The Perfect Pantry

Turmeric, and a recipe for saag paneer (spicy spinach with cheese)

What do margarine, Domino's Pizza grilled chicken, chow-chow relish and monks' robes have in common?

They all get their bright yellow color from turmeric.

What do curry powder, ras-el hanout, hawayij, and tandoori spice rub have in common?

They all get their bright color from turmeric.

One of the world's cheapest spices, in contrast to the very expensive saffron for which it's often substituted, turmeric is used to add color -- in fact, it stains everything it touches -- but it does have its own distinct flavor: earthy, musky, and bitter.

More than 90 percent of the world's supply of turmeric, a member of the ginger family, comes from India; Alleppey (darker, more delicate in flavor) and Madras (lighter, most common in curry powder) are the best grades. It's also produced in China, Haiti, Indonesia, Jamaica, Malaysia, Pakistan, Peru, Sri Lanka and Vietnam.

The rhizomes, which resemble the structure of ginger ("hands" and "fingers"), are sold fresh, but more commonly in the West, we buy it dried and ground. Stored in a glass jar or tightly sealed tin, turmeric will keep in the pantry for up to two years. It pairs well with a wide range of foods, including fish, cauliflower, squash, chicken, coconut, beef and lentils.

Do you think that, when Marco Polo discovered turmeric on his travels in China in the late 13th Century, he imagined that some day it would be used to make oh-so-yellow hot dog mustard?

SAAG PANEER
Tart cheese (easy to make at home, as you can see in this great how-to video, or purchase from an Indian grocery) and spicy spinach combine in this classic recipe. If you can't find paneer, use farmer cheese from the supermarket. Serves 6.

1 10-oz bag spinach, washed and trimmed
1 tsp salt
1/2 tsp turmeric
1/2 tsp paprika
1 tsp garam masala
Dried red chiles, to taste (1 for a mild dish)
1/4 cup water
3 Tbsp ghee or clarified butter
8 oz paneer or farmer cheese, cut into chunks

In a large pot, add first 7 ingredients; cover and cook over medium heat for 6-8 minutes, until spinach is completed wilted.  Add contents of the pot, including all liquid, to the workbowl of a blender, and process to a smooth puree. Place in a serving bowl. In a frying pan, heat the ghee until it is very hot, and add the cheese. Cook, stirring constantly, until the cheese is lightly browned, 2-3 minutes. Add to the spinach, and serve hot.

More recipes in The Perfect Pantry:
Onion bhaji
Pumpkin stew
Egg curry
Refrigerator zucchini pickles
Bread and butter pickles

 

Balsamic vinegar, and mango-mint gazpacho

You're not going to believe me when I tell you there is no balsamic vinegar in The Perfect Pantry.

Of course there is, you will say.

You write about balsamic vinegar all the time, you'll point out. And look at the label on the bottle. It says balsamic vinegar. Of Modena. It-a-ly.

You won't be wrong, exactly, but you won't be absolutely correct, either.

Every year, only 3,000 or so bottles of true balsamic vinegar are designated aceto balsamico tradizionale and given the Denominazione di Origine Protetta (D.O.P.), the seal of authenticity from the consortia of Modena and Reggio Emilia.

Each of those 3,000 bottles has aged for a minimum of 12 years, many for 25 up to 100 years.

True balsamico is made not from wine, but from unfermented Trebbiano grape pressings, boiled down to a dark syrup. The syrup is placed into oak kegs, along with a "mother" or starter, usually a bit of previously aged balsamico. As it ages, the vinegar is decanted to smaller and smaller kegs made of a variety of woods -- chestnut, cherry, ash, mulberry, and juniper -- each of which adds character and flavor to the vinegar. Over time, moisture evaporates from the kegs, thickening the vinegar and concentrating the taste.

The resulting vinegar, the true tradizionale, proudly carries the D.O.P. mark on the label. And it doesn't sell for $6.99. (If you want to taste the real thing, without mortgaging your home to buy a bottle, try this lovely little sampler from Zingerman's. Or mortgage the house for this.)

What we outside Italy call balsamic vinegar is often really balsamic condiment, a blend of grape must and red wine vinegar. (See the label? No D.O.P. No tradizionale.) In Italy, this would be called condimento. The quality varies from maker to maker, depending on the quality and blend of grape must and wine vinegar used.

This is the balsamic to use for cooking, and, if it's a very good condimento like my favorite Rubio, to use on salad, with strawberries, on bruschetta, on beets, or drizzled on chunks of Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese.

MANGO-MINT GAZPACHO
A fruity twist on the classic summer soup. Serves 8-10.

2 slices of day-old Italian bread, crusts removed
3-4 large tomatoes, very ripe, cut into chunks
1-2 Kirby (pickling) cucumbers, seeded, cut into chunks
1/4 cup finely chopped onion
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 green bell pepper, seeded, cut into chunks
1 yellow bell pepper, seeded, cut into chunks
1 red bell pepper, seeded, cut into chunks
1 ripe mango, peeled, cut into chunks
2 tsp mint leaves, chopped (or more to taste)
1/4 cup basil leaves, chopped
2 Tbsp balsamic vinegar
1 cup V-8 juice
Black pepper, to taste
2-3 Tbsp extra-virgin olive oil, optional

Tear bread into chunks and soak in cold water for 1 minute. Remove, and squeeze out the water. Add bread to a large stainless steel bowl, along with next 10 ingredients. Using an immersion blender (or in batches in a regular blender), puree the mixture until it is a pleasing soup-like consistency, but still with distinct bits of vegetables. Add balsamic, V-8 juice and black pepper, to taste. Stir in the olive oil. Cover and chill for at least 1 hour, or overnight, to allow flavors to mingle. Serve cold.

Also in The Perfect Pantry:
Gazpacho
Chilled asparagus soup
Slow-roasted tomato bruschetta
Smoky spicy salad dressing
No-cook summer antipasto

 

The (More) Perfect Pantry: What's out, what's in, and enchiladas

Last week I was talking to my BFF Joyce, who's been my BFF for 37 years, since before anyone used BFF, or IM, or a PDA or even a PC.

We are the kind of best friends forever who can admit to each other their worst sins, deepest fears, mortifying humiliations, unimaginable frustrations, and the occasional politically incorrect thought or George Clooney fantasy.

For the past few months, Joyce has been cleaning out her apartment. Cat-shredded furniture? Gone. Books so old the pages have fused together? Gone. Clothes that don't fit, phones that don't ring, cassettes for a long-abandoned tape player? Gone.

Old spices, older canned beans, mysterious frozen things in her pantry? Gone, gone, gone.

Yes, I confessed, I need to do that, too.

With the Table of Condiments That Periodically Go Bad in one hand, and this food storage chart in the other, and a flashlight in my third hand, and a copy of The Perfect Pantry database (hmm... is that geeky?) in my fourth hand, I set out to do a bit of pantry tune-up. The time had come to dig into the nooks and crannies of my spice rack, storage shelves, fridge and freezer.

The time had come to set some things free.

