The Dinner Files

Can we all agree that cleaning artichokes completely sucks? I mean, there isn’t anything fun about it. You can’t even get all meditative because the minute you do one of those thorns is going to embed itself under a fingernail and torture you for days after wards.

So those artichokes above – which were tasty delicious, by the way – were perhaps not the freshest and most divine of all artichoke specimens I’ve ever encountered. They were tough and fibrous, so cleaning them was extra super sucky. It took forever to clean just four of them.

Luckily, I passed the time with my hands-free and a friend in Seattle. We were strolling along, exchanging news and thoughts about kids and parents and husbands and friends and selves, when I quite rudely interrupted her by yelling “fuck.”

I know, classy.

She kindly asked what happened. I explained that I was cleaning artichokes and a thorn attacked me. She said quite firmly and with great conviction that she never, ever, under any circumstance, cleans artichokes.

Never.

I just might have to join her. The thing is, these artichokes really were crazy delicious. But, as I found upon a second cooking, you can get a similar result with a method that leaves the labor happily in the hands of the eater. Both methods are included below.

Lemon garlic artichokes with plenty of mint

To clean the artichokes or not? That decision is yours.

4 to 6 large artichokes (depends on how many people are being fed and how many artichokes they want to eat; the method and sauce amount really works for the range just dandy)

1/4 cup fresh lemon juice (1/2 cup if you’re cleaning them)

1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil, plus 2 tablespoons

1 teaspoon salt

3 clove garlic, minced

12 sprigs mint, leaves minced

Trim the stems of the artichokes and clip off their thorns if you like the people for whom you’re cooking, or go ahead and really trim them into fully edible specimens: set up a bowl of cool water with 1/4 cup of lemon juice in it, trim stem, pull off outer leaves until a solid 2-inch section of them are very light green (really almost yellow), cut off green tops of the leaves, use a paring knife to cut off all the dark or medium green stuff around the stem and heart, cut in half lengthwise and scoop out the heart, put in the lemon water and repeat with the remaining chokes (this guide to cleaning baby artichokes shows everything except scooping out the choke; this step of cleaning artichoke hearts shows scraping out the choke).

Put the 1/4 cup lemon juice, 1/4 cup of the olive oil, salt, garlic, and half the mint in a saucepan large enough to hold all the artichokes with 2 cups of water and bring to a boil. Add artichokes, stem-end down (or in whichever way you can if you’ve cleaned and halved them), cover, and reduce heat to maintain a steady simmer. Cook, undisturbed, until the bottoms of untrimmed artichokes or the entire cleaned artichokes are tender when pierced with the tip of a knife.

Lift artichokes out of the cooking liquid. Transfer trimmed artichokes to a baking or serving dish and full artichokes to individual serving bowls.

Increase heat to boil the liquid left in the pan is reduced to about 1/2 cup. Add remaining 2 tablespoons of olive oil. Pour evenly over artichokes and sprinkle artichokes with remaining mint. Serve warm, at room temp, or even chilled. Any leftovers are to die for.

A friend recently introduced me as a chef to another guest at her child’s birthday party.

Nope, I said. I’m not a chef.

Perhaps it was not very gracious of me to point out the mistake in that situation, but if I introduced someone as a computer programmer and they actually work as a “cast member” at Disneyland, I’d expect to be corrected.

I understand that to many people the label “chef” is one of respect – more a way to denote the (high!) quality of my cooking than to describe my job – but to me a chef cooks for strangers. I can think of few things I’d rather less do than work in a restaurant kitchen. I like the quiet of my kitchen. I like the alone-time I get in there. I like cooking for grateful family and friends; people who would never think of sending something back.

While in no way a chef, I am an extremely accomplished professional cook (though I say it myself, as my grandmother used to say). I know that just because something is “easy” for me in the kitchen does not mean it will be so for everyone.

Yesterday I was reminded that there is a reason we hadn’t had this gratin in a long time even though it is so very delicious. The reason is that it is a total pain in the ass to make. It involves the cleaning of artichokes – paring down these mighty thorned thistles into tender, sweet hearts. I’ve done it before, many times, and I work quickly. It took me 20-plus minutes to turn five large artichokes into a pile of slivered hearts floating in acidolated water, ready to layer into the gratin. I don’t want to think about how long it might take less practiced hands (or how quickly a true chef might turn those puppies around).

Artichoke potato gratin

Cleaning the artichokes is a pain, but this gratin is tasty. We eat it as a main dish with a salad, but you could serve it alongside a nice roast chicken or grilled salmon.

