Of Bloody Oranges & Pithy Pomelos

Bloody Oranges.

It wasn't very long ago that I discovered that many varieties of citrus fruits actually grow best in the winter.  I found that shocking, having always associated orange juice and bright lemons and limes with the warmth of the summer and sunny Florida.  In a way this paradoxical reality - I do believe citrus actually does taste better when it's warm outside - is a little bit of a winter miracle.  You're holed up deep within the doldrums of a cold, snowy winter, thoughts of heavy gravies and roasts relentlessly dancing inside your head, when out of nowhere every beautiful variation of juicy citrus fruit suddenly appears in your local grocery store.  The idea of it used to bother me, really.  I couldn't figure out what could be wintery about citrus besides maybe throwing them into a giant vat of mulled wine, but that didn't seem to do them justice either.

At a certain point I finally found a recipe that tempted me into giving the abundance of winter citrus a place at home (outside of simply forcing myself to shiver while I ate cold grapefruit on a January morning): the Homesick Texan's "grapefruit brulee."   The idea of a semi-warm, slightly sweeter version of the morning grapefruit really, really appealed to me.

From there, I remembered a salad that had struck me back when I first tasted it - at my sister-in-law's rehearsal dinner in December of 2006 - but which I'd forgotten about since then: a simple grapefruit and fennel salad, which was served with a roast ham.  What a great combination.  And I'd never even noticed the "coldness" of the salad because I enjoyed it so much.

Then the other week I was at the gym reading the December 2012 issue of Sunset (a wonderful magazine that proclaims to expound upon "how to live in the west) when I came upon an article about winter and citrus fruits.  The editor pointed out, rather smartly, that these days we take citrus for granted as a readily available near-commodity.  We can get oranges, lemons, limes at any time of the year thanks to the wonders of mass-farming and global-transportation.  But, she proudly pondered, her father actually remembered (and told her about) a time when an orange in California was very much a Christmas miracle.
How amazing.

* * *

So lately I've been having a celebration of sorts myself - one that involves me buying large quantities of the many citrus fruits we have out there available to us in Colorado at this blustery time of year.  And I've settled on a favorite salad recipe for them, which I'll share.  But first, here are my favorite citrus fruits in list form:

Of Bloody Oranges & Pithy Pomelos

the many citruses I love

5. Pomelos:
Looks: I first had a pomelo on my honeymoon in Thailand.  I used to drop a couple of delicious segments into my ritual morning-pomelo-mimosa (I live a horrifically difficult life, don't I?).  These fruits are yellow on the outside but can also be green or a light orange.  They are a pain to peel and unwieldy in their immense size (the largest citrus, in fact).  If nothing else, they are impressive to look at next to the comparatively puny navel oranges and mandarins.

Likes: Despite the awkwardness of a Pomelo, there is something infinitely satisfying about the enlarged segments, made up of also rather enlarged fruit juice sacs (called vesicles, apparently).  They're like a milder, sweeter grapefruit - on steroids.  The grandfather of grapefruits, actually.  The other day Roman and I devoured one in its magnificent unadulterated form in under five minutes. Good thing it only took half an hour to peel.

4. Blood Oranges
Looks: I should have known my mummy-and-skeleton-obsessed son would love blood oranges before he even tried them.  I first had a blood orange when I moved to Italy and I remember being a little shocked and a little excited when I saw the dark red juices and bright orange colors burst forth from that fruit.  They look like normal navel oranges but on occasion they have a reddish blush across one side of the peel.  And when you cut into them, one end is much bloodier in color than the other, which is almost like an orange-yellow-red rainbow in a cross-segment.  Amazingly - nay, bloody beautiful.

Likes: I don't find the flavor of a blood orange amazingly different from that of a regular orange (some say it contains a hint of raspberry), but to me the wow-factor of the appearance and the name (variations include the exotic: Moro, Sanguinelli and Tarocco) makes the difference in price worthwhile.
They are only available for part of the year, and that itself makes them a special occasion.  Roman was thrilled to have one in his lunch, cut into bright, bloody, fully-peeled segments.  When I picked him up his teacher told me he'd eaten all his oranges.  And he said, "But it wasn't just an orange.  It was a blood orange, Ms. Cavanaugh."  I was proud.
More on blood oranges from my beloved Melrose&Morgan.

