (or in a food processor), purée mixture with a few tablespoons of broth, and return mixture to the pan. Add tomatoes, chocolate and enough chicken broth to make a smooth sauce. Continue stirring, and cook until the chocolate is melted and the sauce is thickened, but still a little bit runny. Add more broth (or water) as needed to achieve desired consistency. Taste, and add salt and sugar if needed.

In a dry skillet or griddle, heat tortillas on both sides until lightly browned but still pliable (1 minute on each side on a hot griddle).

Remove chicken from the oven and place on a serving platter. Cover with mole sauce, and serve with tortillas.

More recipes in The Perfect Pantry:
Cod with raisins, nuts and apples
Tagine of chicken with prunes and almonds
Mixed grain salad

Fish sauce (Recipe: nuoc cham)

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 you taste something wonderful in a restaurant, and you ask for the recipe, and the owner himself shares the recipe with you — and you've written it down, so you won't leave anything out — you expect to be able to recreate that wonderful taste in your own kitchen.

So why did it take me years to make nuoc cham, the mother condiment of all Vietnamese cuisine, that tastes like it does in a restaurant?

The answer is in the fish sauce, and, as I discovered, all fish sauce is not created equal.

Asian fish sauce, made from anchovies, salt and water, is called nuoc mam in Vietnam, and in Thailand, nam pla. It's salty, and smelly, and indispensable in Vietnamese and Thai cooking, where it plays the role soy sauce plays in Chinese cookery. The quality and taste of fish sauces vary widely, and I tried many before I found one that produced the taste I was seeking.

Three Crabs brand is the one and only fish sauce in my pantry, and I've been using it for years. Stored in the cupboard, it will last for many months. Three Crabs is a bit different from other fish sauces available in my Asian supermarket, because it contains fructose, which makes it sweeter and also smoother than the naturally processed brands. To me, all that matters is that Three Crabs makes authentic-tasting nuoc cham, the all-important condiment and dipping sauce for summer rolls (nime chow) and noodle salads.

Authentic Asian fish sauce -- #4 on our readers' list of must-have-on-a-desert-island pantry items -- makes pad Thai, fried rice, catfish with ginger-lime dipping sauce, lemongrass chicken shrimp, Vietnamese pulled pork, pan-glazed tofu with red curry sauce and panko-crusted shrimp lollipops taste... well, the way they should.

NUOC CHAM (Vietnamese dipping sauce)
Keeps in the refrigerator for a month or more. Makes 1-1/2 cups. Use as a dipping sauce or salad dressing for cold noodle salads.

1/2 tsp chili paste with garlic (Lan Chi brand is best)
2/3 cup hot water
1/4 cup sugar (or less, to taste)
1/4 cup fish sauce (use Three Crabs brand with pink label to achieve best flavor)
Juice of 1/2 lime

Place all ingredients in a small jar with a tight-fitting lid. Shake!

Also in The Perfect Pantry:
Rice stick noodle salad with caramelized shrimp
Green chicken curry with eggplant
Pineapple shrimp curry
Easy pad Thai

Olive oil, and a very grand aioli (Recipe: roasted fennel with potatoes and onions)

Special thanks to Simmer Till Done, where you'll find a little interview with me today. And here is the first of two posts this week about essential oils.

Last weekend, in a cooking class in my home kitchen, ten students worked together to produce a Grand Aioli, a typical harvest feast held in villages throughout Provence.

I know what you're thinking.

A French harvest festival. In the middle of May.

In Rhode Island.

Oui, oui!

In Provence, traditionally, the farmers bring their vegetables, the bakers contribute bread, the hunters might bring rabbit, the fishermen bring... well, you know. And the women of the village make the aioli, the garlic mayonnaise that is the raison d'etre for the entire meal. And there is wine, and singing and dancing.

In northwest Rhode Island, the farm stand and supermarket provided most of the food. Bread came from a local artisan bakery, fish from the fishmonger, and herbs from my garden: beautiful chives, thyme and lemon thyme, tarragon and mint. There was music, but no dancing; it was too early in the morning for wine, and maybe for dancing, too.

Ted built a fire in the fire pit and we cooked our fish on a giant paella pan suspended over the ashes. And, at the kitchen table, everyone took a turn pounding the aioli in two stone mortars; it took almost forty-five minutes to incorporate all of the olive oil, drop by drop.

On the platters, along with sliced red and yellow peppers, chunks of tomato and lemons, and chives from the herb garden, we arranged:

• Potatoes, fennel, baby zucchini and red onion, roasted in salt, pepper and olive oil
• Chick peas, sautéed in olive oil, garlic, bay leaf and herbs
• Salmon and cod, rubbed with olive oil, salt and pepper, cooked over a fire pit
• Chicken, seasoned with salt, pepper and olive oil, cooked on the grill
• Ditto asparagus, cooked on the grill
• Mussels, steamed in white wine, shallots, garlic, parsley, and a little bit of olive oil
• Broccoli and green beans, blanched, tossed with some salt, pepper and olive oil

Olive oil. The common denominator.

When I was growing up, my mother never cooked with olive oil -- we were strictly a vegetable oil, margarine and chicken fat family -- but in my kitchen, olive oil is most often the cooking oil of choice.

Nothing fancy, no extra virginity required. Just plain old olive oil.

For dressing salads, or when I want to add a fruity finish to a dish (i.e., the oil isn't going to be cooked, or will be heated only briefly), I use the best extra virgin oil I can afford, and I keep several varieties in the pantry.

For cooking or sautéing, I use blended olive oil, which has a higher smoke point (438°F) than extra virgin (375°F). Just as you needn't use your best wine for a long-cooking stew, you don't need the most expensive olive oil for cooking.