[I'm often asked about what's included in The Perfect Pantry. Each item must pass this test: it must be used as an ingredient; it must be something I use more than once; it must be either used in more than one way, or used in one way over and over again. So, while I always have Fresca, for example, you won't read about it here, but you might read about orange or pomegranate juice, because I use it in cooking.]

First, I packed for donation to our town's food pantry assorted jams, jellies, mustards, pasta, and other non-perishable souvenirs we've purchased but haven't managed to use in the past year.

Next, I looked for duplicates, and triplicates, and five-plicates (how much instant couscous do we need at one time, really?) and packed the extras for the food pantry, too.

I set aside all of the spices that are more than a year old, to test them for potency. Any spice in a jar so dusty that I can't see what's inside will likely be a candidate for the compost pile. I hope the deer and rabbits who feast on the composting table scraps appreciate a bit of seasoning with their food.

No surprise, but I found some items that no longer meet the test for inclusion in The Perfect Pantry. I'd kept them in my pantry, thinking I would use them more often, or more creatively.

These still have a place in the kitchen, but in a supporting or occasional role:

• Frozen artichoke hearts (haven't been making as much paella lately; for everything else, I prefer fresh artichokes)
• Sliced bread (I'm off most bread and on to oat-bran pitas, so I only keep frozen sliced bread for sandwiches for house guests)
• Maple-chipotle grill sauce (it was a fad)
• Cowboy ketchup (another fad)
• Curry leaves (can't find them very often)
• Dried galangal (a poor substitute for the fresh galangal rhizome)
• Fruit sherbet (other than stuffing it in lemons, or putting some on fruit salad, we eat it straight from the carton)
• Pickling spice (I have all of the individual components, and can mix my own)

Now there's room for some new things, like:

• Fino sherry
• Aji amarillo peppers
• Sweetened condensed milk

Best of all, I discovered, lurking in the recesses of the pantry, some ingredients that inspired me anew:

• Mexican chocolate: in chocolate pudding, maybe?
• Curry powder: a potato salad calls to me.
• Five-spice powder: a noodle salad calls to me.
• Frozen fruit: 'tis the season for fruit soups.
• Sherry vinegar: some panzanella variations?
• Chickpeas: I want to learn to love them. Truly love them.

The inventory in my more perfect pantry today stands at a slimmed-down 226 items.

Have you looked through your cupboards, spice rack, fridge and freezer lately?

What's out? What's in? What's new?


VEGETABLE ENCHILADAS
Adapted from the Stonewall Kitchen web site, this recipe will use the last of the Maple-Chipotle Grille Sauce in my pantry. If you don't have this, use your favorite sweet barbecue sauce. Serves 8.

1 tsp canola oil
1 small onion, diced
1 clove garlic, minced
2 cups zucchini, diced
1 cup red bell pepper, diced
1 can (4 oz) green chiles, diced
1 tsp ground cumin
1-1/2 cups fresh corn kernels
2 cups shredded Monterey Jack cheese (or this time saver from the supermarket)
1 bottle Maple Chipotle Grille Sauce (or 11 oz sweet barbecue sauce of your choice)
8 (8") flour tortillas, warmed for 10 seconds in the microwave until flexible

Preheat oven to 350°F.

In a frying pan, heat the oil over medium heat. Add onion and sauté for 1 minute. Then add the garlic, and cook for 30 seconds. Add zucchini and bell pepper, and cook for 3-4 minutes, until soft. Stir in 1 cup corn, plus the canned chiles and cumin.

Spread 1/2 cup Maple Chipotle Grille Sauce in the bottom of a 13"x9"x2" baking dish. Mix another half cup of sauce into the vegetables. Place generous 1/3 cup vegetable filling in the center of a tortilla. Sprinkle with cheese and roll to enclose the filling. Place seam side down in the baking dish. Repeat with remaining tortillas and filling. Cover enchiladas with remaining sauce. Sprinkle with remaining 1/2 cup corn and remaining shredded cheese. Bake until heated through and cheese is melted, 30-45 minutes. Serve hot.

Also in The Perfect Pantry:
Roasted halibut tacos with mango salsa
Smoky chipotle balsamic salad dressing

 

Saved by the pantry, and moving-on 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?

Also 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

 

Dijon mustard, in a beet and onion salad

When I was growing up, mustard came in three varieties: hot dog, corned beef sandwich, and Chinese food.

Hot dog mustard was French's, yellow, All-American ball park, mild.

Corned beef sandwiches got a slather of Gulden's, spicy brown, or similar "deli" mustards from Zabar's or Katz's.

And Chinese food mustard came with take-out, in little no-name plastic packets. It could take the hair off your head and clear out your sinuses. Sometimes, my parents mixed their own, with Colman's, English, incendiary.

We never had Dijon mustard, though the foods of my Eastern European culinary heritage cried out for the sharpness of mustard to balance the blandness of the boiled meats. These days, my own kitchen is never without Dijon, usually Grey Poupon, and often Maille, too.

According to The Oxford Companion to Food, by Alan Davidson, "mustard has always been important in Europe, because it grows locally and is therefore the cheapest of spices."

Davidson also writes that many royal courts in medieval times employed a mustardarius -- someone whose sole responsibility was to oversee the growing and preparation of mustard. (How's that for a job description?) To make prepared mustard, seeds (brown, black, white, yellow) are soaked in water, which activates the enzyme myrosinase. When the desired heat level is achieved, the activation is stopped with an acidic liquid, usually wine (for stronger mustards) or vinegar (milder). The level of enzyme action combined with the acid used gives a mustard its flavor. Obviously, the mustardarius had quite a bit of control over the taste and strength of the final product.

Dijon contains no turmeric, the ingredient that gives yellow mustard its yellow; in the photo, Dijon is on the left, and hot dog mustard is on the right. Dijon mustard also has no carbs, no fat, no trans fat, and only five calories per teaspoon. It can be stored for several months at room temperature, but I always refrigerate after opening.

Though I didn't grow up with Dijon, it's the secret ingredient (oops, now the secret's out) in my spaghetti sauce, and essential to help emulsify a vinaigrette for a Caesar salad. The acidity helps balance the richness of salmon, chicken, roasted veggies and bacon, too.

And, in a major break with family tradition, I use it on hot dogs and corned beef sandwiches all the time.
 

BEET AND ONION SALAD
Simple, and simply delicious. Serves 6.

6 medium-size fresh beets (approx. 2-3/4 lbs)
1-1/2 tsp olive oil
1 cup onion, sliced vertically
3 Tbsp lemon juice
1 tsp balsamic vinegar
1 tsp Dijon mustard
1/4 tsp kosher salt
1/8 tsp fresh ground pepper

Leave root and 1 inch of stem on beets; scrub well with a vegetable brush. Place in a heavy pot or Dutch oven, and add water to cover. Bring to a boil, cover, reduce heat, and simmer 35 minutes or until just tender. Drain, rinse with cold water and drain again. When the beets are cool, trim off stems and roots, and rub off the skins. Slice beets and set aside. 