3. Navel Oranges

Looks: Despite its deceivingly common facade, the navel orange is just so much fun.  It's better than the common orange (usually Valencia oranges in these parts) because it's easier to peel and less juicy - both factors in a less-messy experience if you're the type that peels oranges by hand.  It is also characterized by the funny belly-button looking growth at the top which is actually like a mini-baby-orange growing at the top of the big orange.  I like to call that growth, much to Matt's horror, "the brain-child."  Something about it reminds me of Krang from the Ninja Turtles.  Don't ask me why that's appealing, but it is.  Call it a bit of whimsy to your orange-y snack, if you will.

Likes:
When you're looking for a delicious, sweet-and-not-bitter-orange-experience, for me the Navel orange is the way to go.  If you peel it by hand you also get to eat the brain child.  But I usually just cut it into fully-peeled segments (no pith or membrane) for myself or Roman.  It is accompanied perfectly by some Tajin chile & lime seasoning powder (available at Walmart), for a Mexican twist.

2. Grapefruit
Looks: To me there's nothing quite like the pinky-orange color of a Ruby Red grapefruit.  You can get grapefruits that are yellow too, but they don't appeal to me in the least.  I like the bring salmony-coraly pink ones that make you feel like they're at the peak of ripeness.  And I love to eat them with a serrated grapefruit spoon.  We only have one in our drawer right now, which may soon prove problematic as Roman has become quite the grapefruit fiend.

Likes: Growing up in Texas, the Ruby Red grapefruit was ubiquitous, and yet - revered.  It's so pretty.  This bright red grapefruit is the Texas state fruit and is the only grapefruit to ever have a patent awarded to it.  I won't lie, there is some pride associated with eating it for me.  Though, really, in the end I have to admit that sometimes I just really want something bitter.  Like a nice Campari Portofino, or a mean Negroni, or a...grapefruit.  And really that's the main reason I love grapefruits.  They bring a new dimension to citrus - a certain je ne sais quoi that the average orange just doesn't have.  They stand up to strong flavors - precisely why they pair so nicely with fennel and pistachios in the salad I'll share below.


1. Lemons & Limes
Looks:  We all obviously know what lemons and limes look like so I won't get into that.  I will say that I prefer regular-sized limes to key limes (unless I'm at a Mexican taco stand) and that my life changed when I first tried southern Italian lemons.  My biggest complaint with regards to these common citrus fruits is that most people do not know how to choose them in a supermarket.  Nothing irks me more than a dry lime or a lemon that is so hard and whose skin is so thick that you can't get more than two drops of juice out of it. 
When choosing lemons and limes there are two things to look for: thin skin and soft, supple flesh.  If they feel squishy, they have lots of juice.  If the skin is thin, you will be able to get all that juice out.  Oh, and when chopping or slicing them for guests to use with a meal (calamari, for example), please do us a favor and don't provide thin, round slivers: either hand out halves or quarters, but nothing less.

Likes:
I simply cannot pretend to like any citrus better than I like lemons and limes.  It's odd to me that I've actually never dedicated an entire post on my blog to them because they are one of the few ingredients that are always (and I mean always) on hand in my kitchen.  It kills me that in Portland I had to pay up to $0.65 per lemon for a while, but now that I'm back in the southwest I've found my wonderful Mercado where, at one point in the year, I got limes for 20/$1.00.  I used to eat limes every single night.  My favorite drink of all-time is homemade limeade (or lemonade).  While that's not such a habit anymore, I can honestly say that I truly believe all food tastes better with a squirt (or twenty) of lemon or lime juice on it.

Honorable Mentions: Meyer Lemons & Yuzus
I have a limited experience with Meyer lemons and the Japanese lime-like fruit Yuzu.  Apart from making an ill-fated batch of homemade limoncello back in 2005 (which Matt threw out due to a random fit of paranoia regarding botulism), I've never made anything with Meyer lemons again.  I've never consciously tried Yuzu but I see it all the time.  I think maybe I need to make this Shaker Lemon Pie (better, I hope, than the one pictured below which we ate at the actual Shaker Village in Kentucky) with the Meyers and - if I can ever find them - some Yuzus.