4 or 5 large artichokes

6 large Yukon Gold potatoes or medium Russet potatoes

2 Tablespoons butter

Salt and freshly ground black or white pepper

2 cups grated cheese – I like to use sheep milk cheeses like Pecorino or Petit Basque, but Parmesan or gruyere work great, too

1 cup chicken broth

Preheat oven to 400.

First things first, you really do need to turn those artichokes into artichoke hearts (lucky for you, I took those pictures!). Very thinly slice each heart. Keep them from browning too much by putting them in a bowl of cool water to which you have added lemon juice or vinegar.

Now peel the potatoes and slice them all very thinly. Fun!

Rub a 9×13 (or similar) baking dish or gratin pan with 1 Tablespoon of the butter. Arrange a single layer of heavily overlapping potato slices. Sprinkle liberally with salt and pepper. Spread half of the artichoke heart slices (patted dry) over the potatoes.

Add another single layer of potatoes. Sprinkle with half of the cheese. Layer another group of potato slices. Sprinkle with salt and pepper and the remaining artichoke heart slices. Next, add a final layer of potatoes – these will be on top so make it pretty!

Now gently spoon the chicken broth over the dish. Sprinkle the top with salt and pepper, cover with foil, and bake until just tender, about 40 minutes.

Uncover, sprinkle on remaining cheese, dot the whole thing with the remaining tablespoon of butter, and bake until completely tender, bubbling, and brown – about 20 more minutes. If you can stand it, let the gratin sit for about 10 minutes before you cut into it.

A quick salad of farm box arugula, marinated baby artichokes, and shaved pecorino fueled me for a somewhat nerve-wracking evening. Litquake had recruited me to be “in conversation with” Raj Patel about his fab book Stuffed & Starved. The book is amazing. It has changed how I think about food. And I think about food a lot. And I have done so for a long time. So changing that is quite a feat.

While its subject–the global food system and how it is terribly, frightfully global and terribly, frightfully f’ed up–is as depressing as it comes for me, Raj maintains a humorous, optimistic, power-to-the-people stance towards it all that keeps any audience who hears him from just slitting their wrists on their way out.

So we talked about the book while people listened and nodded and got a bit bugged-eyed and wrote questions for the Q&A that can be summed up as: What Can I Do!?!?!?

We can do a lot. We can support farmers who eschew monoculture, we can buy from local businesses, we can shop at farmers markets and join CSAs. But you know what we can’t do? (And this sort of kills me but it’s true. ) We can’t shop and cook and eat our way out of this system. For a little bit there I think even I fell for what Raj calls the “honeypot of ethical consumerism.” It seemed like my aesthetics and politics (nay! my very morals!) were in line and in a happy-happy-joy-joy feedback loop when it came to food. I could buy the best, freshest, artisinally produced, delicious and nutritious food and it was also a goddamn political act. And it is, but it’s not enough.

So I’m thinking a lot about what that “something more” will be for me. I long ago drew a line in the sand about the kinds of recipes I’ll develop, so I’m in the clear there. I’m in contemplation mode.

In the meantime my cupboards will be re-examined. Along with the high fructose corn syrup I banished over the summer (anyone else see King Corn? when they showed how the stuff is made I did a sweep of the cupboards), soy products without definite origin are out of here. And almost all processed food has soy in some form in it. The problem with that? Too much soy is worked by slaves. Yeah, I know, bummer. As I’ve said before on these very pages, I am against slavery. It’s a pretty firm position and I’m comfortable with it.

Ethical consumerism may be a honeypot, but it’s a start. Seeing it for what it is should keep me from being dulled into complacency by its seductive, sticky sweetness.

I hadn’t made this is ages. There was a year when I lived in Paris and got the idea for this dish from my pall Judith when I made it constantly. It is the ultimate pantry dish–you can have it all sitting around the house, waiting to be made, for ages. I was driven–driven I say!–to make this last night. I used homemade marinated baby artichokes, which upped the yummers factor by a fair amount, but it’s good with just regular canned (not marinated, my homemade marinated are more like the canned ones in many ways) artichoke hearts, too.

One of my favorite things about this dish–besides its essential pantry nature–is how good it is lukewarm and even cold leftover. Just as good! Seriously. It just sort of morphs into a pasta salad.