Add 1 tsp oil to a small frying pan and place over medium heat. When the oil is hot, add onion and sauté until tender. Combine beets and onion in a bowl and set aside. In a small bowl, mix remaining 1/2 tsp oil, lemon juice, vinegar, mustard, salt and pepper. Stir well, pour over vegetables and toss.

Also in The Perfect Pantry:
Deviled eggs
Chicken fingers
Grilled chicken salad
Root-vegetables-with-beef stew

 

Discos, for goat cheese-olive empanadas

I'm ready to sell our little log house, and move back to the city.

I'm ready to give up my herb garden, the one right outside the kitchen door.

I'm ready to say goodbye to my wonderful kitchen with -- finally -- enough counter space, and to the fire pit Ted built so we could cook paella and toast marshmallows for s'mores.

I'm ready to live without my beloved screened porch, the site of winter grilling and summer aioli-making, with a table that seats 12, or 14, or sometimes 16.

I'm ready to give it all up, to live closer to a supermarket that carries Goya frozen foods.

Not even all Goya foods.

Just one.

Discos.

Wait... you haven't tried them?

Neither had I, until Ted discovered discos one day at Foodie's, the best little market in Boston.

Just what they seem to be, discos are rounds of flaky pastry, ready to be turned into any variety of empanadas or tiny fruit-filled galettes or apple turnovers or savory pizzettas at a moment's notice.

Discos come in packs of 10, in white or yellow dough, each 5-inch 120-calorie pastry round separated by a piece of plastic wrap. Store discos in the freezer, and defrost at room temperature for at least 20 minutes before using. Or, cut open one side of the package and put in the microwave on defrost for 10 seconds at a time, just until you can separate the circles; then, let the dough sit at room temperature for 10 minutes or so and they are ready to handle.

Life doesn't get any easier than this.

GOAT CHEESE AND OLIVE EMPANADAS
Almost anything can go into an empanada! This filling makes 10.

1 package discos
1/3 cup pitted black olives, finely chopped
6 oz fresh soft goat cheese
1 garlic clove, crushed in a garlic press or mashed to a paste with coarse salt
1/2 tsp olive oil
Salt and black pepper to taste
1 egg beaten with 1 tsp water

Remove discos from the freezer and set on the countertop to soften. Meanwhile, mix olives, cheese, garlic, oil, salt and pepper to make the filling. In a small bowl, beat the egg and set aside.

Preheat oven to 425°F. Line a rimmed baking sheet with a Silpat (silicone liner) or parchment paper. Place a small bowl of cold water on your work surface.

Set out one disco. Place a heaping Tbsp of filling in the center. Wet your finger and run it around the edge of the disco. Fold the dough over to make a half-moon shape. Press the edges to seal, then take a fork and press into the dough all around the folded edge. Place the empanada on the baking sheet. Make the remaining empanadas, then paint each with a bit of the egg wash.

Bake in the middle of the oven for 11 minutes or until lightly browned. Serve hot or at room temperature.

Also in The Perfect Pantry:
Vegetable potstickers
Curried chicken wontons
Empanaditas
Asparagus gruyere tart
Double strawberry tartlets

 

Dal (lentils), in an herb and feta salad

When I was in college -- okay, when I was in high school -- and my friends and I talked about mood-enhancing substances, we weren't talking about serotonin.

We weren't talking about lentils, either.

Though my misspent youth is far behind me, my body still craves all the mood enhancement it can get, and legumes (lentils, beans and peas) are a good source of serotonin, a neurotransmitter that makes you feel mood-enhanced: balanced, relaxed and happy. With too little serotonin, you end up feeling cranky, sleep-deprived, a bit anxious, sugar-deficient, and in a generally bad mood.

I'm not sure why, but I call brown and green lentils lentils, and pink, white and yellow ones dal. Really, the difference isn't the color; dal are lentils that have been hulled and split.

Stored in a glass jar with a tight-fitting lid, dal will keep for up to two years. Some of the dal that have graced my pantry, in addition to the plain brown and Puy green lentils, are:

• Masoor dal, lentils (red or salmon pink; the ones in the photo)
• Channa dal, split chickpeas (yellow; I always have these)
• Urd (or urad) dal, lentil-like beans (black or, when skinless, white)
• Tur (or toor, or toovar) dal, pigeon peas (orange)
• Moong dal, mung beans (cream or yellow)
• Muth (or moth) dal, beans (brownish green with yellow interior)
• Muttar (or matar) dal, peas (green or white)

Most often, we think of dal as fundamental to Indian cuisine, whether served thick, like a stew, or thin. But now that lentils have been identified as one of the world's healthiest foods, they're lightening up a wide range of dishes, including black bean salad, burgers, tacos and even fudge.

To me, lentils of all types and colors mean one thing: soup, soup, and more soup. And with all that serotonin, I'll be happy, happy, and more happy.

RED LENTIL, SPINACH AND FETA SALAD
Inspired by a recipe in Happy Food by Marlisa Szwillus, this nutrient-rich, picnic-friendly salad serves 2. Can be doubled.

2 tsp olive oil
2 tsp chopped fresh rosemary or thyme leaves
4 oz red lentils
1 cup vegetable stock or water
2 Tbsp white wine vinegar
Kosher salt and fresh black pepper, to taste
1 Tbsp olive oil
2 scallions, thinly sliced
2 oz baby spinach leaves
4 oz feta cheese, crumbled

Heat 2 tsp olive oil in a saucepan over medium heat, and briefly sauté the rosemary or thyme, just to bring out the aroma. Add the lentils and vegetable stock, cover, and simmer over lowest heat for 10 minutes or until lentils are cooked but not totally mushy.

Drain the lentils and add to a mixing bowl. In a small bowl, stir together the vinegar, salt and pepper, and 1 Tbsp olive oil. Add half to the lentils, and stir to combine. Add remaining ingredients, including remaining dressing, and mix well. Serve warm or at room temperature.

Also in The Perfect Pantry:
Punjab Five Jewels
One-of-everything lentil soup
Spiced lentils with squash and raisins
Lentils with spinach and preserved lemons
Mulligatawny soup

 

Grandanina couscous, with orange and dried fruit

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 first moved to Rhode Island, potluck ruled. It seemed like every weekend was another potluck occasion, and the pressure to come up with new dishes was intense (and entirely self-inflicted).

In our first full summer here, Ted and I offered to host a party for our local arts organization. We figured it would be a good way to meet people, so we sent out invitations and I started cooking for a huge buffet dinner that we planned to serve outside under the pear trees. The invitation asked everyone to bring a beverage to share -- and their favorite bug spray. No potluck. Well, this caused a stir in our little community! No potluck? Indeed!

A few years later I learned how to turn grandanina couscous into a perfect potluck dish, and now, though potluck dinners are infrequent, this couscous has found a permanent home in my pantry.

Grandanina is a medium-size coarse ground couscous with a nutty flavor, made of durum wheat. Couscous often is called pasta, as it's made from the same ingredients, and in many dishes like this one you can substitute orzo, a small torpedo-shaped pasta, or Israeli couscous, which is a slightly larger grain, the size of tapioca pearls.

