Julia at 100.

Today is Julia Child's 100th birthday. It's safe to say that if you live in the United States and eat food, you owe a debt to Ms. Child. She was one of the driving forces behind the home cooking revolution that swept through our kitchens in the 1960s (and continues to this day), and her influence is everywhere.

Tonight, as I make gougères to take with me to a friend's house on Friday, I'll think of Julia. As I eat my heirloom tomato salad (recipe here), I'll think of Julia. And as I pick up her wonderful memoir My Life in France for yet another read, I'll think of Julia. And, apparently, every time I use Google today, I'll think of Julia.

Even setting aside the mammoth accomplishment of her Mastering the Art books and her status as the biggest TV food star of all time, Julia Child was a seriously fascinating lady. She worked for the Office of Strategic Services during World War II, helping build the organization that would later become the CIA. She lived all over the world, and her relationship with her husband Paul was an inspiring partnership - not to mention the inspiration for some seriously adorable Valentines.

Even if you don't have Julia's boeuf bourgignon on the menu tonight, I hope you'll take a moment to remember her in your own way. And if you don't take a few minutes to watch PBS' amazing remix of her shiniest TV moments, you're a fool. Bon appétit!

Not too cool for school.

One of the coolest things I'm doing this summer is going to school. That's right, I'm back on the books! The School of Visual Arts recently created an MFA program for Interaction Design, and I'm taking one of their Summer Intensive courses. So far, it's been a great experience. I'm working on a group project and seriously enjoying the assigned reading.

Our first individual assignment was to write a short essay about one of our design heroes. None of you, I'm sure, will be surprised to learn that I chose one Mrs. Julia Child. I thought I'd share my little essay with you, since I know you love her as much as I do - or, if you don't, you soon will!

Julia Child is widely credited with revolutionizing the way mid-20th century Americans cooked and ate - and rightly so. But while we typically think of Julia's influence flowing primarily from her television shows - The French Chef in particular - it was her innovative way of writing a recipe, more than anything else, that led to her enormous influence on American home cooking and cuisine.

Traditionally, a recipe is written as a list of ingredients followed by a set of instructions in paragraph form. Julia, however, knew that when presented with recipes in this format, people tend to forgo reading through the recipe ahead of time, instead assembling the ingredients and diving in head-first. This method - cooking a recipe cold, without reading through the steps required - can often lead to confusion, mishaps and a frantic search for necessary equipment.

In Mastering the Art of French Cooking, Julia and her co-authors addressed this issue by listing ingredients and equipment alongside the relevant steps in the recipe instructions, instead of ahead of them. The result? Cooks were forced to read through the entire process ahead of time, ensuring a firmer grasp on the principles of the recipe and a far sunnier outcome.

Add in the book's incredibly helpful, beautiful line drawings that assisted readers in the trimming of artichokes and trussing of chickens, and it becomes clear that Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking is a masterpiece of design as well as of cuisine.

Julia knows best.

It was pretty darn warm - dare I say, hot - while I was in Ohio last week. The last thing we wanted to do was turn on the oven or use the stove too frequently. The solution, of course, was a composed salad. But not just any composed salad - oh, no. We decided to make an old favorite: Julia Child's salade Niçoise from Mastering the Art of French Cooking.

Chances are that at one point or another you've all had a version of the Niçoise salad, most likely at a restaurant, and possibly updated with, say, seared tuna. Chances also are that the version you had wasn't half as good as Julia's classic recipe. It's just a salad, sure, but she knows exactly how to make the very best of each and every ingredient.

Green beans are blanched to bring out their sweetness while retaining their snap; farm-fresh eggs are hard-boiled, showing off their impossibly golden yolks; potatoes are boiled and soaked in wine, chicken stock, and vinaigrette while still warm; perfectly ripe tomatoes and simply sliced and sprinkled with salt and pepper. The whole kit and kaboodle is topped with an impossibly generous shower of chopped herbs. (We used a combination of chives, parsley, mint, tarragon and basil.)

