The Perfect Pantry

Brazil food: Kitchens and cooktops (Recipe: chicken with ora pro nobis)

The fourth in an occasional series of posts about Brazilian food and ingredients we discovered during our recent visit.

On our first morning at the Pousada do Capão, we drank cashew juice and ate homemade granola and fresh, really fresh, mango and pineapple, and we toasted our own bread-and-cheese sandwiches in a cast iron griddle on a fogão a lenha, the freestanding wood stove that is the heart and soul of every kitchen in Minas Gerais.

For me, owner of a six-burner Viking, this simple stove was love at first sight.

Brazil food: manioc, mandioca, cassava (Recipe: farofa with liver and onions)

The third in an occasional series of posts over the next few weeks about Brazilian food and ingredients we discovered during our visit.

On a day filled with magical experiences in the village of São Gonçalo do Rio das Pedras -- a second unsuccessful attempt to meet a cheese maker followed by a visit to Karine, who blessed us with sprigs of rue and incantations to help remove what was starting to seem like a "cheese curse", and a tour of Cynthia's multicultural organic garden -- we had the most magical experience of all in Lurdes' back yard.

In São Gonçalo, if you buy farinha de mandioca (and everyone does), you know Lurdes.

By any definition, she is an artisan, the third generation of women in her family to turn manioc (also known as mandioca or cassava or yucca or yuca) into farinha, used as both ingredient and condiment in Brazilian cooking.

Hearts of palm (Recipe: hearts of palm, shrimp and cheese pizza)

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

For several months I’ve been meaning to write about hearts of palm, so Lydia’s recent visit to our inn provided the perfect opportunity to kill three birds with one stone: I could cook with her; test the recipe for my hearts of palm, shrimp, and requeijão pizza; and photograph the results.

In my Boston and Rhode Island pantries, a can of hearts of palm was what Lydia would classify as a “pantry special” -- not a staple, but something purchased for curiosity’s sake, on impulse, or for a particular recipe.

Here in my Brazilian pantry, I always keep a jar or a can or two on hand. While they don’t hold a candle to fresh hearts of palm, in a pinch they add texture to a salad or a jardinière, depth and crunch to empadinha filling, body to a soufflé, or interest to a pizza, and they are a pretty decent substitute for artichoke hearts, which are completely unknown in these parts.

Brazil food: Copacabana farmers' market (Recipe: jilo and onions)

The first in an occasional series of posts over the next few weeks about Brazilian food and ingredients we discovered during our visit.

On Thursday mornings in Rio de Janeiro, everyone goes to Copacabana.

Not to the beach, but to the weekly farmers' market that stretches along two blocks of Rua Ronald de Carvalho.

Tortillas (Recipe: shrimp and avocado quesadillas)

Down the hill from the house where Ted's aunt and uncle live, in Ajijic on the shore of Lake Chapala, a small tortilleria opens in mid-morning, six days a week.

When you hear the slap-slap-slap of the masa dough between the palms of the women's hands, and when the aroma of corn toasting on the comal (griddle) works its way up the road, you know the shop has opened.

A dozen tortillas costs very little, just a dollar or two, and a meal would be unthinkable without them. Tortillas -- the round, thin, flatbread made from corn or flour -- are the sandwich bread of Mexico. They're the sandwich bread of The Perfect Pantry, too.

Dulce de leche (Recipe: dulce de leche milhojas)

Now for a special treat: guest posts by the three food bloggers I've adopted through the Adopt-a-Blogger mentoring program. (Please be sure to visit their terrific blogs.) Today, meet Rebecca of From Argentina With Love, the first blog I adopted. A former teacher, she writes about Argentinean food, wine, and life in and around the small town of Bowen, where her husband's family lives. She's a wonderful cook who teaches classes in the Denver area, and her charming stories of the people and food of Argentina will enchant you.

Guest post and photos by Rebecca of From Argentina With Love

Along with tango and Evita, dulce de leche is one of the first things that comes to mind when people think of Argentina.

