Stuffed Artichokes
Every time I see (or more specifically, prepare) an artichoke, I think to myself how on Earth someone at some point in history decided to try to eat this monstrous looking thistle. I’m specifically thinking about the thorny Sicilian variety that I prepared numerous times during my time in Italy. Their spines were so sharp that blood was drawn from my fingers on more occasions than I care to admit. The flavor of those artichokes made up for their viciousness though, and since then, I have been somewhat disappointed in the flavor of our cultivated large globe variety found in America that are typically grown in California. That is, until I tried these late-season artichokes that were grown here on my island. They were about the size of the Sicilian varieties, not too big and not too small, had no spiky thorns, weren’t tough at all once cooked, and overall were a pleasure to eat prepared stuffed with breadcrumbs, herbs, and garlic. My dad introduced me to this way of making artichokes and today I’d like to share with you that method.
I’ve decided to write out the “recipe” for these stuffed artichokes in just a paragraph format, as lately I’ve been inspired by recipes written in this non-traditional, less precise way. Or perhaps it is a traditional way? I’d like to imagine that recipes traded back and forth generations ago were not written in the way we see them written on blogs or in glossy cookbooks and magazines today. They were probably written in a more free-form paragraph, without exact measurements, as if someone was just having a conversation. More likely, they were never even written down at all, just like in the case with my dad showing me how to make these artichokes.
Stuffed Artichokes (makes 4 artichokes)
First, take 4 nice-sized artichokes and cut the top quarter or so off of each one, exposing a pretty rosette pattern. Then, trim some of the tough outer leaves off so that you are left with tidy looking artichokes.
One by one, turn each artichoke upside-down, rosette facing downwards, and thwack it very hard a few times on the counter or table-top, allowing the rosette to “open its petals” if you will. Set them aside while you prepare the filling.
For the filling for four artichokes, in a bowl, combine a cup of breadcrumbs with a quarter of a cup of olive oil, two large cloves of finely chopped garlic, a few tablespoons finely chopped Italian parsley, a generous squeeze of lemon juice, and generous pinch of salt and pepper, and about a quarter of a cup of grated pecorino Romano or Parmesan cheese. The mixture should feel like damp sand. Add more olive oil and lemon juice if it feels too dry. It should taste good, so season accordingly.
This next part is a bit messy, but not too bad. Take the filling and stuff it in between the leaves of the artichokes. No need to be fussy here, just push that breadcrumb filling deep down amongst the leaves until each artichoke feels like it’s nicely stuffed and you’ve used up all of your filling. You can see the image above (the one with my hand in the photo) with what they should look like after they’re stuffed and before they are cooked.
Add about an inch of water to a pot with a lid that will hold all of the artichokes snugly. Put a good squeeze of lemon juice into the water along with a generous pinch of salt. Nestle the artichokes into the pot, rosette-side-up, and bring the water to a boil. Cover the pot, reduce to a simmer, and cook for 45 minutes to an hour or until the artichokes are very tender when you pierce them with a knife. You may need to add a bit more water halfway through the cooking process, but don’t add too much. You want just enough to steam them but not too much water to wash away the stuffing into the cooking water.
When they are cooked and tender, remove the artichokes from the pot with tongs and let them cool for at least 20 minutes before eating. Serve with chopped parsley as a garnish and prepare for a messy and delicious feast.