I Love Artichokes!

with all my heart...

Living in the UK I miss artichokes. They just don’t sell them in shops or markets; and if they do, the little thistle is in pretty dire shape. Ask someone in the produce department: its likely that they won’t know, whatever the question about artichokes is.

Its not like they don’t grow here on British soil—they do, and really well. And marinated artichokes? At least one is probably in most people’s storecupboard shelf.

But a whole artichoke? Customers don’t know how to deal with them; how to even get into one of these intimating vegetables, with their sharp tipped hard leaves, and then? how to even eat one? As my British husband remarked at his first “choke”: “Are they really worth all the trouble to get into them?” (though he admitted that the dipping sauces were delicious, always good to have an excuse to dip).

So I shouldn’t have been surprised when I met people who had never eaten artichokes, but I was. Each and every time. Some thought they came only in jars or the deli; others thought I was referring to Jerusalem Artichokes, the root of the sunflower plant, no relation at all to the artichoke (called “Globe artichoke” to differentiate it from the Jersusalem not an artichoke artichoke).

But for so many to have never sat down with a freshly cooked artichoke? I decided something needed to be done. In life, you owe it to yourself to taste as many of nature’s gifts as you are able.

At the time I had a weekly foodtalk show on LBC with the adorable and formidable Tessa Dunlop, now Dr Tessa Dunlop. I couldn’t believe that the sophisticated well-travelled Tessa Dunlop had never eaten an artichoke. Then I asked around the newsroom, every newscaster, every reporter, answered the same: “Nope. Never eaten one”.

The next week I showed up with a container of whole cooked artichokes and a bowl of a garlicky mayonnaise-yogurt sauce. We were all going to eat artichokes for the first time, on the air! Yet, while most everyone tried a leaf or two, there wasn’t a huge amount of enthusiasm for the whole scrape the teeth along the weird vegetable thing. The garlicky dipping sauce was another story: I saw one reporter take a glug from the container. [By the way, in case you ask: what happened to your radio show? All I can tell you is this: I don’t know. No one wanted to answer my question. But I do know that it wasn’t that long afterwards that the station started foodtalk program featuring the son of the future Queen of England. So there you go. (BUT, I sputter! But did HE MAKE EVERYONE EAT ARTICHOKES? I have to take my triumphs where and when I can)].

But lets start with the big, whole artichoke, the one you’ll be peeling off leaves and dunking into sauce. Cook it by boiling or steaming, though some like using a pressure cooker: I say: Why? You’re going to eat it slowly (no other way to eat a big fat artichoke, so you may as well cook it slowly too). You can tell when the artichokes are done by testing one, using a sharp paring knife, sticking it into the heart from the side. You don’t want it to be mushy, so as soon as its just tender, off the heat it goes! We knew only two ways of eating the artichoke: hot, with melted butter. Or cold, with mayonnaise or later, as we evolved into the Hidden Valley dressing era, we dipped into that instead.

To eat: you are faced with an artichoke: pull off one leaf at a time; at the bottom, where it was attached, is a little bit of “meat” or artichoke flesh. This is what you dip in the sauce, scrape along your teeth, then toss the stringy scraped leaves into a pile. Warning: the tips of the leaves especially the more outer ones are sharp; “in the old days” we were just told to be careful. After life got fancier, some family members got huffy if the sharp tips weren’t cut and trimmed away and looked down their noses at anyone who wasn’t trimming the chokes down.

Though I’ve tried to think and think and come up with something to do with the teeth-scraped leaves after dipping and eating, I have had no luck. Compost has been my most successful use, though in 1949, in Verona, Italy, these discarded bits of artichokes were made into an amaro, a bitter-sweet drink, called Cynar, meaning: artichoke. Anyhow, have a bowl for the leaf discards, and when you get to the middle of the artichoke you’re reached the BEST PART! Thats where you’ll find the heart.