*  *  *

Winter Citrus & Fennel Salad with Pistachios

Serves 4 as a side dish

Ingredients
1 large ruby red grapefruit
2 blood oranges
2 navel oranges
1 lime (optional)
1/2 bulb of fennel, sliced thinly with a mandoline, or by hand
2 Tbsp roughly chopped pistachios
1 Tbsp olive oil
1 Tbsp white wine vinegar

Method
Slice all the citrus fruits by first peeling and then segmenting them so there is no pith or membrane left behind.  For contrast you can also slice a few of them into rounds once you've peeled them, but this is optional.  Add the sliced fennel.

Make the dressing by mixing the oil, vinegar and some salt and pepper in a bowl until the oil is emulsified.  Add to the salad and toss lightly.  Adjust the seasoning and then sprinkle the pistachios over the top.  Serve cold or at room temperature.

*For a variation add some butter lettuce or arugula.  If you're bold, add a sliced avocado. Also, it's nice with a tsp of dijon mustard in the dressing, but personally, I prefer it without.

A Drizzle of Joy: Lemon Drizzle Cake

A Drizzle of Joy: Mini Lemon Drizzle Bundt Cakes

Merry (belated) Christmas!  Happy New Year!  And Happy Birthday to me! 

Lots of fun and delicious things to celebrate in December, as usual, and while I've been MIA in the blogosphere, I have been nothing short of prolific in the kitchen.  Here's a post I wrote a couple of weeks ago, as I prepped for Christmas dinner (I froze these cakes and then thawed and drizzled them on Christmas eve).  These delicious little lemon drizzle bundt cakes seem almost a distant memory now, but a fond one.  I hope everyone had a wonderful season with their loved ones!

* * *

I became a cake addict pretty late in my life.  Up until the age of about 26 I'd pretty much avoided cake and sweets like the plague (except for the odd cookie or brownie), generally opting for savory foods over sweet.  I thought of cake as trite, over-used for parties and celebrations, over-decorated with cheap disgusting sprinkles, and, worst of all, covered in icing so sickly-sweet it made my lips pucker just thinking about it.  That was until I moved to London and joined the cult-following of cake as a way of life at The Primrose Bakery.


In addition to realizing that it's damn hard to keep your figure intact while professionally associated with a cake shop, I also discovered that the universal suspicion is true: there is definitely a secret, intangible ingredient put into home baked goods that actually does make you happy. It was always heartwarming to watch a child pick out his very own pink or green cupcake, or to look at faces as the first bite of that giant slice of chocolate cake went in.  Whether they'd chosen Victoria Sponge or Plum Cake, pretty much everyone who entered that little shop - celebrity, civilian or even the dogs - left looking visibly jollier than when they'd arrived.


It's that time of year again.  The time to be jolly, joyful, and spread all sorts of good cheer.  Christmas is one of my favorite times to bake, and this year I decided to make an old favorite from my bakery days, and one that doesn't seem to be all that common in the US - a guaranteed golden ticket to Smile City, or, if I can continue further with the cheesy phrases, a true drizzle of joy: Lemon Drizzle Cake (see below for recipe).


And in the continued name of random and rather purposeless Top 5 Lists: There were many perks associated with working at a bakery - most involving gluttonous consumption of sweet things - but here is a list of my personal top 5.

* * *

Top 5 Reasons Working at a Cake Shop Rocked

and no, I'm not generally a "cake person"

5. Managerial Taste-testing Privileges

As the manager I didn't just get to oversee the practical day-to-day running of the bakery, I also got to scope out our offerings and determine whether they were up to snuff or not.  This often required hands-on taste-testing.  There were certain products that always had to be tested before they even left the kitchen.  The brownies for example.  And I do not believe I am overstepping the boundaries of propriety when I say that I truly believe Americans are more qualified to determine the worthiness of a brownie than our dear British compatriots.  Let's face it, a good American-style cake shop is only as good as its worst brownie.

