{"id":1505,"date":"2007-03-19T23:41:00","date_gmt":"2007-03-19T23:41:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/elitemporaryblog.wordpress.com\/2007\/03\/19\/into-the-pantry"},"modified":"2007-03-19T23:41:00","modified_gmt":"2007-03-19T23:41:00","slug":"into-the-pantry","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/orangette.net\/2007\/03\/into-the-pantry\/","title":{"rendered":"Into the pantry"},"content":{"rendered":"
I love winter foods. You know I do. You\u2019ve been listening to me yap about them for a long time now. I\u2019m always trotting out some strange, frost-nipped something: a Brussels sprout<\/a> here, an old celery root<\/a> there, an unruly head of escarole<\/a> that no one else wants. It\u2019s what I do. I\u2019ve got a reputation to keep.<\/p>\n But I have to tell you, this winter has rung me out. I\u2019m tired<\/i>. I\u2019m through. If I have to eat another cabbage, I\u2019m going to fall to my knees and cry. That\u2019s pretty much what I felt like doing at the market on Saturday morning, as I stared out over the sea of winter produce. Pretty though it was \u2013 so many shades of neutral, like a layout from Martha Stewart Living<\/i> \u2013 I could hardly muster the energy to pull out my wallet. I really tried hard to find the oomph. But there\u2019s no two ways about it: winter and I are over<\/b>. The only problem is that spring isn\u2019t quite here yet.<\/p>\n Faced with such hard facts, there\u2019s not much for a person to do, I find, but seek refuge in the pantry closet<\/b>. For the past week or two, that\u2019s what I\u2019ve been doing, and I highly recommend it. It\u2019s oddly inspiring, in its way. I\u2019ve made two batches of scones with various dried fruits. I put a good dent our supply of crystallized ginger<\/a>. I even organized the rice area, which had formed a sort of impromptu sandbag levee, barricading the chilies into a corner. I also made mujadara<\/i>. Twice, in fact, in five days. That\u2019s another thing I recommend.<\/p>\n I came upon it several years ago in Oklahoma, at the home of family friends Pam and Bill Shdeed. Pam makes a mean Lebanese meal. It was in her dining room that I had my first bite of mujadara, along with homemade labneh<\/a><\/i>, the spiced lamb patties known as kibbeh<\/a><\/i>, and chicken cooked under a mound of cinnamon-scented rice. Not long after, she gave me a staple-bound cookbook \u2013 with typewritten pages and a tan cardstock cover \u2013 called Our Favorite Lebanese Recipes<\/i>, by Julia Bayouth and Helen Jabara. Not long after that, I started making mujadara. Using the cookbook Pam gave me, as well as hints from Claudia Roden<\/a>, I worked up a formula that I liked. My boyfriend at the time was vegan, and he loved it. Mujadara was one of our staples. I made it all the time. But after we split up, I sort of forgot about it. It went the way of history, along with our hokey terms of endearment and other relationship memorabilia. It took until last week, when winter chased me into the pantry, for me to remember it again.<\/p>\n This time, I won\u2019t be forgetting it so easily. It\u2019s the ultimate between-season dinner solution. It\u2019s not quite a lickety-split supper \u2013 those onions do<\/span> take their sweet time \u2013 but that\u2019s okay. It\u2019ll help pass the time until spring.<\/p>\n Mujadara <\/b>(moo-jha-dra<\/i>)<\/p>\n The key to this dish is the onions: they must be browned well, and with patience. Caramelize them to within an inch of their lives. Heck, burn them a little, even. In cases like this, it\u2019s almost impossible to overcook them. Their intense, deeply toasty flavor is the main player here, so don\u2019t rush it.<\/p>\n<\/a>
Photogenic it is not, but in the mouth, mujadara makes up for all misgivings. I\u2019m not sure how it should be translated, but for me, mujadara means an enviable meal made entirely from the pantry. It\u2019s a Middle Eastern dish comprised simply of lentils, rice, and onions<\/b>, with doses of olive oil and salt for good measure. Also called megadarra<\/i>, mejadra<\/i>, and a variety of other similar names, it most often resembles a moist pilaf, although sometimes it borders on porridge. Either way, it\u2019s nothing fancy, nor is it particularly pretty. What it is, however, is simple, fragrant, exotic<\/b>, and cheap.<\/span> That\u2019s a combination that doesn\u2019t come around too often. In my mental recipe archive, I file mujadara in the same category as Brandon\u2019s chickpea salad<\/a>, the category for things dead-simple, delicious, and made from ingredients often on hand. Mujadara takes more foresight and time, but it also makes your kitchen smell good enough to eat.<\/p>\n