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.

When summer finally hit San Francisco we have found ourselves in need of cooling refreshment at our house. Because we have a miracle ever-abundant lemon tree in our yard, as well as a thriving rosemary bush, and my son loves nothing more than a soda pop and was having withdrawal from his Minnesota cabin séjour during which he probably had a pop every day (at home soda is a treat treat, not a common treat; he gets ginger ale when he’s sick, which isn’t often, and can have a soda when we have a party and the adults are all having cocktails, once in a great while I make root beer floats for dessert), I decided to make something sweet and fizzy. I made a simple syrup using lemon juice in place of water and infused it with lemon zest and rosemary, then mixed it with seltzer water to great acclaim.

The whole flavored-sugar-syrup-and-fizzy water creation has now become a bit of a staple. We’ve done experiments. Ginger, mint, basil, peppercorns, and more have been toyed with. Our favorite, hands down, is still the lemon and rosemary one we started with. Another batch sits in a pint jar in the fridge, ready for refreshing any one of us at a moment’s notice.

Rosemary Lemon Soda

A syrup of the zest from 1 lemon, 1 cup lemon juice, 1 cup sugar, and a 4-inch sprig of fresh rosemary was made in a medium saucepan and brought just to boil and then simmered for a few minutes. I let it cool and then fished the rosemary out of it, leaving the zest in there because who feels like cleaning a strainer in this heat?

Spoon a tablespoon or two into a glass, add club soda or sparkling water, stir vigorously, add ice, and feel the inner breeze. If you need more than a simple refresh, a shot of vodka doesn’t ruin this beverage in any way at all.

The lovely Marisa from Food In Jars sent me this recipe well over a year ago. That’s the kind of recipe backlog I have built up. I finally made this and don’t think I’ll ever stop.

Arugula salad with broiled lemons

The sweet tang of these lemons are the perfect foil for the peppery kick of good arugula. Look for small, dark leaves that are full of natural wild arugula flavor.

2 lemons (regular or Meyer both work here)

1 Tablespoon sugar

1 teaspoon salt, plus more to taste

3 Tablespoons lemon crushed extra virgin olive oil

1 Tablespoon lemon juice

6 – 8 cups arugula

Scrub lemons clean. Slice lemons as thinly and evenly as you can. Put the slices and any juice you can wrangle into a medium bowl. Sprinkle with the sugar and teaspoon of salt. Toss to combine and let sit at least 1 hour and up to a day.

Heat your broiler. Cover and baking pan with foil. Spread the lemon slices in as single a layer as possible given the number of slices and the size of your pan. Drizzle any juice in the bowl over the lemons.

Broil lemons, watching carefully, until they start to brown, 3 to 5 minutes.

Set lemons aside while you make the dressing. In a large bowl combine the olive, lemon juice, and any juices left on the broiled lemons. Taste and add salt to taste if you like. Add arugula and toss with the dressing until thoroughly coated. Top with broiled lemons and serve immediately.

One of my craziest friends (believe me, that is some stiff competition) sent me a recipe from Fine Cooking that she claimed was a) delicious, b) quick, and c) neither pasta nor soup.

I got the hint.

I messed around with it a bit, but just the specifics, not the big picture. I pretty much doubled all the spices, used more herbs, used two preserved lemons instead of one (you don’t develop this “how to make preserved lemons” without ending up with too many preserved lemons sitting around; I need to use them with abandon). I also used all one cut of chicken so they would cook evenly. Feel free to mix it up if your family has white meat-only and dark meat-only people making your life difficult.

When I make it again, I’m going to chop a bulb fennel and add it with the onion. If you beat me to it, let me know how tasty it is.

Preserved lemon chicken with olives
I used thighs for this, but any chicken breasts would work just fine – bone-in, boneless, skinless, whatever you like, just decrease cooking time a bit if you use boneless. My son would have liked it if I’d used wings and drumsticks, and I’m sure it would have been just as over-eatin’ good. Feel free to bump up or turn down the paprika, ginger, and cayenne depending on how kicky or mild you like it.

2 1/2 – 3 pounds chicken thighs (or other chicken pieces)

1/2 teaspoon sea salt

2 Tbsp. vegetable oil

1/2 bunch worth of fresh cilantro (a generous, loosely-packed 1 1/2 cups)

1/2 bunch worth of flat-leaf parsley leaves

1 onion

2 teaspoons ground ginger

1 1/2 teaspoons hot paprika

1 teaspoon ground cumin

1/2 teaspoon turmeric

1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

1/4 teaspoon cayenne

Generous pinch saffron threads (about 20)

1/2 cup white wine or chicken broth (water works too)

2 preserved lemons

1 cup black olives (unpitted would be fine, but I used some pitted black olives that were really a red-brown color from Lyndsey’s “Naturals” line)

Rinse chicken pieces and pat dry. Sprinkle with salt. Cover and chill up to overnight, if you like, or simply set aside while you heat the oil.

Heat the oil over medium high heat in a large, heavy pan or pot that will be able to hold all the chicken in a single layer eventually – that eventual single layer can be crowded.

For now, however, things are not going to be too crowded. Place the chicken, skin-side down if that applies, in the pan to brown. Don’t let the pieces touch to maximize the browning and minimize the stewing for the moment. Cook until the chicken naturally and of its own volition releases from the pan, 3 to 4 minutes. Turn and brown on the other side. Repeat with the second batch, if necessary.

Meanwhile – and you’ll need to either do some of this ahead or work somewhat quickly, chop the cilantro and parsley and onion (you could do this by pulsing it all in a food processor if you like, but I’m warning you now that you will eventually need to clean it) and put them in a large bowl. Add all the spices and toss to combine. When the first chicken pieces are done browning, add them to this mixture and toss to coat the chicken. Add the second batch if you needed to do one and toss to combine too.

Drain off any excess fat from the pan. Add wine or broth and scrape up the delicious brown bits on the pan. Add chicken and herb-onion-spice mixture and 1 cup of water. Bring just to a boil, cover, reduce heat to a gently simmer, and cook until chicken is tender and onions are melting into the sauce, 20 to 25 minutes.

After you cover the chicken, remove the pulp from the preserved lemons, rinse the rinds in cool water, and cut rinds into strips. Scatter lemon rind strips and olives over the chicken and return cover.

Serve chicken hot, with plenty of sauce, over couscous or with crusty bread with the heft and ability to soak up the addictive sauce. Some sauteed greens onto which you can drizzle some of the sauce as you eat are a nice addition.

Well, it worked at dogpatch pizza. But even though I used Meyer lemons, and sliced them very thinly, they were as bitter as bitter can be. I still rather liked them against the golden beet greens and manchego cheese, but I acknowledge that it was, perhaps, an acquired taste. I’m thinking the masters at Piccino salted the sliced lemons and let them sit for a few hours or overnight to de-bitterize them. My dashing husband happily ate a few slices without removing the lemon, though, so it can’t have been that bad. And you must admit, it does look lovely.

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.