3/4 lb. fusilli

2 or 3 Tbsp. olive oil

4 cloves garlic, minced

1 to 2 Tbsp. capers, rinsed and minced

1/2 to 1 tsp. pickled green peppercorns (optional), extremely minced

1/2 tsp. red pepper flakes (optional)

1/2 cup white wine

about 1/2 cup brine from canned artichoke hearts

1 can artichoke hearts, drained and chopped

parmesan cheese, parsley (optional), black pepper

Cook pasta in boiling salted water until al dente. Reserve about a cup of the cooking liquid, drain, and set aside. Return pot to heat. Heat olive oil. Cook garlic, capers, pepper flakes, and peppercorns until fragrant, about a minute. Add wine and brine and cook until almost completely evaporated. Add reserved pasta water, artichokes, and pasta. Cook until heated through. Toss in a bunch of parmesan cheese, chopped parsley if you have it (I didn’t last night), and pepper to taste. Serve topped with cheese. Feel very clever for not having had to go to the store.

We also crammed a whole lot of this tomato mozzarella basil platter down our gullets. Yes, we had just had a similar dish the night before, but it’s that time of year when nothing tastes as good. Especially in this oppressive heat after painting walls all day (yes, I’m still at it).

I sort of wasted these luscious, creamy, small, red-skinned, golden-fleshed potatoes we got from our CSA this week. I sliced them, layered them with grated cheese, and baked the be-jesus out of them. They were tender and creamy and went well with the cheese, but I know they would have shined simply boiled and buttered, with a sprinkle of chopped parsley. But you know what? That’s not what I felt like eating. So a potato gratin it was, with an arugula salad. Oh, and we popped open a jar of the marinated baby artichokes I made in May.

By the way, I dressed the salad with a vinaigrette I’ve talked about before: 3 parts oil from the marinated artichokes, 1 part vinegar from spicy pickled garlic. A bit of salt and pepper, a dash of ground mustard if you’re so inclined.

Two and a half years ago Ernie and I tried to go to The Hitching Post II, you know the one, the one from Sideways. I was down in Santa Ynez to be Sunset girl at a wine club event. I did so as a last-minute favor to the wine editor, and I had two conditions: that I bring Ernie (then 3) and that our hotel have a pool. He was a huge hit at the wine club event–running through the vines, grabbing handfuls of pinot noir grapes, shouting “Mama! These grapes are good!”

Our duty done, we ate aebleskiver in Solvang, we frolicked in the freezing hotel pool, we gazed at the moon turned red by wildfires farther south, and generally had a lovely little mother-son getaway. The only real downside of the trip was the insane wait at The Hitching Post II, which had been so highly recommended by both Sunset wine editor and Sunset travel editor. A wait insane enough to put me off.

Last night redeemed that disappointment. I went to the Hitching Post II. I ate grilled artichokes with a smoked tomato mayonnaise concoction that had the addictive quality of crack (why else was I thinking of ripping open a package of crackers in order to finish off the sauce when I had a giant-ass steak coming?). I felt my saliva glands activate when a perfectly cooked steak was placed in front of me. I tasted fried as fries are meant to be: crisp, golden, well-salted, and cooked in beef fat.

As great as the steak and its fixin’s were, the highlight for me may have been the relish tray. I know why relish trays fell out of favor: because too many people made bad versions of them and gave them a bad rep. When a relish tray is fresh and well-composed, it is divine. Divine, I say! I’ve been putting them together for dinner parties–often in lieu of the more filling pre-dinner cheese plate–for a few years and hope to see the trend go beyond my living room.

For those of you not from the midwest: a relish tray consist of carrot sticks, celery sticks, olives, and pickles. Add radishes or cherry tomatoes for color, spicy pickled okra to be a bit daring, or your own pickled garlic among true friends. I liked the pepperoncini at The Hitching Post II, but it seemed dangerously close to an antipasto platter….

May I highly recommend keeping some tamales in your freezer? My lord, but they make a quick, delicious dinner when you’re maybe not so much in the mood to cook or otherwise inspired.

While Ernie would like to live on tamales and other carb-heavy fare alone, my dashing husband and I had both had late, big lunches. So, instead of tamales my aunt threw in a plastic bag for us to take home after my cousin’s graduation party last weekend (thanks Nancy!), we tucked into this lovely spring salad. Mixed baby greens, thinly sliced raw asparagus, and a generous few handfuls of fava beans (see how to double-shell them). Each item tossed in a vinaigrette made from 3 parts left-over artichoke-curing olive oil and 1 part left-over vinegar from pickled garlic before the whole thing was sprinkled with some slightly over-toasted pine nuts. I used the last bit of that dressing, itself made from the last bits of the last jars of each from last year’s batches.

