Quick market run and carciofi {video}

The morning was blustery and I needed a macchiato before hitting the market.

Never with a shopping list in mind, rather letting the goods for sale inspire the menu, I decided to make Carciofi alla Romana.

The wonderful globe artichokes have finally hit Rome markets, and braising them with garlic, olive oil and mentuccia is my favorite way to usher carciofo season.



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Ciao!

Favorite spring vegetables

Getting a taste of beloved deep-fried carciofi alla giudìa notoriously means taking advantage of the pesky February-to-May window in which the quintessential Roman artichokes are in season.

But with all the focus on supermodel artichokes, other versatile vegetables, also in season, tend to get short shrift.

Take agretti for example...

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Bagna càuda recipe

In the earliest part of my childhood I spent a lot of time with my Nonna Titta. I've spoken about her in many occasions on this blog. She was a pillar of my upbringing, and even though I was 9 when she passed away, she left me many memories and an impressive mark on my nature and individuality. I see a lot of her in myself today.

In particular, the memories I associate the most with Nonna are sensory. The taste of her gummy, black Allenbury candies stashed in a tin box at the bottom of her beauty case, the glint in her emerald green eyes while we played pretending to be ladies having tea, and mostly, the smells coming from the kitchen when she'd cook. Her pièce de résistance was bagna càuda, characteristic of her Piedmontese origins.

This appetizer/soup, whose name in dialect means "hot bath," is enjoyed by dipping raw, boiled or roasted vegetables in a manner similar to fondue in a heated blend of garlic, anchovy and olive oil. It is traditionally an autumn/winter recipe and must be eaten hot, as the name suggests.

Bagna Càuda can be served in individual dipping bowls, or placed in a larger terracotta pan, placed on a burner at the center of the table, for communal sharing. Pictured above is the clay pot in which Nonna cooked and served hers.

Whenever my mother or I make Bagna Càuda, this is what we we still use.

Here's how we continue Nonna's tradition:
500 g (2 1/2 cups) extra virgin olive oil
150 g (3/4 cup) salted anchovies
50 g (1/4 cup) butter
6 cloves of garlic, peeled

Assorted vegetables for dipping:
2 cardoons (if these are not available where you live, substitute with 3–4 ribs of white celery, cut in sticks)
2 yellow bell peppers, cut in sticks
1 cup cauliflower florets
2 topinambur (aka Jerusalem artichoke, sunroot, sunchoke, or earth apple), peeled and cut in chunks
5 radishes, peeled
2 carrots, cut in sticks
2 artichokes, cored, outer leaves removed and quartered lengthwise
3 spring onions

Scrape the anchovies with a paring knife, rid them of the bones and open them flat. Brush away excess salt with a kitchen towel, and do not rinse with water.

Thinly slice the garlic and trim away green parts, if any.

In an enameled terracotta pan (if you don't have one, a common nonstick saucepan will do), melt the butter over extremely mild heat, add the garlic and let it tan without browning.

Add the olive oil and the anchovies, gently simmering, stirring and breaking up the fillets with the back of a wooden spoon. Do this for 10 minutes, or until the sauce is creamy and evenly blended.

Serve on a fondue burner or on a cooling rack placed over tea light candles to keep the delicious bagna as càuda as possible while you gobble away, washing down with rivers of Barbera or Dolcetto.

Note: For those fearsome of such copious amounts of garlic, there's a trick: you halve the quantity of oil and compensate with a cup of whole milk, to be poured in at the same time. Identical garlic quantity, and same exact procedure: the milk tames the punch of the garlic.

It works, trust Nonna.

Insalata di carciofi recipe

It's been a while since I last wrote about artichokes. I have a long-lasting love affair with thistle-like flowerheads that borders illicit.

I like to eat them in every fashion, be they steamed with just a dribble of melted butter, tossed in "vignarola" (sautéed peas, lettuce, fava beans and bacon), thinly sliced and then deep fried in batter, in pasta dressing, mixed in with braised sweetbreads, alla Romana. When I'm lazy, I pluck the raw inner leaves, and dip them in seasoned olive oil. There are so many ways of enjoying carciofi!

One of my favorite winter artichoke recipes, is the delightful and citrusy insalata di carciofi, a perky raw artichoke salad. Perfect for Sunday lunch, this makes for a great sidekick to rack of lamb with rosemary and roasted potatoes.