I buy grandanina couscous at The Gourmet Outlet in New Bedford (Massachusetts), the retail arm of Sid Wainer & Son, wholesale purveyor of fine foods to restaurants, airlines, hotels and corporations all over the US; recently they've opened an online store.

Couscous originated in North Africa, and is prevalent throughout the cooking of Mediterranean cultures, often as a base for stews. So it's particularly appropriate that this recipe uses both apricots and orange, which also are cultivated throughout the hot climates of North Africa.

I've brought this dish to many a potluck, but I also use grandanina as a thickener in soups, a base for stews, and in hearty salads.

VEGETARIAN COUSCOUS WITH DRIED FRUIT
This colorful and healthy recipe from chef John Verrier at Sid Wainer & Son serves 6 as an accompaniment to grilled chicken, fish or pork. One year for Thanksgiving, I bought a boneless turkey breast and stuffed it with this couscous, then glazed the outside of the turkey with pomegranate molasses. It looked like a giant football, but it tasted amazing. Recipe can be halved.

2 cups Grandanina pasta or Israeli couscous or fregula sarda
2 tsp extra virgin olive oil
1 Tbsp minced garlic
1/2 red onion, cut in half and sliced very thin
1 green pepper, diced
1/2 cup each dried apricots and dried cranberries, diced
8 oz orange juice
Kosher salt and fresh black pepper, to taste
Zest of 1/2 lemon, or more to taste

In a medium stock pot, cook couscous in water according to package directions. Drain and set aside.

While the couscous is cooking, heat the olive oil in a small frying pan. Saute the garlic, red onion and green pepper until the onions are soft, about 7 minutes. Season with salt and pepper. Put in a serving bowl. Add dried fruit. Add the cooked, drained couscous. Pour in the orange juice, and keep stirring until thoroughly mixed and the liquid is completely absorbed. Season with salt and pepper. Stir in lemon zest. Serve warm or room temperature.

Also in The Perfect Pantry:
Sweet couscous
Couscous for a crowd
Fregula sarda with leeks and sausage
Hot roasted veggies with couscous
Quinoa pudding
Tagine of chicken with prunes and almonds

 

Hoisin sauce, in grilled tofu with soba noodles

If you heard about The Perfect Pantry on Martha Stewart Living Radio today, and this is your first visit, welcome. This blog looks at what a professional food writer (me!) keeps in her refrigerator, freezer, cupboards and spice rack -- with a recipe for each item.

Authentic Asian cooking requires a pantry-load of smelly ingredients.

Fish sauce (also called nuoc mam or nam pla).

Fermented black beans.

Shrimp paste (also known as belacan or blachan, which always makes me think of blecchhh, the sound you make when you're trying to expel a bug that flew into your mouth, which seems totally appropriate when describing the taste of shrimp paste).

Smelly, one and all, but absolutely necessary to achieve the real taste of real Asian food.

And then there's hoisin sauce.

Blissfully not smelly. Not at all.

Sweet, thick and gloppy, just salty enough and completely addictive, hoisin (pronounced HOY sin) is made from sweet potato, fermented soybeans, sesame seeds, garlic, chile pepper, wheat flour, salt and sugar (and in most cases, sugar is actually the first ingredient listed).

Known as Chinese barbecue sauce or Peking Duck sauce, hoisin is both a dipping sauce on its own, and an ingredient in dishes like pork and broccoli stir fry, barbecued chicken, snow peas and red pepper, salad with hoisin vinaigrette, Asian-style ribs and Chino-Latino wings.

Look for hoisin in the Asian foods section of your regular grocery store; mine sells the Lee Kum Kee brand in handy-dandy squeeze bottles for less than $2.00 -- easy to use, and lasts forever in the fridge.

If you can't find hoisin in your market, here are two suggested substitutes that you can whiz up in your blender. I haven't tried either one, because I'm never without a bottle of the real thing, so let me know how these work for you:

• 3/4 cup pitted prunes + 2 cups of water + 1 tablespoon crushed garlic, then add 1-1/2 tablespoons soy sauce + 1-1/2 tablespoons dry sherry.
• 1/4 cup soy sauce + 1/4 cup plum sauce + 1 teaspoon flour + a pinch of five-spice powder + a pinch of garlic powder + sugar or honey or agave nectar, to taste. Of course, if you can find plum sauce, you can probably find real hoisin, too.

With the official start of barbecue season just a few days away, why not make a big batch of hoisin barbecue sauce tonight?

It's delicious. And it smells great.

GRILLED TOFU WITH SOBA NOODLES
Inspired by several recipes in Nina Simonds' Asian Wraps, this dish can be served warm, at room temperature, or cold. It's perfect for picnics. Serves 6.

2 lbs extra firm tofu

For the marinade:
3/4 cup hoisin sauce
1/4 cup rice wine or sake
3 Tbsp soy sauce
1-1/2 Tbsp finely minced garlic

Five 10-inch bamboo skewers, soaked in water to cover for an hour, or other skewers

For the vegetables:
1 Tbsp peanut or canola oil
1 Tbsp minced garlic
1 tsp chili paste with garlic
1 small onion, peeled and cut into chunks
1 red bell pepper, cut into chunks
1 yellow bell pepper, cut into chunks
1/2 lb fresh snow peas, ends snapped and strings removed
1-1/2 Tbsp rice wine or sake

For the sauce, mix together:
3-1/2 Tbsp reduced sodium soy sauce
1-1/2 Tbsp sugar
1 tsp sesame oil

1 lb soba, cooked according to package directions and drained

Cut tofu into 1-inch slices and place in a bowl. Add 2/3 of marinade to the tofu, tossing gently to coat. Let sit for an hour at room temperature. Thread tofu onto skewers, reserving remaining marinade in a bowl for basting.

Prepare a medium-hot fire for grilling, or preheat broiler. You might want to brush your grill with some canola or peanut oil, or spray with canola spray (do this before you heat the grill.) Place skewered tofu about 3 inches from heat source and cook 8-9 minutes on each side, turning once, basting occasionally with the marinade. Remove tofu from skewers, cut into 1-inch cubes, and set aside.

Heat wok over high heat. Add oil. Add minced garlic, chili paste, onion and bell peppers, and toss lightly for 1 minute. Add snow peas and rice wine; continue cooking, tossing lightly, until snow peas are tender, 2-3 minutes. Add sauce, and toss to coat.

Place cooked soba in a serving bowl. Spoon vegetables on top. Arrange tofu cubes on top and pour the reserved barbecue marinade over everything.

Also in The Perfect Pantry:
Asparagus wonton wraps
Moo shu chicken
Salmon and Asian pesto potstickers
Spicy peanut sauce
Vegetable dumplings

 

Cumin, in spicy pinto bean ravioli

Spices That Make Your Food Sing Week, Day Three.

If cumin really could make your food sing, what tune would it choose?

A bit of Mexican mariachi?

Native American pow-wow?

Spanish flamenco?

Or would your cumin groove to a Bollywood beat?

More than most seasonings -- except salt and pepper --  cumin plays a key role in the cuisine of so many regions that it's impossible to imagine a pantry (or a music collection) without it.