So Sunday’s complete insanity will pay off with much delicious vinaigrette as well as scads of impressive antipasti plates. That’s a real comfort.

It seemed like a good idea, it really did. Last week we drove back from Monterey and picked up a mess of artichokes in Castroville, the self-proclaimed artichoke capitol of the world. They were great. I made that awesome soup and even put up a few jars of preserved, marinated baby artichokes (three, to be exact). I’ve done that last bit before; they’re always so delicious and I always wish I’d put up more.

So, when driving back from Monterey for the second time in one week, the memory was strong. Doing those three jars had been pretty painless. Why not, I asked myself, do a whole bunch more? And so the obscene amount of baby artichokes was purchased.

And yesterday, after visiting baby twins and stopping by Ikea for bookshelves and assembling bookshelves with my dashing husband, I hunkered down in the kitchen with NPR, my paring knife, a ready paper bag for the ensuing compost, a dozen pint jars, and 16 pounds of baby artichokes.

I cannot recommend this. First of all, this particular bunch were thornier than the last and my normally barely-presentable hands are now covered with pokes and scratches. Second, trimming 16 pounds of baby artichokes takes hours. HOURS! Third, I had also bought some large artichokes to turn into that awesome soup, which I did, but which, after my artichoke-a-licious afternoon I could barely look at, much less enjoy. And finally, I still can’t get the bitter tannins off my finger tips.

The saving grace of the afternoon was the shandy I made from the leftover Meyer lemon lemonade Ernie and I had made on Saturday. He picked the lemons, juiced them with joy, and stirred in the sugar to taste. He left it much more tart than one might have expected. Perfect with a bit of pale ale as one soldiers on through the mounds of baby artichokes.

Note to self: 4 pounds of artichokes is about right for jarring. At that level one doesn’t end up fatigued and defeated by the thistles, thus having the energy and verve to bask in the glory of the beautiful, shiny jars as one purposefully, joyfully arranges them in the cupboard.

To make your own, check out the recipe I put up at local foods. You can also see how easy it is to clean/trim baby artichokes.

I love, love, love the cream of artichoke soup at Duarte’s in Pescadero. I’ve tried to make it several times–even using recipes people have gotten from the restaurant itself (which, oddly enough,are never quite the same)–and have always been disappointed. Not last night. I cracked the code.

Full disclosure: I used artichokes I bought in Castroville on the drive back from Monterey. You’re unlikely to start off with such fresh specimens.

Fill a large heavy pot with 1 inch of water. Add 1 teaspoon salt, 1 tablespoon distilled white vinegar, 1 teaspoon olive oil, and 6 medium-large artichokes whose stems you have trimmed so they can stand upright if they have each other for support. Bring to a boil, cover, and steam until artichoke bottoms are tender when pierced with a fork and leaves pull out easily.

(While artichokes steam, melt 1 tablespoon butter in a small frying pan and cook 4 cloves chopped garlic until fragrant but not browning at all, about 1 minute. Set aside.)

Rinse in cold water until cool enough to handle. Remove and discard first few rings of leaves–they ones with dark, grayish flesh on the bottoms. Pull off remaining leaves and use a spoon to scrape off the edible meat at bottom of the leaves (put these precious scraps in a blender). This takes awhile–can I recommend chatting with your brother and sister-in-law on the phone while you do this? It makes the time fly by.

Remove and discard fussy choke and dark green parts from around the “heart.” Chop heart into quarters and throw in the blender.

Add 4 cups chicken broth and that sautéed garlic to blender and whirl until very smooth. Let it really go. Walk away if you need to. Let it go until creamy looking.

Pour mixture in a large saucepan/medium pot and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to a simmer and add 1/2 cup heavy cream. Add salt and pepper to taste. Gently heat and serve with crusty bread and, if you’re up to it, garnish with a crispy baby artichoke. Well, only do that if you’ve been messing around with artichokes all day and have them sitting around. Otherwise, it’s just too much artichoke cleaning.

By the way, my dashing husband missed dinner with us. When he came home he asked Ernie how he liked dinner. Ernie said “I only liked the soup a little bit, Daddy, but you’ll probably like it a lot.”

Note: I’ll get a photographic step-by-step guide to cleaning artichokes up at LocalFoods.about.com later this week for any artichoke neophytes.