What's the difference between the different grades of olive oil? I've compiled this list from various sources, including the International Olive Oil Council:

• Extra virgin olive oil comes from the first pressing of the fruit of the olive tree, using solely mechanical or other physical means in conditions, particularly thermal conditions, which do not alter the oil in any way. It has not undergone any treatment other than washing, decanting, centrifuging and filtering. It must have less than 1% acidity. Most expensive; best for salads and drizzling on finished dishes.

• Virgin olive oil, made in the same way as extra virgin, has an acidity less than 2%, and has a good taste. There can be no refined oil in virgin olive oil. Good for cooking, and often good enough for salad dressings, in a pinch.

• Olive oil is a blend of virgin oil and refined virgin oil, containing at most 1% acidity. Mild flavor; great for cooking, but makes a mediocre salad dressing.

• Refined olive oil, also called pure oil, is a lesser grade than virgin. No real good use for this, except as part of a blend.

Olive oil draws its flavor and color from the particular variety of olives pressed, and from the terroir. Greek, French, Italian, Spanish and California olive oils reflect the quality of the soil, air and water of each region. Some olive oils are bright green and grassy, others are spicy and fruity. 

Taste to find oils that appeal to you, and keep several in your pantry, for ratatouille, lemon-olive oil ice cream, olive oil tart crust, and linguine with garlic and olive oil. Store olive oil in a cool, dark part of your cupboard; it should last for at least two years.

For cooking, I love Trader Joe's olive oil (only $6.99 per liter; TJ's also sells extra virgin that looks almost identical, so be sure to check the label). My current favorite extra virgin is Nuñez de Prado, a lovely Spanish artisan oil that's organic, mild and a bit fruity.

What's your favorite olive oil?

ROASTED FENNEL WITH POTATOES AND ONIONS
A few ingredients simply prepared, this dish is the essence of Provence -- and a perfect companion to aioli or grilled chicken or lamb. Serves 6-8 as a side dish.

2 fennel bulbs, trimmed quartered, cores removed
2 medium red onions, peeled and quartered
2 lbs baby red-skinned new potatoes or Yukon Gold potatoes, quartered
2-3 zucchini, cut into 3/4-inch chunks
8 oz large black pitted canned olives
Olive oil, a few tablespoons
Coarse sea salt and fresh black pepper

Preheat oven to 425°F. In a large roasting pan (I use a nonstick heavy roaster), combine all vegetables. Add olive oil, salt and pepper, and toss with your hands to make sure all of the vegetables are coated with oil. Roast for 40 minutes, stirring once during that time, until potatoes are cooked through and crusty on at least one surface. Serve hot or at room temperature.

Also in The Perfect Pantry:
Crusty roasted potatoes
Linguine with tomato-olive sauce
Cioppino
Pasta puttanesca

Tomato sauce (Recipe: one-one-one spaghetti sauce)

On the list of things without which my pantry feels incomplete, tomato sauce is somewhere in the middle.

I always have it, I always need it, I always use it. And yet, I'm not entirely sure what it is, and how it differs from the other canned, tubed, bottled, and boxed tomato products I always have, need, and use.

Right about now, you're probably adding up the number of tomato variations in your own pantry. Tomato paste? Chopped or diced tomatoes? Canned whole tomatoes? Maybe a jar or two of "emergency" prepared marinara sauce? Slow-roasted tomatoes in the freezer?

Why so many tomato products? Well, for one thing, tomatoes are one of the world's healthiest foods, containing many nutrients, including a megadose of Vitamin C, plus iron and potassium. Also they're rich in lycopene, well known for its antioxidant properties. In fact, scientists have discovered that our bodies absorb more lycopene from cooked or processed tomatoes than from raw ones.

Canned tomato sauce, a convenience product that takes the place of home-canned tomatoes, is nothing more than tomatoes, salt, and sometimes other spices and seasonings (pepper, basil, oregano, garlic), cooked down to a medium thickness and puréed to a smooth sauce. Be sure to read labels carefully, as almost all canned tomato packaging looks the same, and it's easy to mistake plain sauce for a seasoned one.

Cans will keep for a long time in your cupboard; be sure to discard if the expiration date has passed. If you have the urge to make meatloaf or chili, and you're out of tomato sauce, you can substitute 1/2 cup of tomato paste plus 1/2 cup water for one cup of tomato sauce.

ONE-ONE-ONE SPAGHETTI SAUCE
In my high school days, when I first learned to make sauce for spaghetti (we called all pasta spaghetti back then), I used this formula, and it still yields a pretty good all-purpose sauce. Can be frozen. Makes enough sauce for 1-1/2 lbs of pasta, serving 6 people.

1 lb lean ground beef
1 Tbsp olive oil
1 small onion, diced
1 small green pepper, diced
1 can of whole tomatoes (I use a 26-oz box of Pomi chopped tomatoes)
1 8-oz can tomato sauce
1 can tomato paste (I use a 3.75-oz tube instead)
1 bay leaf
1 tsp ground oregano
1 cup water
Salt, black pepper and sugar, to taste

In a small stockpot over medium-low heat, brown the beef in olive oil. When the meat is thoroughly browned, add the onion and green pepper, and cook until the onion is translucent. Drain off the excess oil. Add tomatoes, bay leaf, oregano and water. Simmer, uncovered, for one hour or until the sauce is thick and rich. Season with salt, pepper and sugar to taste. Serve over the pasta of your choice.

More recipes in The Perfect Pantry:
My own meat sauce
Salt cod and potato cannelloni
Very famous jambalaya
Chicken stuffed with ricotta
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