On its own or in spice blends like panch phoron or garam masala from India, Persian baharat or Ethiopian berbere, cumin adds a familiar husky-musky quality, the taste your taste buds identify as the dominant flavor in many ethnic cuisines.

Cumin (comino in Spanish; kuming in Chinese; jinten in Indonesian; and cumin du Maroc or faux anis in French) is the seed of an herbaceous annual in the parsley family, native to only one place — the Nile River Valley in Egypt — and cultivated in India, China, North Africa, the eastern Mediterranean (especially Iran), and the Americas. It resembles the elongated and striated caraway seed, which is in the same plant family.

I keep both whole cumin seeds and ground cumin in my pantry; I buy in bulk from Penzeys, or from an Indian market when I'm lucky enough to get to one, and store most in the freezer, with a just a small amount on my spice rack. (Freezing extends the shelf life of many spices.) Whole seeds are often used in Indian cooking, or sprinkled on breadsticks and flatbreads; ground cumin features in the cooking of Mexico and the Mediterranean.

Chewing on cumin seeds can be an effective treatment for indigestion and morning sickness. In ancient Egypt, cumin was used to mummify pharoahs; in Roman times, students used cumin to give their complexions a more pallid look, the better to convince teachers they had been up all night studying!

More important to cooks, cumin is said to stimulate the appetite, with its naturally spicy-sweet pungency. Test the theory for yourself -- create your own world tour with cumin-spiced foods. Start in North Africa, head east to Persia, then on to India, Malaysia, South America, Mexico, and back to the Southwest United States.

And don't forget to load up your iPod, because food seasoned with cumin really does sing.

SPICY PINTO BEAN RAVIOLI
The filling, adapted from Foods of the Southwest Indian Nations, by Lois Ellen Frank, can be made ahead and stored in the refrigerator for a couple of days. It would be great in burritos or tacos, too. If you don't have a slow cooker, remember to soak the beans the night before you're ready to cook. Serves 4-6 as an appetizer.

2 cups dried pinto beans
1 tsp dried oregano
1 tsp ground cumin
4 cloves garlic, unpeeled
1 small onion, chopped
1/4 cup vegetable oil
1 Tbsp red chile powder
1 tsp kosher salt
24 wonton skins

Cook the beans: Pick through the beans to remove any stones or broken bits, and place in a slow cooker with water to cover; set on LOW and cook for 18 hours. Or, soak the beans overnight in cool water to cover. The next day, drain, rinse with cold water, and place in a pot with fresh water to cover by 2 inches. Bring to a boil over high heat, then reduce to simmer and cook for two hours or until the beans are soft and the skins begin to split, adding water if necessary to keep the beans from burning and sticking to the pot. Remove from heat; drain, but reserve the bean cooking liquid.

Toast the oregano and cumin in a dry sauté pan over medium heat until lightly browned and aromatic. Remove from the pan and set aside. In the same pan, add the unpeeled garlic, and roast over medium heat until it is soft and blackened in spots. Let cool, then peel and mash with a knife.

In a saucepan, sauté the onion in 1 Tbsp of the oil over moderate heat until it is lightly browned. Reduce the heat to low, add the garlic, and cook for 30 seconds. Add the oregano, cumin, red chile powder, salt, beans, and just enough of the bean water to cover, about 2-3 cups. Bring to a boil over high heat, then reduce the heat and simmer, uncovered, for 30 minutes.

Pureé the beans with an immersion blender, or in batches in a food processor, until smooth.

In a cast-iron skillet, heat the remaining oil over high heat to its smoking point (make sure you have a fan or ventilator running!). Add the bean pureé and stir for 1 minute. Lower the heat to medium, and cook for 5 minutes, stirring frequently, until the bean pureé turns into a medium paste. It will thicken as it cools.

To make the ravioli: Bring a large pot of water to a boil. In the meantime, place 12 wonton skins on your countertop. Place a teaspoon of bean filling in the center of each wonton. With a small brush or the tip of your finger, paint the edges of the wonton skins with water. Top each with another wonton skin, and press tightly to form a seal. (At this point, you can freeze for future use.) When the water has boiled, reduce the heat to low, add the ravioli, and cook until they float on top of the water. Serve with your favorite salsa.

Also in The Perfect Pantry:
Hominy and cactus soup
Cocoa-cumin-allspice rub
Floribean chicken chili
Muhammara
Saag paneer
Lemon-onion hummus
Egg curry
Pueblo vegetable stew

Grey sea salt, on crusty roasted potatoes

A week of Spices That Make Your Food Sing. Day Two.

Remember when chocolate was brown? 

Remember when hot sauce was red?

Remember when potato chips were yellow, bell peppers were green, and Jell-o was... well, not blue?

Remember when salt was white?

I do.

Though I could live a lifetime without white chocolate, green hot sauce, red corn chips, purple and orange bell peppers, or any color of Jell-o, I never ever want to be without grey sea salt.

What is grey salt? The simple answer is that it is salt that has not been refined. Often purplish in color, the salt is tinged by the minerals in the clay from which it is harvested by hand, with wooden rakes, so that no metal touches, or affects the flavor of, the salt. This is important, because some lower quality grey salts get their color from an adverse reaction to the metal harvesting equipment.

The grey salt in my photo came from France, courtesy of Kate of Thyme for Cooking, who lives in the Vendée along the Atlantic coast where the world's finest grey salt is harvested. You can read about the harvesting process in this wonderful post about a chef's visit to the salt marshes.

Does grey salt taste different than white salt? Yes. Is it saltier? Just the opposite; one teaspoon of salt has 2325 milligrams of sodium, so the larger the crystals, the less in one teaspoon; therefore, coarse salt has less sodium by volume than finer-grind kosher or table salt.

Try it on foccacia, in ice cream, in caramels, on grilled endive, in a swiss chard omelet or mushroom ragout, or sprinkled on grilled steak.

At the moment I have three different grey salts in The Perfect Pantry -- which, I think, makes this The Perfectly Overstocked Pantry. Grey salt comes in various granulations from coarse to fine, sometimes flavored with herbs. The salt in the photo is mixed with herbes de Provence, which gives it an amazing aroma and flavor -- and a few twigs, for good measure.

CRUSTY OVEN-ROASTED POTATOES
Less a recipe than a formula for the best potatoes anywhere. Dunked in an aioli mayonnaise, these are positively addictive. Serves 6 as a side dish.

1-1/2 lb baby Yukon Gold or red-skinned new potatoes
1-1/2 tsp coarse ground black pepper
1 Tbsp grey salt or other sea salt
1-1/2 tsp fresh thyme or lemon thyme (leaves removed from stems and left whole)
2 Tbsp olive oil

Preheat oven to 450°F. Cut potatoes in half or thirds or quarters -- just make sure they are all approximately the same size. (Leave the skins on.) Place in a nonstick deep roasting pan, and add remaining ingredients. Toss with your hands, and distribute evenly in the pan. Roast in the oven for 20 minutes, turn the potatoes, and roast for another 15 minutes or until the potatoes develop a nice crust on the cut sides. Serve warm.