The result is a meal for four that surpasses all of your typical salad expectations. It's a meal worthy of summer in the south of France, one that should absolutely be accompanied by a crisp rose (Give De Loach's superlative 2007 O.F.S. a go, why don't you?) and followed by a dessert of strawberries, eaten whole, warm from the sun.

Queenie's Treasury

Happy steamy Saturday, my dears! As I write this, it's 10:45 on Saturday morning and already seventy degrees, with a forecast for the low nineties by this afternoon. Is it May, or is it July? Either way, it's the weekend, which means it's time for the Treasury.

There's something delectably retro about this New York Times collection of photographs taken from the window seats of airplanes around the world. When was the last time you paused to appreciate the magic of travel, as opposed to its drudgery and myriad little humiliations? This set of photos sent in by Times readers reminded me of the wonder of flight, and the excitement of viewing the world from 30,000 feet. I hope it'll do the same for you.

Up next is something I've had my eye on for a while: Fuji's Instax mini instant camera. I just love it. It's like a Polaroid, but cuter and more fun. Ooooh, how I want one. So far I've resisted its siren call, but it will definitely make an appearance on my birthday and Christmas lists.



I am not a major advocate for food television (reality competition shows mainly just make me anxious, and the Food Network has become a parody of itself), but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little bit excited about the coming debut of the Cooking Channel. Mo Rocca exploring food culture? Old episodes of The French Chef and other Julia Child programs? Sign me up, kids.

Santa, baby...

It's that time of year again - time for gift-giving and getting, for wishes made and granted. I thought I'd jump into the gift guide fray and share a few of the items from my own wish list, along with a few things I find either essential or just too darn neat to pass up.

First up, a few items from my own wish list. It's a mix of the practical and whimsical, with a bit of Julia mixed in for spice. Clockwise from the top left, here we go. First, a DVD set of Julia Child's complete French Chef series from PBS. The original, and still the best, cooking show. Next, from Anthropologie, a set of their ikat bowls - gold-rimmed and covered in one of the hottest motifs around, they turn cereal or salad dressing into an event.

I'm still searching for the perfect cream-and-sugar set, and this version from Design Within Reach comes awfully close to perfection. I have a couple of antique mortar and pestle sets, but not one that actually works. I love the color of this Le Cresuet model. Next, also from Anthropologie, a cute faux-bois mug for my desk at the office.

Next, something every cook should have: a Le Creuset Dutch oven. I love my 7-quart Martha Stewart model, but I wouldn't turn my nose up at an oval 5-quart version. Preferably in Caribbean Blue. Two more items from Anthropologie, including a dish towel (they have the cutest ones on offer) and gorgeous salad servers. Finally, smack in the middle, a set of grinder attachments for my KitchenAid stand mixer (the better to make homemade terrines) and a set of fishy coasters. They're my color, what can I say?

Design Within Reach has been haunting my dreams recently, not least because of these tiffin lunch pails. I've been bringing my lunch to work almost every day for about a year now, and I think it might be time to graduate from leftover shopping bags to a real-life lunch pail.

I already have this one, and I use it at least twice a week - more during the holidays. It's a KitchenAid stand mixer, and it makes life worth living. If you bake, you must have this. If you whip cream or egg whites more than twice a month, you need this. If you want to bake or whip cream more often, you need this. Via its myriad attachments, the mixer can also become an ice cream maker, food mill, meat grinder...

As I said, you must have this. A perfect splurge of a present, and it comes in many delicious colors.

Speaking of splurges - if you can't afford a trip to Paris this winter (which I can't), why not do the next best thing and get your Francophile a box of Pierre Hermé's macarons? Various delicious assortments are available for shipment anywhere in the EU on his website. Stuck here in the USA along with me? Pick up an assortment at a Bouchon Bakery outpost (in Las Vegas, New York or Yountville) or order a selection from Payard Patisserie.