4. Buttercream.

Cakes growing up always had that should-be-illegal sugar-water concoction that grocery stores try to pass for icing.  It is stiff and flavorless (unless of course you consider pure refined sugar a flavor, in which case I wholeheartedly encourage you to make your way to your nearest Kroger and dig in).  And once you've had real homemade buttercream icing, you can never go back to it.  Learning to make buttercream icing and then learning to ice cupcakes and layer cakes with it is a simple but delicious art which I wholeheartedly embraced during my time as cake-woman, and it is one I hope to carry on perfecting for years to come.  I know Matt and Roman are glad for it anyhow. :)

3. Champagne Truffles & Crystalized Rose Petals.

Another perk of working at a "luxury" cake shop, were the "luxury" items we ordered to put on the cakes.  Supplying people like Fortnum & Mason means you get to work with (eat?) amazing things like handmade champagne truffles and real crystalized rose petals on a somewhat regular basis.  If doing this isn't already on a list of sure-fire ways to up your happy-hormones, it should be.

2. Bottomless Cappuccinos.

What is a cake shop without top notch coffee and tea to go with the cakes?  A sad, sad place, if you must ask.  And let me tell you, our bakery was anything but sad.  We served only Illy caffe and artisan teas.  I must have consumed, on average, 5-6 cups of coffee every work day.  Give me a latte to start off the day.  Then there's the mid-morning cappuccino and chat with the owners.  Move onto the late morning pick-me-up espresso, and maybe another if the coffee supplier guy comes by, while you shoot the shizzle over the week's latest gossip.  Next comes another cappuccino in the afternoon, just to get you over the hump.  And maybe an Americano before you head out, just so the tube ride isn't too unbearable.  And the best part is, I learned to make them all myself.  I was a milk-frothing, espresso-pulling, splenda-slinging fiend.  And now I know that one day when I have an unbelievably cool, industrial grade Italian hand-pulled coffee machine in my kitchen, I will be able to razzle-dazzle all my family with my mad coffee making skills.

1. A Drizzle of Pure Joy.

Of all the things we served at the bakery, my favorite was one of the only cakes Martha and Lisa chose to leave out of their cookbook: the lemon drizzle cake.  As cakes go, Lemon Drizzle is kind of a UK Institution.  Everyone seems to eat it, like it, ask for it, and have their own recipe.  It's a super simple presentation of a lemon sponge cake with a lemon juice and sugar drizzle poured over it.  I love it anytime of year, but especially when I need a little reminder of my drizzly but joyful time spent living in London. :)

* * *

Lemon Drizzle Cake

Makes 2 Loaves, 2- 8" Round Cakes, or ~16 Mini Bundt Cakes

This is a pretty standard lemon sponge cake recipe and the result is strikingly similar to the one at the bakery.  It is good enough to eat, really. :)

225g Golden Caster Sugar (or superfine sugar)

225g All-Purpose Flour

2 1/2 tsp baking powder

1/2 tsp salt

25g Cornstarch

2 sticks (225g) unsalted butter, at room temp

4 large eggs

2-3 large, juicy lemons - zest and juice

Drizzle:
2-4 large lemons, juice
1 cup (100g) white granulated sugar

* * *

1. Preheat your oven to 375F.


2. Using a food processor, pour the flour, sugar, baking powder and cornstarch in and mix until completely blended.


3. Add the remaining ingredients (making certain the butter is completely at room temp first) and mix until combined.


4. Pour into two large loaf tins (the tins should be 1/2 to 2/3 full), dividing the batter evenly.


5. Bake for 25 minutes or until golden brown and a skewer or tooth pick inserted in the center comes out clean. DO AHEAD: Allow the cakes to cool completely then wrap in cling film and freeze for up to a month.

6. While baking the cakes, make the drizzle by combining the sugar and lemon juice.

7. Allow the cakes to cool completely in their tins, then carefully remove and place on a plate.  Poke holes all over the loaves with a skewer then spoon the drizzle over the loaves and allow it to set.   Serve in slices.

In the Summertime when the weather is high...

my London mini-shrimp shrimp-boil;

still scoring rather high on the yummers-scale.

...I've got shrimp boils, I've got shrimp boils on my mind!