Also in The Perfect Pantry:
Grilled sirloin tips with asparagus
Pizza bianca
Salt and pepper prawns
Asparagus with miso-sesame sauce

Pimentón (smoked paprika), in Clean the Freezer Chili

A week of Spices That Make Your Food Sing. Day One.

By now, Top Chef is old hat.

(Of course you're watching it. We're all watching it. We're hooked. We don't want to be hooked on a reality show, but we are.)

If you've been with Top Chef for a while, you remember Season 2, the season when molecular gastronomy met traditional Spanish cuisine, the season of Sam-who-should-have-won, the season of Marcel vs. Ilan, the season of saffron and pimentón.

Until a couple of years ago, I'd never heard of pimentón, the smoked paprika from the La Vera region of southwestern Spain. Now, it's everywhere (Penzeys, McCormick, Spice House). So, how do you know which is the good stuff?

Is all pimentón smoked paprika? Yes.

Is all smoked paprika pimentón? No.

Smoked paprika is made by slowly smoking pimientos -- peppers -- over oak, which gives it a distinctive, husky aroma and flavor. The paprika can be mild or strong, depending on the variety of pimiento used. Small round peppers produce a dulce, or sweet, paprika; longer, dark red peppers make agridulce, a medium hot (often called bittersweet) paprika; and several types of long red chiles can become hot (picante) smoked paprika.

Pimentón de La Vera was the first chile pepper product to be granted a Denominacíon de Origen, or controlled name status, which means that other varieties of paprika cannot be called pimentón. The letters "D.O." on the label ensure that the product is made from peppers grown in the La Vera region and processed in the traditional way. If it doesn't have the D.O., it's probably not pimentón -- it's smoked paprika, from somewhere else.

In La Vera, peppers are harvested in the Fall and set out to dry in special drying houses, where they are placed on racks above oak fires, and turned once a day for two weeks. The peppers are then taken to mills to be stone-ground, slowly, to preserve as much of the flavor and color of the paprika as possible. Though parts of the process have been mechanized, much is still done by hand.

Each type of pimentón is used in a particular culinary arena: dulce pairs well with eggs, potatoes, rice, and fish; agridulce enhances smoked meats, beans, game dishes and stews; hot (picante) is best for winter soups, chorizo and octopus. In a pinch, you can substitute New Mexican ground red chile mixed with a bit of ground chipotle.

Most often packaged in tins to keep the light out, pimentón will last in your cupboard for up to two years, though once you've tried it with asparagus, roasted red pepper-tomato soup, penne with shrimp and arugula, tomato paella, herb jam with olives and lemon, grilled chicken Morocco or sprinkled atop deviled eggs, you'll be replenishing your supply more frequently.

Authentic Pimentón de La Vera is available in gourmet markets, and online from reliable sources like La Tienda.

MARY'S CLEAN THE FREEZER CHILI
I laughed and laughed when, last Spring, my friend Mary sent me the following recipe with the note, "I just made chili that was darned good. I thought that the list of ingredients was funny -- reflective of our imperfect pantry." Any pantry that can produce such a wonderful chili is a perfect pantry indeed! Of course I started checking my own freezer, cupboards and spice rack, to see how many of these things were in it. This recipe is the definition of Julia Child's favorite phrase, "proportions aren't terribly important." Improvise to your heart's content -- and empty your freezer now, before this summer's harvest begins.

Chopped onions and celery -- sautéed
Tempeh -- simmered in broth, then crumbled
Black beans
The last of last summer's roasted tomatoes
Ditto on the pesto
A good amount of mole sauce (at least a cup)
1/2 of a flat beer
Some OJ (orange juice)
A dash or two of balsamic vinegar
Celery seed
Oregano
Cumin
Dark chili powder
Ketchup (true!)
Smoked paprika (pimentón)

You know what to do -- throw everything into a pot, taste and taste again, and simmer until the flavors combine.

Also in The Perfect Pantry:
Floribean chicken chili 
Vegetable paella with spicy garlic sauce
Chicken paella with slow-roasted tomatoes
Black bean soup 
Paella alla Valenciana

Sesame seeds, with asparagus in miso sauce

If you read about The Perfect Pantry in the Washington Post, and this is your first visit, welcome. This blog looks at what a professional food writer (me!) keeps in her refrigerator, freezer, cupboards and spice rack -- with a recipe for each item -- and the 23 things I absolutely, positively, have to have in my pantry. 

Two things I don't usually do:

I don't usually write about an ingredient in The Perfect Pantry just because I have a new kitchen toy -- oops, tool -- to show you, even when it is an adorable red Japanese sesame seed grinder that looks a little bit like a Mummenschanz crossed with a Tinkertoy.

And, I don't usually give advice about love and relationships and dating and all that.

I don't. Usually. Except today.

Today, I am going to tell you how to choose your life partner.

Forget sense of humor, shared values, attraction, responsibility, respect.

What's really important is to find someone who understands that you (yes, you, and me, too) cannot have too many tools/ingredients/pots/bowls. That when your pantry grows to more than 200 items, the right thing to do is to build more shelves.

That when he is in New York City on business, and you email to him about a neat housewares store in SoHo, he should know instinctively that you are not just being chatty, that the right thing to do is to go to the store and purchase a few surprises for your kitchen, including a little red sesame seed grinder.

That is the person you want to live with forever and ever, the person for whom you will make Asian cabbage salad and fish sticks, peanut sesame noodles and saffron bread, peanut butter-black sesame cupcakes and zahtar plantains. And of course you will make tahini from scratch. (It will take forever and ever to do it with your little red sesame seed grinder, so use a food processor. Go ahead. The love of your life will not mind one bit.)

While you are cooking, you can tell your forever person so many interesting things about sesame seeds, which come from a flowering annual plant grown in India, China, Sudan, Ethiopia, Mexico, and the southwestern US. In addition to a nutty flavor and crunch, sesame seeds also contribute to good health. They are a source of manganese and copper, as well as calcium, magnesium, iron, phosphorous, vitamin B1 and zinc. Plus, they're packed with sesamin and sesamolin, two beneficial fibers that may help lower cholesterol and control blood pressure.

You might mention that in the local Asian market, a 24-ounce bag of tan, black or white seeds sells for just $2.79, and that because sesame seeds are approximately 50 percent oil by weight, and tend to get rancid after a few months, they should be stored in the refrigerator.

Then, you can toast a few seeds in a dry frying pan for just a minute or two, to bring out the flavor, and sprinkle them on summer salads, noodle dishes, or a bowl of yogurt and fruit.

Or turn them into a sweet halvah, for the forever person who brought home the little red grinder.

ASPARAGUS WITH MISO-SESAME SAUCE
I can't resist a cookbook with mouthwatering photos, so when I saw Sur La Table's new Things Cooks Love, by Marie Simmons, on sale at Costco, I had to have it. The instructions for this dish call for grinding the sauce in a suribachi, but if you don't have one, use a mortar and pestle, or a cute Japanese grinding gizmo and a food processor. Perfect for the asparagus just coming into season here in Rhode Island, this recipe, slightly adapted from the book, serves 4, and can be doubled easily.