I'm almost as obsessed with books as I am with food, so it's no surprise that my cookbook collection is getting a little out of control. This year was a banner one for cookbooks; these are just a few of my favorites. Clockwise from the middle of the top row, we have a fantastic baking book from Cindy Mushet, The Art and Soul of Baking. The recipes in here run the gamut from simple to complex; it's a great manual for long-time or beginning bakers. Next, a second volume from Gourmet and (former) editor-in-chief Ruth Reichl. Gourmet Today was released just before the magazine was closed in early October, and Reichl spent the weeks after the closing promoting the book around the country. She truly believes in it, and she's right - like The Gourmet Cookbook, it's chock-full of the best the magazine's crack staff had to offer.

I Know How To Cook, by Ginette Mathiot, is a bible of French home cooking that's been legendary in France for generations. Clothilde Desoulier (of the blog Chocolate & Zucchini) just completed the first English translation of the book, and I have to admit that I can't wait to cook from it.

Thomas Keller's latest book, Ad Hoc At Home, is by far his simplest - though, given that this is Thomas Keller, that isn't saying much. However, I've already made a few of the recipes (notably the chocolate chip cookies), and I can promise you that anyone can tackle the items in these pages. David Chang's Momofuku cookbook, on the other hand, is not an easy one to take on. It's a fantastic read, though - part memoir, part cookbook, really - and is worth buying if you're at all interested in either Chang, the NYC restaurant scene, or really awesome pork buns. (One word of warning: the book is full of cursing. Being rather foul-mouthed myself, I like that, but it may not be everyone's cup of tea. Also, beware the ridiculously fawning introduction from co-author Peter Meehan.)

Finally, a book that really isn't a cookbook, per se, but a love story: My Life In France. It's the story of Julia Child's two great loves: her husband, Paul, and the food of France. This is the book upon which the (far, far superior) Julia half of the Julie & Julia film was based, and if you haven't read it yet, you absolutely must. It's one of the most inspiring, delightful things I've read since graduating from college eight years ago. Seriously.

I don't think about food all the time - really, I don't! This year, I've got my eye on a couple of definitively non-food gifts, all from Etsy (Of course!). This scarf from ArtLab is dramatic and warm - not to mention infinitely practical. It's big enough to be worn, belted, as a vest, or as a shawl.

Next, a gorgeous, unique ring from Toosis, a jewelry designer based in Istanbul. Made of vermeil (gold-coated sterling silver) and featuring a teeny diamond, a pearl and a raw amethyst, it's the sort of thing I can see myself wearing every. Single. Day.

Finally, a little lace-patterned ceramic bowl for the ring to live in. (It would also make a great pinch bowl for salt or pepper, come to think of it. OK, maybe I do always think about food!)

Cooking under a Sonoma sunset.

One of the reasons I rented a house in Sonoma (as opposed to booking a block of rooms at a hotel or bed and breakfast) is that I wanted us to be able to cook. We had a lot of talented cooks on the trip, and I thought it would be fun to work together in a big kitchen, looking out at the sun setting over the courtyard, and relaxing with cocktails while we chopped, peeled, sautéed and roasted.

As it turned out, that's what we did four nights out of seven - not a bad track record, if you ask me. We had a big bowl of spaghetti with raw tomato, basil and garlic sauce on our first night, Julia Child's boeuf bourgignon on our second, and my favorite grilled lamb on Wednesday. On Friday, my Aunt Cathi made a delicious chicken dish with bacon, figs, plums and garlic that matched the sunset pretty darn admirably.

Really, it's hard to decide which was prettier! Do you need some more help?

Home is where the hot tub is.

As a creature of habit and routine (generously peppered with adventure, of course), I'm not altogether sad to be headed back across the country today, toward my bed, my closet and my kitchen. That said, I wouldn't mind a few more days at Rancho Wikiup, the house we rented in Sonoma last week.

"We" was a group of my family and closest friends, most of whom you can find in earlier Queenie entries, including my mom, my brother and sister-in-law, Nick and Louisa, and my friend Faith. We spent the week talking, drinking, cooking, sampling wines, touring wineries, eating out and playing a couple of particularly feisty games of Charades.

