Carciofi alla Romana

We entered the deli in via Marmorata, in the bustling Roman neighbourhood of Testaccio, short after noon. A well-nourished crowd of locals was populating the tiny space, raising their voices to make themselves heard by the people serving behind the counter. All were waiting, more or less impatiently, to be served their daily dose of pecorino, guanciale, ricotta, and pizza bianca. We joined the crowd, famished after an early rise and a long train journey.

We had left Orbetello at the break of dawn, heading to Roma Ostiense for the second part of our Easter break; eyes still full of the sunsets and rocks and clouds and stars and green mountains and waves of Argentario, of Cala Piccola. Easter was just behind us. A good Easter, spent strolling up and down the island, tanning in the terrace, eating Marco’s brilliant octopus with chickpeas, my humble artichoke salad with loads of Parmesan and oil and lemon, slice after slice of Emiko‘s polenta and pistachio cake, drinking crisp Inzonica from the island, looking at the sea just out of the window. 

Short after dropping our bags in the little Roman apartment, nestled in a very picturesque and timeless-looking courtyard – one of the many facing the Testaccio branch of the Tiber – we headed out in search for something to eat. Testaccio is a great place to be for food, as good traditional trattorias, street food branches, delis, markets and bars aren’t short in the neighbourhood. From our previous Roman trip, we vaguely remembered there was a good deli on the main road linking the river to the Pyramid. Our well-seasoned plan was to just walk until we stumbled upon it. We eventually did, and recognised it immediately for the bountiful displays of preserves, hams and whole cheeses in the window. And so, we joined the not-so-orderly queue, and started to think about what we wanted for lunch.

The choice was tough. After a bit of clumsy ordering, we exited with a chunk of oven-baked ricotta, a generous slice of oily, salty, crisp pizza bianca, and two artichokes. How could have we nudged the artichokes? Tender, pale green and delicately arranged with the stem up, head sinking in a puddle of oil, they smelled of herbs and garlic and of food you want to eat with your fingers and get messy with. Also, they were prepped, cooked, ready to eat…I was ready to eat them. The park nearby provided the perfect location for the impromptu picnic, and my usual spring cold made sure I was well packed with tissues to clean the oily, garlicky hands. Leaf after leaf, we tore our artichokes apart, dipping each in the little oil at the bottom of our plastic container, until just the heart remained – the last bite, the best.

One year has passed since that picnic, and I recently found myself craving those artichokes and those gestures – wanting a plateful of Roman-style artichokes as you’ll find it everywhere in Rome at this time of the year. 

Surprisingly, they revealed a simple dish to replicate at home.  Unlike the artichoke recipe I posted not long ago, the artichoke variety suitable for this recipe is the globe or romanesco (mammole). These are at their best during February and March, and are copiously consumed on Roman tables for antipasto in the weeks around Easter. The inspiration for today’s recipe comes equally from last year’s Roman memories, and from my friend Rachel’s brilliant post on this topic; while the recipe itself comes from Marcella Hazan’s great book, The Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking. In the book, not only does Marcella share this recipe for Roman Style Artichokes, but she also includes illustrations on how to clean and prep them properly – great if you feel intimidated by this task. In her other book, Ammarcord, she will then say that she learnt how to properly clean mammole from a lady selling artichokes at the Campo dei Fiori market, and had the chance to practice a lot in her Roman kitchen. That same lady also taught her the ‘trick of the towel’: artichokes are braised in a pan where a damp kitchen towel is placed between the actual pan and the lid, in order to keep the moisture in and make the artichokes creamier and more tender. This is a trick I tried myself, and I thought it worked out a charm.

Roman-style artichokes are great served as a cold appetiser, and are best eaten as they are, leaf after leaf, mostly using your fingers and doing a lot of messy oil dipping and bread-and-oil mopping while at it. I have been lovong the pairing with creamy burrata – a friend of mine had this amazing idea and got me completely hooked: very un-traditional, but terribly, dangerously delicious. If you decide to go for it, this makes a complete, filling, deeply satisfying spring meal. And even though wine purists would never ever serve artichokes with wine, I find a crisp white to wash the oil and cream very pleasant and somehow much needed.

 Carciofi alla Romana 

6 romanesco or globe artichokes 

1 lemons 

2 garlic cloves, minced 

a small bunch parsley, finely chopped 

a small handful mint leaves, finely chopped 

Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper 

60 ml (1/4 cup) extra virgin olive oil 

80 ml (1/3 cup) of white wine 

Before you start, you’ll need to get hold of a fairly deep, large pan with a lid – one where you can easily fit the six (standing) artichokes and part of their stem. 

Using a small serrated knife, halve the lemon and squeeze some juice on the blade. Prepare the artichokes: remove the outer leaves until you find those which are pale green and light purple. Trim the stalk 5 cm from the base and peel it to reveal the white part. Remove any remaining bit of the outer leaves still attached to the base. Finally, trim the ends – cut away about 1.5 cm of choke. At every passage, rub the cut parts of the artichokes with lemon to prevent discolouration. Open the artichoke and remove the choke in the middle, then set aside and repeat with the rest of the artichokes. 

In a small bowl, mix together the chopped parsley, mint and minced garlic, then add a pinch of salt and ground black pepper to taste. Fill each artichoke ‘core’ with equal amounts of this mixture. Place the artichokes upside-down in the prepared pan, then pour in the olive oil, wine and enough water to reach one third of the artichokes. Cover the pot with a damp kitchen towel, and then put the lid over the cloth. Bring the corners of the towel over the top of the lid and make a knot if you can. Place the pan over medium heat for 30-35 minutes. Test the doneness and tenderness of your artichokes by inserting a fork or a long toothpick at the base of the artichoke. A little longer is better rather than the opposite –  the more tender, the better. When done, transfer the artichokes (stems up) onto a large platter and allow them to cool to room temperature, then pour over the reserved cooking juices and serve.