**Apologies to Mungo Jerry for bastardizing his classic song, but it's just so apropos. For the record, though, I don't know how the song is any more "bastardly" by substituting "shrimp boils" for the word "women." Yeesh Mungo, you sure got a way with a hell of a lot. For starters, your name, the boots, your moustache-toting-mulleted band members, mesogonistic songs about getting laid...but really your unbelievable luck at not being run out of town can all be summed up with two words: mutton chops.

For the past, oh, lifetime, I've been telling every single person that will listen and is likely to buy me a present that the only thing I ever wanted for my birthday was shrimp. Big, juicy, delicious, gigantic shrimp.

I think I've mentioned before that I had a small obsession with everyone's favorite seafood chain (besides Long John Silver's, of course - because who can get enough of those crunch extra bits that come with the fish and fried clams?!) Red Lobster (please, enjoy that commercial just one more time!) as a child. That, coupled with my lack of proximity to the seaside, my mom's claim and directly correlated unwillingness to cook shrimp because "cooking seafood stinks up the house," ensured that by the time I was 18, I had a full-blown obsession with eating shrimp. And once I was old enough to have my own income, I felt no guilt whatsoever going to my favorite fish monger Kenny at the awesome Agata & Valentina in the Upper East Side for the extra jumbo shrimp that cost $30.00 a pound.

After the first time I ate those shrimp I told Matt that my new birthday wish was no longer going to Red Lobster, but getting a gigantic bucket full of those extra jumbo shrimp, boiled and ready to peel given to me. And then eating them all in one sitting and not sharing a single one with anybody else. (Yes, I do know I'm a brat.) This has still not happened (ahem).

I find summer in London a time of particular difficulty in the shrimp department for a couple of reasons all leading to the ultimate conclusion that summertime is the perfect time to break out the spices and make a damn good shrimp boil, or else life is just not worth living.

* * *

Top 3 Reasons Why Summertime in London is Difficult in

the Proverbial "Shrimp Department"

because I apparently have a shrimp department in my head

3. Where the hell's the seafood?!

For an island, there's a surprising lack of good seafood here (maybe because they ship it all to France?!). Unless by "good seafood" you mean battered and deep fried cod or tiny "prawns" slathered in mayo. *gag* As far as shrimp, er, prawns, they are small. Small, small,small. I don't care how you change the name - king prawns, tiger prawns, jumbo prawns, they all boil down to one thing: crappy quality and inferior size. And they cost an arm and a leg.

2. Where the hell's the fishmonger?!

Unlike in New York, London seems to have a sad lack of fishmongers. Yes, you can find the odd fishmarket here and there - either in ethnic parts of the city or in extremely high end ones - places where there's a real fishmonger who knows what's what and is willing to explain it to you. But in general the fish departments at supermarkets offer old, pre-frozen glazy-eyed fish. Or worse yet, they don't sell raw shrimp! Yep, almost everything is pre-cooked. What's with that?!

1. Where the hell are the shrimp boils?!
Ok, so I'm not that shocked that they don't exist here, but I still have to complain. Given that most people in the UK think food with a dash of paprika is "spicy," I'm not surprised the Louisiana-spicy-as-all-hell-yumminess hasn't caught on in this neck of the woods. Nevertheless, I have made it my business to take advantage of the summer deals on raw prawns at Tesco by declaring Fridays Shrimp Boil Day. Hey, I'm a good Catholic girl. And besides, what's a little more heat in a heat wave? :)

* * *

Shrimp Boil Yumminess

pronounced "Shrimp Bowl" if you're from Texas

Serves 2

photo credit

Ingredients:

8 tbsps (or to taste) of Louisiana Crawfish, Crab and Shrimp Boil Spices

*you cannot buy this in the UK!

1 to 1 1/2 lbs jumbo shrimp (peeled or unpeeled)

2 ears of fresh corn, halved into 4 cobbettes

1lb baby new potatoes, washed

4-6 cloves garlic, whole unpeeled

2 medium yellow onions, quartered

4 tbsps butter

Tabasco sauce, to taste

2 lemons, halved

Procedure:

1. Place the garlic, onions, potatoes, butter and spice mix into a large pot and fill with water until all ingredients are covered with extra broth on top. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat and mix until the spices are dissolved.