We did all of that in a truly unique spot. Rancho Wikiup is a converted stable in Santa Rosa, nestled up against the ridge that divides Napa from Sonoma. Built by John Rosseter in 1915, the stables were converted into living quarters about thirty years ago. The house is quirky; after our first tour, I still didn't know where the fifth bedroom was, or where the fourth bathroom might be hiding. It rambles and wanders; luckily, though, it's built around a central courtyard, so you can always stand there and yell for help.

The kitchen is a bit awkward in configuration but well-equipped, with two refrigerators, a dishwasher, gas stove and oven, and a zillion plates and bowls. We cooked up a storm, including a pot of Julia Child's boeuf bourgignon, a killer guacamole, and more than one batch of bacon.

Yes, I'm happy to be headed back to my home, my heart: New York. But I wouldn't say no to a few more days at Rancho Wikiup, particularly if they included a few more dips in the hot tub and an afternoon or two of courtyard relaxation.

Wherein I add my voice to the general chorus.

When I read Julie & Julia in 2005, I was underwhelmed by Julie Powell's story. As a food geek (not yet blogger), I was of course struck dumb with jealousy at her success and her chance to appear in the New York Times food section (Nerd alert: Amanda Hesser cameos as herself.). But Powell's book (I did not follow her blog) seemed to me to be a story of struggle against many things in which I myself find pleasure: the unique challenges presented by living in New York, the act of writing, and the small and large tasks involved in cooking a meal.

Don't get me wrong - I thought Amy Adams did a fantastic job bringing Julie Powell to the screen. A lot of people have made much of the fact that Julie is not "likable." Well, she's not. But she is someone to whom many of us can relate. Stuck in a soul-sucking job that makes her feel useless, watching her college friends ascend to great career heights around her, she is feeling that all-too-typical I'm-turning-30-and-don't-feel-like-I-have-anything-sufficient-to-show-for-it malaise. (I know a little something about this.)

In this, she's not so different from Julia Child, who found herself feeling useless and out of place in mid-century Paris. Nora Ephron, whose recent films have struck me as a bit insipid (in contrast to the near-perfection of her screenplay for When Harry Met Sally), does an incredible job of syncing up the stories of these two women, both rhythmically and thematically.

Ephron makes it easy to draw parallels between their lives; for example, all the cooks in the story (including Julia's editor, Judith Jones) are united by the remarkable perfume released when they deglaze a boeuf bourgignon with the titular bottle of burgundy. Sadly, though, Julie's ultimately self-serving goals and view of the kitchen as a battlefield pale in comparison to Julia's goal of bringing French food to Americans and her view of the kitchen as a place of excitement and discovery.

As many reviewers have noted, Julia's Paris (and, briefly, her Germany, Norway and Cambridge) is full of joy, where Julie's New York seems like a place of relentless hardship - to the point where I wanted to scream, "If you hate riding the subway, move to the suburbs!" Both women, though, are blessed with wonderfully supportive husbands and have marriages that are truly partnerships - something that is all too rare in our entertainment, but a phenomenon I see around me daily.

Ephron brought these two relationships to life, and the pitch-perfect portrayals of Simca Beck, Louisette Bertholle, Dorothy McWilliams and Irma Rombauer were similarly spectacular. (All of these folks are described vividly in Julia's memoir My Life In France, on which her half of the movie is based, and which I highly recommend you read as soon as humanly possible.)

But while Meryl Streep's Julia (like the real-life version) is a magnetic whirl of charm and wit (She pulls a cannelloni out of boiling water and declares it to be "as hot as a stiff cock!"), Amy Adams' Julie is not only lost, but seems to face her life with a combination of resignation and selfish, dejected entitlement.

It's fairly well-known that Julia didn't have a terribly high opinion of Julie. Some believe it's because Julia thought Julie was taking advantage of her masterpiece, or trying to grab at little bits of her limelight. I disagree.