The (self-proclaimed) “Artichoke capital of the world”, Castroville, was not far from us (family plus the child-me), so sometimes on a sunday my grandfather would gather us all into his majestic old DeSoto and shlep down to Castroville for a bag of fried artichoke hearts to nosh on and a bag of whole artichokes to take home to eat the next day, and the next. One of Castroville’s claims to fame, artichoke-wise, was that Marilyn Monroe was crowned Miss (Castroville) Artichoke (in either 1947 or 48, depending on your source).

Though I grew up eating and loving artichokes, it wasn’t until I came to Europe that I realized artichokes came in a vast array of varieties, from tiny bite sized ones to big big big ones, with a tight head. You only dipped and scraped the big ones; the little ones had to be trimmed down to the heart, and then were ready to add to pasta, stews, roasts, salads, soups, sautees, practically anything. Or, you can enjoy young artichokes as in Italy: raw, thinly sliced, and dressed in olive oil. Molto buono

Regardless of the variety of artichoke, though, because people don’t know how to cook or eat them, they don’t buy them, because they don’t buy them, farmers don’t grow them. So I need to buy artichokes when abroad: Italy, France, Greece, California. I’m probably breaking laws here, as I do pack them in my suitcase for my return, but having artichokes is so important to me that: I don’t care. Deport me if you must. Just be sure you send me somewhere that the thistle grows abundantly. Sometimes, such as during the pandemic, when travel was not happening, I ordered artichokes online. In fact, often it was when I was down and depressed that I thought: “Lets order artchokes!” and then panicky, thought: “What if the season is over?”. This is what happened last week. Thankfully my delivery arrived; and among all the other dishes I made, there was enough for this little…stew?

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Rustic Artichoke, Turkey, and Jamon “Not Saltimbocca”; Perhaps: A little Saute?

Serves 4-6

The idea started with saltimbocca, that simple Roman dish of thinly sliced and pounded veal with a thin slice of prosciutto and a leaf of sage sandwiched inbetween them, the little parcel pan browned and if you like, the pan deglazed with white wine.

Turkey is far more accessible and plentiful and cheaper and preferable to me than veal, so I chose turkey, but was only able to get chunks, not sliced. Ditto for the prosciutto: I had a big hunk that needed to be sliced by hand, which means: small pieces rather than paper thin slices. So it was now more of a saute than a saltimbocca which is: flat. very flat.

I had no white wine, I used Sherry. Wait wait wait: I had no Sherry either, so while I wanted to use white wine, or Sherry, instead I used Chinese Shoaxing wine which turned out better than either the Sherry or white wine. I marinated the turkey as I would marinate any meat to be stir-fried.

1 lb/ 400g turkey breast, cut into bite sized chunks

2-3 tablespoons dry Spanish Sherry or Chinese shaoxing wine

Salt and pepper

2-3 tablespoons flour

2 tablespoons olive oil, or as needed

Small handful young tender sage leaves

3 oz/ 100g jamon, prosciutto, Black Forest, any sort of dense flavourful air-cured ham, diced or cut into bite sized pieces

12 oz/ 350g small artichokes (see how to prepare them below)

A splash of water or chicken broth

A squirt of lemon juice

In a bowl toss the turkey with the Sherry or Shaoxing, salt and pepper, and leave to marinate for at least an hour. I think I left it for maybe 2-3 hours?

Toss turkey and marinade with the flour which will form a small amount of sort-of batter.

Heat the olive oil, add the sage leaves, then the ham, stir through the oil a bit, then add the turkey, and brown it with the sage and ham. Remove from heat while you prepare the artichokes (I prepared the turkey the day before).

Prepare the artichokes: Trim. Saute.

Add the artichokes to the turkey and ham, and warm it all through together, adding a splash of water or chicken stock/broth as needed for a small amount of sauce that keeps it all together.

Squirt with lemon juice to taste, sprinkle with salt and pepper if needed, and eat in a bowl, topped with a few extra leaves of fresh sage.

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How to prepare small artichokes down to their hearts:

marlenaspieler

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