Mastering Artichokes

If Pliny the Elder is to be trusted, the status of artichokes in ancient Rome was under some dispute.  Pliny confides to his reader that he accepts class distinctions in prepared foods (including bread and wine), but that he is bewildered that there should be class distinctions in produce. “Must the difference of persons according to their purse, appear also in a dish of three farthings price and no better?  Surely I see no sense nor congruity at all in this.  And yet forsooth such herbs there be that the tribes of Rome (the greater part I mean of the Roman citizens) may not presume to eat; as if the earth had brought them foorth for rich men only, being no meat for poor people."   

On the one hand, Pliny thus takes the artichoke as one example of a food forbidden to the greater part of citizens.  On the other hand, Pliny also objects that the artichoke, even as it is elevated as a luxury for rich “wanton and wasting gluttons,” and forbidden to the poor, is fundamentally a weed many animals spurn. "See how vain and prodigal we be, to bring into our kitchin and serve up at our table, the monstruosities of other nations, and cannot forbear so much as these Thistles, which the very asses and other four-footed beasts, have wit enough to avoid and refuse for pricking their lips and muzzles."  
 
Nowadays, artichokes are doubtlessly one of the vegetables most associated with farmer's markets, so it is perhaps surprising that the Sherdos had to learn, not just to prepare them correctly but perhaps even to like them.  Growing up, we usually had artichoke in either of two very different ways, neither of them especially appealing to us.  First: you took large ones and steamed them whole, and then, at the table, you dragged  leaves across your teeth after dipping them in mayonnaise or melted butter.  Second, we encountered artichoke hearts that came out of a can in a salty brine and got thrown into salad bowls to which they contributed little.   

Later, traveling abroad, artichokes were one of the vegetables that first conveyed the meaning of seasonality.  One of us especially remembers a Roman spring in the late 1970’s, in which the sign “Carciofi” went up on every market stall, and carciofi variously prepared appeared on every menu — fried, braised, roasted, steamed. 

 

For some reason, however, we always felt a bit intimidated by them in our own kitchen, and never felt we had mastered the preparation of artichokes at home.  Like so many fearsome hurdles, this one ceases to intimidate once confronted head-on, as we've been trying to do this season.  

The only real challenge is trimming them; and we've realized with practice that we have sometimes, by turns, either over- or under-trimmed them.  Once or twice with baby artichokes we cut so much from each side that by the end (like Peer Gynt with the onion in Ibsen's play) we had nothing left.  More often, however, we have  under-trimmed them.  

This season, embarking on "mastering artichokes 101," we began with  the baby artichokes available at the market.  These grow on the same plants as large ones but do not (usually) include the fuzzy choke.  To prep these, you simply pull off all the outer leaves (pulling out and down) until you reach pale green/yellow leaves.  The trick here is to denude with abandon!  Then you cut off the top 1/3 of the artichoke and trim off all the green from the bottom.  To fry, braise, or roast, cut the artichokes in half or quarters.  As you work, pop the prepped artichokes into a bowl of water mixed with lemon juice so that they don’t brown (much).   

You are now ready to cook them.  You do the exact same thing with larger artichokes except that you have to remove the fuzzy choke with a paring knife.  You do so because its texture is unpleasant in the mouth.  There you go.

The first time few times we prepared these, we quartered the baby artichokes and fried them.  One time we dipped the quarters first in egg beaten with a little white wine and then into seasoned flour (by which we mean a rather haphazard mixture of all-purpose flour, salt, pepper, paprika, etc.).  We place the seasoned flour in a pie plate and toss the artichokes in the flour, using a spoon or clean hands to be sure they are coated.  The second time we dipped them first in buttermilk and hot sauce (as we do when frying chicken), leaving them soaking in the buttermilk in preparation for frying when our guests arrived, then again coated them in seasoned flour.  Shake each piece over the plate of flour before adding it to the hot pan, so that you can get rid of any excess flour.  Both times we fried them in shallow olive oil at medium high heat so that the artichokes could cook through as the coating browned.   This takes roughly 4 minutes per side. 

Pretty tasty.