I think that Julia's dislike for the Julie/Julia Project arose from Julie's view of cooking as a summit to be reached, come hell or high water, as opposed to an act to be undertaken with pleasure and excitement. Throughout the movie, Julie talks about "having to" cook. "I have to bone a duck," or, "I have to kill a lobster." To me, and, I suspect, to Julia, these are things I get to try, not things I have to plod through. Julie sees cooking as a means to an end, not as a joyful end in and of itself.

Ultimately, though, both women face rejection, and both decide that they must power past it if they are to achieve their goals. This, for me, was where Ephron's true-to-life portrayal of Julie as irritating paid off.

No matter who you are, to get what you want you have to be willing to declare, as Paul Child does, "Fuck them." Screw the haters, screw the doubters: believe in yourself, and the rest will follow. This, as much as how to make a perfect beurre blanc, is what Julia has taught me, and I'm glad Ephron saw it, too.

Challenging ourselves usually turns out pretty darn good.

So far, each visit to Nick & Louisa has yielded one culinary challenge. Two years ago, it was brioche. Last year, the pork belly-off. This year, it was terrine.

Louisa bought a terrine ages ago, but hadn't worked up the nerve to tackle the job. Sometimes, though, all you need to get the job done is an extra set of hands. And, as it turns out, terrine is remarkably easy - it just has a few delicate assembly-like tasks mixed in with the cooking.

Terrine comes in many varieties, including seafood, vegetable, and offal. For our first foray, we chose something more traditional and basic, Julia Child's terrine de porc, veau et jambon (pork and veal pate with ham). This recipe looked tackle-able and gave us a chance to try out Louisa's other new and slightly intimidating toy, her Kitchen Aid meat grinder attachment.

Louisa ground the pork and half the veal with the lard (oh, yes, indeed) while I marinated the other half of the veal in a mixture of cognac, allspice, thyme and shallots. That marinade was eventually added to the ground filling, along with some sauteed onion, minced garlic and a port reduction.

While Louisa busied herself with the stuffing, I blanched some bacon, which we needed to line the terrine and seal the pate together. Blanching bacon is just like blanching vegetables: drop the slices into boiling water, cook for a few minutes, then cool in an ice bath to stop the cooking. This is an essential step, since it prevents the bacon from shrinking when you bake the terrine.

Once the bacon was cool, I used it to line the terrine, leaving some overhang to fold over the top. Louisa filled the terrine with alternating layers of the forcemeat, the marinated veal, and some sliced, boiled ham. We placed the lid on, and put the terrine in the oven to bake for about 90 minutes.

Once the terrine was done cooking, it was time to turn it from meatloaf to pâté by compressing it with weight. We cut a piece of carboard to fit snugly into the terrine, then stacked four cans of soup on top. The terrine sat on the counter for the next five hours, squishing itself into the right texture.

Five hours later, we pulled the improvised weights and cardboard away to reveal the juicy exterior of the terrine. Ideally, you would refrigerate the terrine for another few hours, still weighted, to allow the fat in the mixture to firm up a bit and hold things even more closely together - but we had banh mi to make, and couldn't help ourselves. (We did refrigerate the weighted terrine overnight once we'd taken a few slices for dinner.)

The terrine sliced easily, and didn't fall apart, even though it hadn't yet been chilled. Inside the bacon wrappings was a gorgeous interior of tender pork & veal (all the more tender for being home-ground), bits of the marinated veal, the juicy ham, and the slightly boozy and autumnal flavors of the cognac, port and allspice.

The terrine was fantastic on our banh mi (more on those soon), and delicious on its own, served on baguette with a smear of grainy mustard, topped with a cornichon. Well worth the effort, it was more tender and flavorful than any commerical pâté I've tried.

I'd love to try adding some cognac-soaked prunes or some more aggressive seasonings to the mix - one of the cool things about pate is what a great canvas it is for experimentation. After all, the original purpose of charcuterie was to use up scraps of this and that - so why not begin at the beginning and get creative?