1 tsp tan or black sesame seeds
1 lb medium-width or fat asparagus, stems trimmed
1 Tbsp coarse sea salt

For the miso-sesame sauce:
2 Tbsp tan sesame seeds
2 Tbsp shiro (white) miso
3 Tbsp unseasoned rice vinegar

In a small, dry, nonstick frying pan, toast 1 tsp sesame seeds for 2 minutes over low heat, just until the seeds begin to brown slightly. Pour the seeds into a small bowl, and set aside for garnish.

Trim the woody ends of the asparagus and, if the spears are fat, use a vegetable peeler to remove some of the scales from the lower half.

Fill a large bowl with 2 quarts of water and a tray's worth of ice cubes, and set aside.

Fill a large saucepan with 2-3 quarts of water, and bring to a boil over high heat. Add the asparagus and sea salt, and cook for 2-3 minutes, depending on the size of the spears, until they are crisp-tender. Remove the asparagus with a spider or slotted spoon, and toss the spears into the bowl of ice water (this stops the cooking and sets the color). After 5 minutes, remove the asparagus and drain on a clean dish towel.

Make the sauce: Grind 2 Tbsp of sesame seeds in a cute little grinder gizmo, spice mill, or mortar and pestle. If using a mortar, add the miso and rice vinegar, a little at a time, and blend well. (Or you can toss it all into a mini food processor and blend to a nice consistency.)

Arrange the asparagus on a serving platter, and drizzle the sauce across the top. Garnish with the toasted sesame seeds, and serve chilled or at room temperature.

Also in The Perfect Pantry:
Zahtar
Potato salad with sesame dressing
Traditional hummus

Montreal steak seasoning, for grilled tofu wraps

Sometimes I spend hours researching an ingredient in my pantry, reading about food history or science or legend or nutrition.

Montreal steak seasoning should have been easier.

Tehhhhhhhhhd, what's Montreal steak seasoning?

That should have done it, one holler up the stairs, from my desk to the desk of my Montreal-born husband.

Huhhhhh?

Maybe he didn't hear me.

Montreal steak seasoningggggg? I tried again.

Never heard of it.

So much for shortcuts.

Montreal steak seasoning first caught my eye at the small grocery store in our town, but soon I started to see it and hear of it everywhere. I assumed it originated in Montreal, and it did, at Schwartz's, the smoked-meat emporium that opened its doors on Boulevard St. Laurent in 1928.

Nobody knows the exact formulation of the original Montreal Steak Seasoning (available by mail from Schwartz's), but every clone adds to a foundation of salt, paprika, and garlic a proprietary mix of spices that might include black pepper, cayenne, red pepper flakes, ground coriander, dill or fennel seeds, granulated onion, and rosemary.

In the photo above, the Montreal steak seasoning on the left came from my local grocery store, which buys it from a packer in Connecticut; you can identify dill seeds, red pepper, and caraway. On the right, Rod's Rub Steak Out! has similar ingredients, a more uniform texture, and whole leaves that look like thyme. (Thanks to the folks at Rod's for sending samples of their five spice blends.) Both are all-natural products with no additives or preservatives.

McCormick Grill Mates Montreal Steak Seasoning, first marketed in the mid-1990s and found in every supermarket in a spiffy grinder jar, has an overwhelmingly green and herby appearance, but it contains partially hydrogenated soybean oil and natural flavor, whatever that is.

Montreal steak seasoning enhances the flavor of flank steak or corned beef, pork chops, chili, and chicken burgers. Use it as a rub; mix it with oil to make a paste for grilled salmon; or substitute it in recipes, like meatloaf, that call for pepper and paprika.

MONTREAL GRILLED TOFU WRAPS
Improvise to your heart's content! Serves 4.

1 package extra-firm tofu
2 Tbsp Montreal steak seasoning
2 Tbsp canola oil
1/2 tsp cayenne pepper, or to taste
1 large onion, sliced into rings
1 red bell pepper, core and seeds removed, sliced into thick pieces
4 burrito-size (large) flour tortillas
1 avocado, peeled and sliced
A drizzle of your favorite honey mustard

Drain the tofu, and place in a colander set over a bowl. Put a small, heavy plate on top of the tofu to weight it down, and let sit at room temperature for 30 minutes. In the meantime, preheat your grill, or grill pan, or broiler.

In a bowl, combine seasoning, canola oil, and cayenne. Slice tofu into 1-inch slices, and paint each gently on all sides with the seasoning paste. Place on the grill. Toss onion and bell pepper in remaining spice paste, and grill until nicely charred. Cook tofu for 4-5 minutes, until it has nice grill marks and is heated through. Heat tortillas on the grill for 20-30 seconds. Place tortillas on individual plates, top with tofu, vegetables and avocado, drizzle with honey mustard, and wrap.

Also in The Perfect Pantry:
Teriyaki tofu wraps
Spicy peanut sauce
Pan-roasted glazed salmon
Bulgogi

Beans, corn, and Twisted Three Sisters Soup

Today, Arlo joins The Perfect Pantry as our first guest blogger. Many of you remember her letters earlier this year. A wonderful and generous storyteller, Arlo writes from Ottawa, the capital city of Canada, and I'm delighted to welcome her. Watch for her posts once a month or so.

Guest post by Arlo from Ottawa

Years ago I was asked by my son’s school council if I had an Aboriginal recipe I could prepare for our first ever Stone Soup Café, a fundraising event that would sell the students' hand-decorated bowls and a range of parent- and restaurant-donated soups.

Being new to the Ottawa region at the time, I immediately called a friend who is indigenous to this territory and asked her how to make corn soup, a traditional fare at many eastern Native festivals and ceremonies. Sadly, she never really made the soup herself and didn’t know where I could buy white corn either. So that year I ended up making a venison stew, a popular feast dish in my home prairies. The following year I made Metis boullets, a meatball soup made every New Year’s Eve. This year, I was determined to succeed with Three Sisters Soup, a recipe that has been passed down since the time when corn, beans and squash were first planted.

Three Sisters Soup is as diverse as the people who have adapted it. Top contenders for claiming the origin of this recipe include all of the Six Nations tribes on the eastern seaboard, and all of the tribes in the area known as the Four Corners in the US (New Mexico, Arizona, Utah and Colorado). Throughout the centuries, regional variations have all become traditional fare, and each Three Sisters Soup maker believes hers or his is the original version. And I agree -- each should have that prize as most are tasty, full of fiber and good things, and just make you feel with each spoonful that you are connected with Mother Earth.

Modern day organic growers loudly proclaim the benefits of companion planting, a technique practiced by indigenous gardeners since dirt was invented. Corn or maize is planted, followed by beans and squash. The corn supports the climbing beans, and the fat, wide leaves of the low-lying squash keep all of their roots shaded, retain moisture, and deter weeds and greedy insects. The beans also capture nitrogen from the air, which the corn absolutely needs. Vegans may not appreciate this tidbit, but sometimes on the east coast fish and eel were once used to enrich the soil as fertilizer and to discourage pests, but I am not sure if this is still practiced.