2. When the potatoes are almost tender, add the corn and leave to boil for another five minutes.

3. Just before you are ready to eat, add the shrimp to the pot. Allow to cook for five to eight minutes (don't overcook the shrimp!) and then immediately remove from heat.

4. Using a collander, drain the ingredients. Roll out some newspaper, get a roll of paper towels and pour that spicey goodness out straight on the table!

Serve with lemon wedges, tabasco sauce, some crusty bread and a nice cold beer.

Best eaten with greedy, grubby little hands and followed by a nice big slice of fresh watermelon or some scooped out cantelope, in the true spirit of summer.

In Hopes of Spring Day 1: Artichoke & Lemon Pasta

An edible thistle? sign me up.
I got this picture here.

What better to jump-start the Springtime series than a light and delicious pasta dish with Springtime ingredients?

It was one of a very few but lovingly hoped-for sunny days sometime about a month ago when I got the inspiration for this pasta dish. I was, as usual, flipping through one of my many food magazines when I saw mention of one of the most delicious upcoming seasonal ingredients: artichokes.

I keep a couple of jars of artichokes in olive oil in the pantry, just in case I ever get the urge, but I tend to use them only in dire desperation. Artichokes are one of those vegetables that, to me, lose part of their mystique when you don't get to clean and cook them yourself. There's just something about trimming the little tips, cutting off the stem, and peeling away the older, uglier leaves that makes me feel like a Roman matrona preparing dinner in Sicily. I love baby artichokes, but I love the big mama artichokes too. You can steam them, boil them, batter and fry them, or even eat them raw (as I learned from Matt), but whatever you do, they are most delicious, I think, when you can taste their subtle, meaty flavor without having to fight a million others at the same time.

Sadly, despite their growing season being March through May, it was still too cold here in the UK to find them in great abundance in the supermarkets when I decided to make this recipe, not to mention, the ones I could have found would have been ridiculously expensive and not so nice looking. So, a little deflated but determined nonetheless, I ventured to "the bodega" as Matt refers to my copiously and shamelessly crammed pantry, to take out one of my jars of artichoke hearts.

The sunshine abundantly flying through my living room windows seemed reason enough to make a light-filled Italian dish which requires little fuss and ingredients which can generally already be found in one's kitchen. But first, a little on artichokes and why I find them to be a particularly interesting, and aesthetically pleasing vegetable.

* * *

Three Interesting Tidbits Relating to the Vegetable with a Heart: The Artichoke

"Artichokes" by Clare Malloy;
glad I'm not the only one who finds them aesthetically pleasing.

3. Ancient Artichokes: a brief and glossed-over history thereof
The nerdy Classicist in me has an obsession with finding out the origins of all things edible. It really bothers me, for example, when people say that coffee comes from Colombia, or Potatoes are Irish, or, worse yet, chili peppers are Indian (which they are NOT!). With my obsessive and valiantly edifying nature in mind, I looked into the origins of Artichokes and found that my Italocentric view of them was not far off.

Artichokes may have come from North Africa or they may have come from somewhere in the European Mediterranean. The only thing that's clear is that they were widely used in Roman and Greek cooking thousands of years ago, and continue to be used by them today (hence my assumption that they are Italian). It was, however, the Greeks that introduced them to the Romans (like with everything else important) and the Romans who introduced them to everybody else. It wasn't until the mid 16th Century that Artichokes came to the UK, introduced to Henry VIII by the Dutch, oddly enough. Who knows how they got there, but I'm glad they did.


2. The Aesthetic of the Thistle: Why Artichokes are Pretty
I don't know about you, but a big part of what I like to eat is determined by what looks good. While the artichoke may not be as alluring as, say, a sauteed prawn, it ranks rather high on my list of aesthetically pleasing edible things, not least because of the beautiful colors and unorthodox shape it has.