NYC Tweetup: "Julie & Julia" Take Manhattan.

That's right, folks! I'm hosting my first tweetup - and I'm hoping you'll come along for the fun.

On Saturday, August 8th, I'll be hosting a tweetup at an opening-weekend showing of the upcoming film Julie & Julia, a Nora Ephron adaption of two memoirs: Julie Powell's Julie & Julia and Julia Child's (effervescent, inspiring, transcendent) My Life in France.

So head on over the event web page (clickety) to RSVP. And if you're one of those happy-go-lucky types who don't like to plan too far ahead, don't worry - I'll be reminding you closer to the date, you can be sure of that.

In the meantime, do yourself a (huge) favor and read Julia Child's amazing memoir. And then watch the trailer. And then...cry.

See you there!

Julia makes me cry.

OK, confession time.

I just watched the preview for Julie and Julia, and I cried. Not a lot, but enough.

The movie is based on two books. One is a book that inspired, moved and still drives me (Julia Child's My Life in France), and one is a book that made me go, eh (Julie Powell's Julie and Julia).

Nora Ephron has taken both books and adapted them into one movie. It stars two of my favorite actors (Meryl Streep and Amy Adams), and it'a story about two women (one in her 40s and one in her 30s) finding themselves in the kitchen.

And so, despite my dislike of Powell's memoir, that's still a movie I can get behind, sight unseen. Though you probably won't want to come with me, since it appears I'll be blubbering away half the time.

Enjoy.

Queenie's Take: In the beginning...

One of my absolute favorite things to read is the Dear Prudence column over at Slate. Every week, Prudie (really Emily Yoffe, a Slate staff writer) takes on questions of etiquette and interpersonal relationships, always with a healthy dose of humor - and horror, when appropriate.

It was while reading Prudie a couple of weeks ago that it hit me - ever since I started blogging as Queenie, I've gotten tons of emails (and phone calls - you know who you are) asking for advice about where to eat, how to entertain, and what to cook. I (try to) answer each question, but I don't share the advice terribly widely.

And, so, I'm very excited to announce "Queenie's Take," a new weekly feature here at Queenie Takes Manhattan! Each Thursday, I'll be taking on a question or three with wit and verve. Now, while I definitely have opinions about relationships, romantic and otherwise, I'll be keeping the official Queenie advice to questions about cooking & baking, entertaining, culinary history, travel, and dining out.

This week, in the spirit of things just starting, I'll be answering questions about jump-starting your kitchen and cookbook library.

And, if you have a question you'd like to see answered in a future "Queenie's Take," just leave it in the comments!

What are the first five cookbooks any beginning cook should buy, and why? - Louisa, Sandusky, OH

Obviously, there's an element of personal taste involved here. For instance, my great culinary loves are French and Italian foods, with a big emphasis on vegetables and pastry. But you might want to cook mainly Vietnamese food or have a thing for traditional English pub grub. So, what I'm going to do is recommend investing in three robust classics, and tell you about two of my favorite add-ons, books that speak directly to my own sensibilities.

1. The Gourmet Cookbook, Ruth Reichl
Setting my Ruth Reichl fascination aside for a moment, this is still a remarkably wonderful cookbook. It's huge (1,056 pages, 1,000+ recipes), but well-indexed and easy to use. The recipes are detailed but straightforward, and the dishes range in difficulty from very, very simple to fairly complex. It's decidedly American in its eclecticism - there are recipes for French classics like bouillabaisse, Spanish ones like paella, and even one for pad thai. More importantly, the book seeks to educate you about the origins of its recipes and techniques. Following in the steps of the great Julia Child, Ruth Reichl knows that cooking is not just about blindly following a recipe, but about understanding why you're doing what you're doing. Which brings us to...