Many legends surround the Three Sisters, so much that many eastern tribes refer to them as spiritual entities and the sustainers of life. Consumers of corn, beans and squash did not have to rely on meat, fish, fowl or other animal products to survive, as the combination provided essential amino acids and complimentary proteins. Frances Moore Lappé would be pleased, as were the pilgrims who survived on this mix 400 years ago.

My first attempts with a traditional recipe tasted like salty bland dishwater, and as I was competing with soup masterpieces from around the world (we have many cultures in our school) and with Ottawa’s finest restaurants, I kicked it up a notch. I checked a couple of our southwestern cousins’ versions and added ground chile peppers and sage (native to North America). I used dried hominy corn, which is more traditional, but regular or canned hominy can do in a pinch, especially for speed cooking.

There are many Three Sisters Soup recipes that throw in things like curry powder and yogurt, which I am sure taste delicious, but my version tries to keep with the original spirit of the soup -- that is, Sister Corn, Sister Bean, and Sister Squash.

And almost everything in this soup comes from my pantry.

ARLO'S TWISTED THREE SISTERS SOUP
Created for Stone Soup Café at the Connaught School, Ottawa, Ontario. Serves 10-12; with corn bread or whole wheat bannock, this makes a very complete and filling meal. Like many soups, it's even better the next day.

1 cup dried yellow or white hominy corn (or 2 large cans)
1 cup dried white navy beans (or 2 large cans)
1 acorn squash (peeled and diced)
1 butternut squash (peeled and diced)
1 medium zucchini  (sliced into 1/2-inch rounds, then quartered)
1 medium red onion diced
2 cups fresh or frozen green beans, cut into 1 inch pieces
2 tsp sea salt
1/2 tsp fine ground black pepper
1/4 tsp crushed red chile flakes, or more to taste
1 tsp dried ground sage
2 Tbsp margarine, butter or oil
Water -- lots

If you are using dried corn and beans, they will take a lot longer to cook than the squash, so start with the beans and corn first. Even if you have pre-soaked overnight, count on 1-1/2 to 2 hours simmering on the stove to cook them. Use lots of water and DO NOT add salt yet. I use separate pots because, oh, I don’t know, I am afraid the corn will beat the beans or vice-versa! Canned beans will work when time is short, but I prefer the non-processed version. Reduce salt if using canned corn or beans unless they are sodium-free.

When beans and hominy are tender, combine into one large pot and add the butternut and acorn squash, and seasonings (salt, pepper, chile flakes, sage).  Simmer 15 minutes until squash is still firm but not hard. Add zucchini, red onions and green beans and simmer another 10 minutes or so until all are tender. Depending on preference, pieces can be left intact or mashed a bit. Add butter or margarine or oil, adjust seasonings. If too watery, add flour paste or cornstarch paste to thicken (let simmer another 3-5 minutes if doing this) or pureé a cup or two of the mix. If too dense, add more water. I prefer mine like a chowder but others may like it thinner.

Also in The Perfect Pantry:
Zuni corn soup
Everything-in-the-pantry bean soup

White vinegar, volcanoes, and pineapple-cucumber salad

Once upon a time -- okay, it was just a few weeks ago -- I found five (five) bottles of distilled white vinegar in my pantry.

I'm not a pickle fanatic.

I'm not a brine fanatic.

I'm most definitely not a window-cleaning fanatic.

I used to be able to keep inventory in my head of everything that I had in the pantry. For a few months, I kept forgetting that I have vinegar, and every time I passed it in the supermarket aisle, I'd buy more. And more. And more.

If you are not old, you might not recognize this for what it is: a cautionary tale, a heads-up, a peek into your future. When you are old like me, you will, I promise, develop a mental block against some item in your pantry, and you will buy it even when it is not on your grocery list. And each time, you'll place it on the shelf, next to the one you bought the week before. You'll mutter to yourself, oh phoo, I already have this.

Yes, the block passes -- but it passes to another item. Just when you finally stop buying one item, you find you've started stockpiling insane quantities of something else: cocoa powder, or frozen peas, or brown lentils or bamboo skewers or dried lasagna noodles or turmeric.

Or vinegar.

For more than 5,000 years, vinegar has been made the same way, by the fermentation of natural sugars to alcohol, and then further fermentation to vinegar. Almost anything that contains sugar can ferment into vinegar: wine, of course, but also molasses, dates, sorghum, fruits, berries, melons, coconut, honey, beer, maple syrup, potatoes, beets, malt, grains -- and distilled alcohol, which is the base of white vinegar.

According to the US Department of Agriculture, vinegar sold at retail must contain a minimum of 4% acidity (the amount of acetic acid present). White vinegar is generally 5% but can be as high as 7%; the acidity is always printed somewhere on the label.

If you're planning to use vinegar for pickled vegetables, don't use homemade vinegar unless you test the acidity level. Vinegar is a self-preservative (it will last for many years in your pantry; no need to refrigerate), and low-acid vinegars are fine for salad dressings. But to kill bacteria in a preserved food, the acidity should be at least 4 percent.

Keep vinegar in your pantry for making mustard, red velvet cake, cole slaw, pie crust, chicken adobo, or hot sauce.

From The Vinegar Institute, here's a recipe of a different kind, guaranteed to add excitement in your kitchen (or, better yet, in the back yard):

How to build a volcano: First, make the cone of the volcano. Mix 6 cups flour, 2 cups salt, 4 Tbsp cooking oil and 2 cups of water. The resulting mixture should be smooth and firm (more water may be added if needed). Stand a soda bottle in a baking pan and mold the dough around it into a volcano shape. Do not cover the hole or drop dough into it. Fill the bottle most of the way full with warm water and a bit of red food color (can be done before sculpting if you work quickly so the water stays warm). Add 6 drops of detergent to the bottle contents. Add 2 Tbsp baking soda to the liquid. Slowly pour vinegar into the bottle. Watch out -- eruption time!

And remember: vinegar kills weeds in your garden.

CANTONESE PINEAPPLE-CUCUMBER SALAD
In the Asian market last week, I saw a jar of pickled shallots. Something about their pink-ness cried "Spring is here!", and I remembered this recipe, a family favorite from Brian Jung. Serves 6.

1 large English (seedless) cucumber, peeled and sliced paper-thin
2 small carrots, peeled, cut into 1-inch matchsticks
1 tsp kosher salt
1/2 cup white vinegar
6 Tbsp sugar
12 pickled shallots, sliced paper-thin, + 1 Tbsp juice reserved from the jar
1 16-oz can pineapple in heavy syrup, drained, + 4 Tbsp syrup reserved from the can
1 Tbsp toasted white or black sesame seeds

Place cucumber and carrots in a colander over a bowl and sprinkle with salt. Weight down with a plate, and allow to sit 20 minutes. In the meantime, heat the vinegar and sugar in a small sauce pan, until the sugar dissolves. Remove from heat. Rinse the cucumber and carrots under cold water and drain. Place in a bowl or large jar with shallots and reserved shallot juice, pineapple and reserved pineapple syrup, and the vinegar solution, and refrigerate for several hours or overnight. To Serve garnished with sesame