Artichokes come in the loveliest shades of green and purple. The green is new enough to look alive, but muted enough to be wild. And the purple is sometimes so bright, so ethereal, you have to wonder whether nature was sending a warning sign. In shape, artichokes look to me like a combination between a flower and a giant, leafy, upside down acorn. In short, they look like a giant thistle (or sticker burr, if you're Texan), and that's exactly what they are. This prickly nature draws me to them more (much like my obsession with eating Nopales or Mexican Cactus) because they are a food you have to work for to prepare and eat in peace. As the saying goes: every rose has its thorn. Artichokes, pretty as they are, come equipped with deceptively small little spiny claws at their leaf tips which need to be ripped or snipped off before consumption. As enticing as their healthy verdant leaves are, as bewitching as the bright purple blossoms of the artichoke plant may be, do us all a favor and don't forget to cut off the thorns. :)

Ah, Artichoke blossoms.
I got this picture here.

In my search for all things Artichoke-related, I came across a Midwestern artist who seemed to agree with my predilection for Artichokes. Check out some of Clare Malloy's paintings which, though probably a little too minimalist and clean for my taste, are nevertheless rather pretty. Especially the artichoke one, which I've displayed above.


1. Artichoke Festivals and Ice Cream -The Final Frontier?
While natural cultivation of the artichoke, as mentioned above, was historically generally confined to Southern Europe and the Mediterranean, with Italy and Spain still leading the charge in modern day, our prickly friend can also be found in great abundance in none other than California (what doesn't grow there?!). I always tell Matt I want to move to California just because of the amazing garden / orchard I could have. Turns out, actually, that California grows nearly 100% of all artichokes in the US, and about 80% of those are grown in Monterrey County, which happens to include a little town by the name of Castroville.

Castroville gets an honorable mention on my blog today because they have, despite their puny size (pop. well under 10,000) and otherwise unremarkable existence, hoisted themselves into national stardom by proclaiming themselves "The Artichoke Center of the World" (very American of them isn't it?). (Thanks to Roadside America for the lovely picture of Jack Fitzgerald next to the Giant Artichoke in Castroville.)

Along with this title, they have also taken it upon themselves to host the annual "Castroville Artichoke Festival" every May for the past many, many, years (where Marilyn Monroe was crowned the first ever Artichoke Queen in 1948, incidentally), where people from all over the globe gather to celebrate and devour everyone's well-loved thistle in more forms than we can (or would choose to) imagine. They even make Artichoke Ice Cream. I'll try almost anything once. :)

NB: Interestingly, the Italian link sticks: Castroville's artichoke production is rumored to have been started in the 1920s by the same Swiss Italian immigrants who also started the first wine vineyards in "American's Salad Bowl" (Salinas Valley, California). Who knew? Roman imperial domination continued well into the 20th century.

* * *

Artichoke & Lemon Pasta
Serves 2

I first started eating artichokes when I moved to Italy. Italians put them in everything - pasta dishes, meat dishes, salads - you name it. The first time I tried to cook them I boiled the heck out of them for over an hour, not knowing exactly how to make heads or tails of whether an artichoke was "done" or not. Don't make the same mistake as me!

For this recipe, Iused ready-prepared artichoke hearts. I think pairing them with fresh lemon juice and zest gives back a little spring to the marinated hearts, and I always keep a little fresh parmesan around the house, without which this dish would be lost. Hope it brings as much sunshine to your day as it did to mine.


Ingredients

1 jar Artichoke hearts (100g), in olive oil or water, chopped into large chunks
1 lemon, zested & juice of 1/2 the lemon
2 tbsps good olive oil
1 handful flat-leaf parsley, roughly chopped
1/2 cup grated parmesan cheese (the real stuff), plus more for garnishing
1 lb bag of tagliatelle pasta (substitute fettuccine if you can't find tagliatelle)
salt & freshly ground pepper


Procedure

1. Cook the pasta as indicated on the package (I put my pasta in quickly boiling, salted water for about 6-8 minutes), leaving it slightly al dente.

2. Meanwhile, take all the other ingredients except the olive oil and mix together in a bowl (only briefly), seasoning with salt and pepper as well.

3. Once the pasta is cooked, drain and put back into the cooking pot. Add the artichoke mixture to the hot pasta and over medium heat, toss the pasta and artichoke mixture to combine. Drizzle the pasta and artichokes with olive oil and continue to toss for about 30 seconds more, not allowing the pasta to overcook.

4. Serve with extra parmesan cheese grated on the top and one last squirt of lemon juice from the unused lemon half.