2. Mastering the Art of French Cooking, Volume I, Simone Beck, Louisette Bertholle, and Julia Child
It's hard to overestimate the impact Julia Child and her fellow authors had on the American palate. Though she's certainly not solely responsible (Alice Waters comes to mind here), Julia is a huge part of the reason why we eat so many fresh vegetables with delicious, light vinaigrettes; why we make apple pies with fresh apples and homemade crusts; why we once again have chicken that tastes like chicken. Her cooking show and cookbooks exploded the mid-century obsession with factory-based cooking, and are as relevant today as they were forty years ago. Julia will teach you how to roast a chicken, how to make a salad, how to turn a vegetable - and then how to gradually build on top of those basic skills. Along with her husband Paul's impeccable line drawings, her words will teach you more than I can possibly explain. And, lest you be one of those people out there who still believe that French food = fussy, Julia will set you straight, once and for all.

3. The Joy of Cooking, Irma Rombauer
The veritable Bible of American cooking. Where Gourmet is a decidedly modern take on the American canon, Rombauer's book retains the flavor of pre-Julia America, with fantastic, easy recipes for classics like brownies, pancakes, and casseroles. The merits of the latest edition, re-worked for a more contemporary cook in celebration of the original's 75th anniversary, have been hotly debated. For my money, the original is still the best, in all its 1930s frugal practicality.

4. Barefoot in Paris, Ina Garten -and- 5. Lidia's Italian-American Kitchen, Lidia Bastianich
Ina's French cookbook simply can't be beat for foolproof, delicious bistro classics. Her gougeres? Simple as can be to make, incredibly impressive when served. The brownie tart makes grown men swoon, and there's little that makes me happier than her creme brulee. She takes the straightest, easiest route to delicious, entertaining-friendly French food, which is pretty miuch my favorite thing to cook, ever. And Lidia! If she isn't the Nonna we all wish we had teaching us to cook, I don't know who is. Like Ina, her food is simple to prepare, but tastes anything but, and is meant to serve a crowd.

What cookbooks would you guys recommend?

What do you consider essential food items/ingredients (spices, etc.) to keep in your kitchen such that you don't have to buy every single ingredient when preparing a particular recipe? - Richard, New York, NY

Like the cookbook question, this depends largely on the kinds of food you like to prepare. I recently unearthed a bottle of chili powder that's survived eight years and three moves without being opened, but you might be someone who'd use it all the time. However, here's a list of things I try to never be without:

Kosher salt & freshly ground black pepper: Kosher salt is easier to handle with your hands, and is the salt most often used by cookbook authors and recipe testers. So use it, wouldja? As for pepper - those blends of red, green and black peppercorns are pretty, but the clear, true flavor of black pepper is what you want for cooking.

Butter & canola oil: Unsalted butter, please - you can always add salt to taste, but you can't take it out. Canola oil is more versatile than olive oil - neutral in flavor and with a high smoking point, it can be used for cooking or for salad dressings.

Flour & sugar: Even if you're not a big baker, you'll want to have at least a small box of flour on hand for thickening sauces and soups. Sugar, well, duh!

Tomato paste & Dijon mustard: Both are great secret weapons for creating deep flavor with very little effort, and the mustard is essential for vinaigrettes, too.

Eggs: An absolute must for bakers, these are also great for creating quick, easy dinners (omelets, fritattas, and so on).

Garlic & shallots: Garlic is God's gift to mankind; shallots are more versatile and less acidic than onions.

Sherry & champagne vinegars: Between these two, you can make a huge variety of salad dressings, mayonnaises, and so on - and also add a teaspoon or two to sauces for a bit of contrast.

Baking soda, baking powder, and vanilla extract: These are really for those who plan to bake. Vanilla pops up in pretty much every baked good known to man, so invest in some good stuff. Baking soda and baking powder ARE different, so buy both. They cost about a buck apiece, so you can splurge here.

What do you think? Did I leave anything out that you consider essential?

By the way, a HUGE thank you to all the friends who sent me questions for the first edition of "Queenie's Take." If I didn't answer you this week, have no fear - your question will be included in a future edition!