It's easy to make, and you can put it together quickly. It however benefits from marinading before serving. Here's what you need to serve 4 artichoke lovers:

6 small winter artichokes
A large chunk of Parmigiano Reggiano cheese
Juice of 2 lemons
Extra virgin olive oil
Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

Soak the artichokes in plenty cold water and baking soda to remove any traces of pesticides or field dirt, rinse several times and pat dry. Cut away outer leaves, inner fuzz and the outside skin from the stems. You can follow my step-by-step artichoke trimming tutorial if need be; or take advantage of the signora at your farmer's market who pares them for her aficionado clients.

Cut the trimmed chokes in quarters and slice them finely, directly into the salad bowl. Drizzle with the lemon juice. This will prevent them from darkening, and will provide the acidic base for the dressing.

Season with very little salt, plenty freshly ground black pepper and olive oil. Toss and let the salad marinate for at least an hour before serving.

When ready to bring at the table, use a mandoline to shave thin wafers of Parmigiano over the seasoned artichokes, I personally abound.

You could, of course, pour a red wine to accompany this dish, but we don’t want to go there. Artichokes are hard to pair. But a bottle of dry white, chilling in a bucket on the table, within easy reach is a fine solution.

Buon appetito.

Carciofi alla Romana recipe

Artichokes are one of the nicest things about winter in central Italy. They appear with the leaden skies of December and accompany us through the beginning of spring, in April. They come in a tremendous variety of shapes and colors, from tiny delicate ones well suited for being eaten raw in Pinzimonio (a dip made with simple olive oil and salt) or preserved sott'olio (in oil); to purplish green grapefruit-sized ones suitable for sauteing, stuffing, salads, making pasta sauce, frying and whatnot. Since this is the end of this adorable bounty, why not use up the last artichokes for something sassy and palatable?

The globe varietal is considered throughout the world as the true artichoke, in Italian food classification however it is the Roman. No matter which variety you select, you have to do so with great care, because a fuzzy choke is a tremendous disappointment. Like any good orange, a good carciofo will feel firm and solid when you pick it up. It should squeak yet shouldn't give if you clutch it gently, nor should it feel light. If it does, it probably has air (and thistly fuzz fiber) in its heart. Pass it by.

Once you have selected your artichokes and gotten them home, stand them in a vase with water until you're ready to use them (they are flowers, after all). If need be you can keep them like this for a day or two, but they do tend to toughen with time.

The secret – admitted it can be called that – for preparing an artichoke is knowing how to trim it, that is how to free it of the tough leaves, bitter outer stem part and inner fuzz we Romans call with the generalizing term barbe, for "beards".

First of all rub your hands and fingernails with lemon juice, to avoid them from blackening, artichokes do that. Next, slice off the tough, pointy spiked tips and the outer coriaceous leaves, working inwards to where the leaves are more tender and light colored.

This is much like peeling an apple. In the process the artichoke will become spherical.

Be sure to keep rubbing it with lemon juice as you trim it along.

When that's done, the stalks need cleaning, trimming away the ridged outer part while leaving the heart intact. If you look at the end of the stem you will see a ring; trim away the outside og that ring, without shortening the stalks: if properly cleaned, the stems are the sweetest, best tasting part of the artichoke!

Now that the hard part's over, here's how to cook carciofi, Roman-style. This is one of my all-time favorite side dishes. I have to thank my eldest sister Amy, for that. She's the one who taught me to appreciate artichokes when I was 8 years old. I never stopped eating them since. There's a quick "how-to" video at the end of the recipe.

5 artichokes, trimmed
2 garlic cloves, unpeeled, smashed
1 small bunch of mentuccia
1 glass of water
1/4 cup olive oil
3-4 new potatoes, quartered
Salt

Place the trimmed artichokes standing stems upward in a pot whose sides are high enough to keep the artichokes upright in a single layer as they cook. My pot fits 4-5 depending on their size.

Pour 1 glass of water and the olive oil, the garlic, the mentuccia and potatoes. Season with a pinch of salt. Set the covered pot to simmer on medium-low heat.

The trick is to place a sheet of brown paper between the lid and the pot to create a barrier that will seal off any steam from escaping the pot.

Cook for 10-15 minutes without ever uncovering.

The artichokes are ready to be served hot, though they're also excellent cold the next day.