The sticky, sweet caramel spread plays so beloved a role in the culinary culture in Argentina that, in 2003, the country declared it a "national product" and lobbied UNESCO for official designation -- much to the chagrin of neighboring Uruguay, who argued that they have been making dulce de leche just as long as Argentina has.

Dulce de leche’s legendary status comes complete with a saga of mythic proportions.

Tomato sauce (Recipe: Tex-Mex salsa)

While I'm on vacation, please enjoy this post from Kim, a frequent guest blogger here on The Perfect Pantry.

Guest post and photo by Kim in Pasadena, California.

I’m originally from the East Coast, and the most exotic thing I'd eaten before I went into the military back in 1979 was scrapple (that’s one of those “don’t ask, don’t tell" foods).

I had never heard of Southwestern food, never mind Mexican food, so the concept of stuff wrapped in what amounts to a flour or corn pancake was totally outside my understanding. The only thing I’d seen like that was crepes.

My first experience with Mexican food was Taco Bell (no eye rolling allowed). It was quite a wonder for someone coming from a culinary background that had three major types of food: upscale French; cheese steaks/hoagies; and pizza by the slice, topped with cheese and tomato sauce. 

Dried black beans (Recipe: gluten-free gazpacho)

While I'm visiting one of The Perfect Pantry's guest bloggers, please enjoy a classic recipe that turns gluten-free by swapping black beans for bread crumbs, in an updated post from the archives, with a printer-friendly recipe.

Way back when -- we're talking decades ago -- my best friend Joyce had a boyfriend named Tom, who had a series of uninspired jobs to support his dream of hosting a public-radio show about military history.

The jobs, all odd and of fairly short duration, were entirely forgettable. All but one, which involved the packaging of glass stopper-topped jars, presumably for storing chemicals, as the tops were quite tight-fitting. The jars came in a whole range of heights, from just a couple of inches to, well, spaghetti length.

You see where this is going.

Of course Joyce and I began to stockpile the jars Tom would bring home (Were they seconds or damaged? We never knew.), and we would fill them with pasta, nuts, peppers, M&Ms, and beans and pulses of every imaginable size and color. No matter that we could spend a lifetime soaking and cooking all of the beans we collected. We were "evolving" (i.e., decorating) our kitchens with beautifully filled glass jars.

Of all the beans, my favorite, then and now, are dried black beans.

Pimentón agridulce/smoked bittersweet paprika (Recipe: chakchouka)

Guest post and photos by Kim in Pasadena, California.

When it comes to discovering new foods and ingredients, I’m like a dog who spots a squirrel. The world simply freezes for me.

I can walk down any grocery aisle in any store, and if there is something I’ve never seen before, my brain puts on the brakes, and before I know it I am reading the label. I’m flexible, but I keep Kosher, so I read carefully.

You’d think I would whip out my BlackBerry at this point, to reveal the mystery ingredient. But I don’t own a BlackBerry, nor do I have Internet on my phone. This might sound strange coming from a computer geek who makes a living building and fixing computers.

Even if I could, looking up stuff right there and then would spoil the ride home for me. All the anticipation until I can get to my computer and Google my new-found treasure is just too delicious. The surprise of some magical taste or a new recipe can be such wonderful journey. 

Sometimes this can be a bit of a let-down (mustard oil comes to mind), sometimes downright scary (got to put black salt in that box). But then there are the times when the food gods smile upon you and you get a real treat. 

Bittersweet paprika is one of those treats.

Anise seed (Recipe: beet and fennel salad)

When I first moved to Rhode Island, and was still learning the ropes, I asked a teenager working in the produce department in our town's grocery store if he had any fennel.

"What's that?" he replied, with the blankest of blank stares.

"Fennel," I tried again. "It's a vegetable, looks kind of like bok choy, with green stalks on top..."

Another customer came to my aid. "Oh," she explained to the grocery kid, "she means anise."

Anise. That's the way it is, here. Fennel is anise.

So I wondered: if fennel is anise, is fennel seed the same as anise seed?