It’s only in the past year or so that I’ve become more appreciative of what it means to be a pantry cook. I always used to skip past those introductory pages in any given cookbook, the ones where the author describes what ingredients they keep stocked in the larder—the wire frame that their recipes work within. For instance, most home cooks have garlic and onions always on hand; beyond those are the realm of the less obvious. Are you the kind of home cook who has multiple varieties of rice stocked at all times? What canned goods are always on your grocery list (for me it’s canned whole tomatoes, coconut milk, chickpeas)? Are there some seasonings—chile de árbol, red pepper flakes, coriander—that you use in nearly everything you make? Having a pantry of staples that you draw from consistently need not be boring—it can save you on those nights when you would rather riff on a familiar theme in the kitchen than try to reinvent the wheel.
I’d say that Abra Berens’s Grist is a pantry cookbook—which is perhaps why it doesn’t have a “pantry” section at the start. As you could probably guess, the dishes in Grist are not flashy, not made with expensive or hard-to-find ingredients: rather, I’d go so far as to apply the adjective economical, though I wouldn’t want to invoke whatever negative or unsexy connotations that word might bring to mind for you—nor would I want to invoke whatever homely associations you may have with millet or groats. Still, the fact is that dry legumes and grains are, generally speaking, pretty cheap by volume—even the organic or less common ones. The offerings in Grist are simple and nourishing: broccolini and greens cooked with bean potlicker (the savory, earthy liquid left over after cooking a pot of beans); savory rice porridge with cheddar, chicken stock, and greens; buckwheat with dried cherries and hazelnuts over warm parsnip puree. Though not a strictly seasonal book, nearly everything in here seems suited to winter; these recipes are, by and large, hearty, warm, and filling.
The book is separated into three main sections: Condiments, Legumes, and Grains. Rather than strict recipes, each section is broken down by technique—boiled, say, or marinated—and includes clever guides, such as “a week’s worth of barley without any boredom” or “what to do with leftover grits (or porridge, polenta—whatever you call it).” I find things like this—practical guidelines for cooking—incredibly useful in the day-to-day. While I don’t quite identify as a “meal prep person,” I am conscious of both time and money in my cooking, and I like to make big batches of things to remix and eat throughout the week. Berens has got my number on that front: Every recipe comes with at least a couple “variations.” To the Carte Blanche Risotto you can add squash, paprika chile oil, and a couple of handfuls of arugula, or you could replace the onions with leeks and toss in some sliced bacon or pancetta for a salty-savory hit.
The recipes in Grist might not be the ones that you make for a fancy soiree—you might not even make them for company at all. But for the humbler meals, the weeknight dinners served only to your chosen few (or perhaps just to yourself), you’ll be grateful for Berens’s wise and sober counsel on all things grain and legume. You might just become a pantry cook yourself.
Who’s Your Source?
Berens does include a list of “sources” in the back of her book—both online national stores and smaller, regional shops that supply both run-of-the-mill and heritage varieties of grains and legumes. I admit that I adore the beans from Rancho Gordo, pricey as they are compared to the grocery-store equivalents. But there are plenty of places in New Mexico where one can find such staples, and without having to pay for shipping.
I typically go to La Montañita Co-Op for all my bulk-aisle needs. They are reliably stocked with all the basics and then some—they carry calypso and Anasazi beans, barley and buckwheat and freekeh and farro. When I was making hoppin’ John at New Year’s, they were the only place I could find black-eyed peas (which didn’t seem like such an exotic thing to look for, but I stand corrected). They also stock flours and sugars in the bulk aisle—including flours from local millers, like Southwest Heritage Mill and Valencia Flour Mill.
For pinto beans, you can’t go wrong ordering directly from Ness Farms down in Estancia, and they’re stocked at quite a few locations throughout the state too. (I’ve discovered recently that they have merch too, and I’m debating whether or not I’d like to be the kind of person who wears beans merch. You’ll have to make this call for yourself as well.)
Robin Babb
Robin Babb is the associate editor of edible New Mexico and The Bite. She is an MFA student in creative writing at the University of New Mexico and lives in Albuquerque with a cat named Chicken and a dog named Birdie.
