Have a heart: Yotam Ottolenghi’s artichoke recipes

Artichokes are, for some, as unapproachable as a patch of thistles. The fact that they actually are a thistle and look rather like a hand grenade just adds to the general sense of unease. The thing that really puts people off, though, is all the preparation required before you can get at the fleshy heart.

Is it all worth it? Absolutely!. Plus, the artichoke challenge is one that can be met in a variety of ways. The first is simply to roll up your sleeves and get on with it. I don’t think I’ve ever been more awed by culinary dexterity than when I first came across Istanbul’s vegetable stallholders preparing huge artichokes. No chopping board, no veg peeler, just a small knife in one hand and the artichoke in the other. This they turned rapidly through 360 degrees while their little knife went chop, chop, chop, trim, trim, trim. It was all over in seconds, then they moved on to the next one.

The second option is to take delight in the amount of prep involved and to look on it as A Good Thing. Jane Grigson, in her great Vegetable Book, pretty much equates it to staving off anarchy in the civilised kitchen. “Above all,” she writes, “the artichoke is the vegetable expression of civilised living, of the long view, of increasing delight by anticipation and crescendo… It has no place in the troll’s world of instant gratification.”

The third option, and perhaps the most traditional in the UK at least, is to make a meal out of getting to the heart. Boil the artichoke and serve with melted butter, mayonnaise or vinaigrette, for dipping the leaves into: with every leaf that hits the debris bowl, the closer you’re getting to the heart.

The fourth option – and one that I hope would not make Grigson regard me as a troll – is to buy a pack of frozen artichoke hearts: for stuffing and braising, for instance, there’s a lot to recommend them (time-saving and callus-prevention being just two).

The fifth and final option is to avoid the choke altogether and look out for purple-tipped baby artichokes. These little bouquets are so fresh, small and young that they haven’t yet developed a choke, so can be eaten almost in their entirety.

Baked baby artichokes with fennel and lemon

There’s a bitterness in this that works so well with the creamy rich sauce. Serves four, as a starter.

2 large fennel bulbs, trimmed and cut lengthways into 2mm-thick slices – ideally, use a mandolin
4 bay leaves
¼ tsp black peppercorns
3 tbsp olive oil
Salt
8 whole baby artichokes, stems trimmed to 2cm long
100ml dry white wine
2 tbsp lemon juice
15g tarragon leaves, roughly chopped
100g creme fraiche
20g mayonnaise

Heat the oven to 200C/390F/gas mark 6. Put the fennel, bay, peppercorns, oil and half a teaspoon of salt in a medium, high-sided baking tray (about 25cm x 28cm), and stir to combine. Lay in the artichokes on their sides, slightly embedded in the fennel mix.

Combine the wine with 100ml water and a quarter-teaspoon of salt. Pour over the artichokes, cover with foil and bake for 45 minutes, turning the artichokes halfway through. Remove the foil and bake for 10 minutes more, until the fennel has started to colour and any remaining liquid has evaporated. Lift the artichokes from the tray, then stir the lemon juice and tarragon through the fennel mix.

Meanwhile, in a small bowl, whisk together the creme fraiche and mayonnaise, and set aside.

To serve, divide the warm fennel between four plates and top each portion with two warm artichokes. Spoon some of the creme fraiche mix on the side and serve.

Artichoke, pea and bread salad

This is best eaten the moment it’s ready, while the bread is still crisp and warm. Serves six.

2 lemons, halved, plus 4 tbsp lemon juice
6 extra-large globe artichokes (about 2.4kg in total)
1 tsp urfa chilli flakes (or ½ tsp regular chilli flakes)
1 tsp paprika
90ml olive oil
Salt
120g crust-free ciabatta, broken into 2cm chunks
100ml dry white wine
5 sprigs fresh thyme
3 bay leaves
150g fresh podded peas (or frozen peas, defrosted)
15g picked flat-leaf parsley, finely chopped
1 tsp fennel seeds, toasted and roughly crushed
50g pea shoots

Fill a large bowl with cold water, squeeze in the juice of the two lemons, then chuck the squeezed skins in the bowl, too. Clean and prepare the artichokes as in the next recipe, rubbing the cut surfaces with lemon juice as you go. Remove the tough outer leaves and all but 1cm of the stem. Use a small, sharp knife to trim around the base of the artichoke hearts, until the soft, white flesh is exposed, then add to the lemon water.

Heat the oven to 160C/320F/gas mark 2½. In a medium bowl, mix together the chilli, paprika, two tablespoons of oil, a tablespoon of water and a quarter-teaspoon of salt. Add the bread, toss to coat and spread out on a baking tray. Bake for 15-20 minutes, until crisp, then remove and set aside.

Put two and a half tablespoons of lemon juice in a large saute pan for which you have a lid, add the wine, two tablespoons of oil, the thyme, bay, half a teaspoon of salt and 50ml water. Cut the artichokes vertically into 1.5cm slices and add to the pan. Bring to a boil, turn the heat to low, cover the surface with a round piece of parchment paper, pop on the pan lid and leave to simmer for 15 minutes, stirring a couple of times, until the artichokes are soft. Remove from the heat, strain the juices into a saucepan (discard the aromatics) and put the cooked artichokes in a large bowl. Bring the liquor back to a boil and cook on a medium-high heat for five minutes, until it has reduced down to just two tablespoons of liquid. Remove from the heat, set aside for five minutes, then whisk in two tablespoons of oil and pour over the artichokes.

Add the peas, parsley, fennel seeds, warm bread, half a tablespoon of lemon juice and a quarter-teaspoon of salt to the artichoke bowl. Stir gently to combine, then mix through the pea shoots and serve immediately.

Stuffed Sicilian artichokes

If you want something to dip your chokes into, the sauce from today’s first recipe, for baked baby artichokes, also works very well here; that said, you don’t really need a sauce at all, because the stuffing is wonderfully moist. Serves four, as a starter.

100g ciabatta, crusts cut off, then blitzed into large crumbs
20g finely grated parmesan
3 tinned anchovy fillets, drained and finely chopped
Finely grated zest of 1 lemon, plus 2 tbsp juice and 1 lemon, cut in half
40g picked flat-leaf parsley leaves, finely chopped
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
90ml olive oil
4 extra-large globe artichokes, each weighing about 400g

Put the breadcrumbs, parmesan, anchovies, lemon zest and parsley in a large bowl with an eighth of a teaspoon of salt and a good grind of pepper. Mix well and set aside.

Whisk the oil, lemon juice and half a teaspoon of salt in a small bowl, and set aside.

Use a large serrated knife to trim 2-3cm off the top of each artichoke, and rub the cut surface with a lemon half, to prevent discoloration. Take a small paring knife and “drill” a 4cm-diameter hole in the centre of each artichoke, so you can remove the soft central leaves and expose the hairy choke. Scoop this out with a spoon, and rub all the cut surfaces with more lemon.

Cut off the artichokes’ stems, so they can sit flat in a high-sided 27cm x 32cm baking tray (if they’re not too woody, you can add the stems to the tray, too). Use scissors to trim off the tough outer leaves, then use your hands to open out each artichoke like a flower.

Heat the oven to 200C/390F/gas mark 6. Pour the oil and lemon juice mix over the artichokes, so it dribbles down between the leaves as well as over the centre. Pack each artichoke with the stuffing, pressing it down into them, then pour water into the tray so it comes 0.5cm up the sides of the artichokes (you’ll need about 400ml in all). Cover tightly with foil and bake for 50 minutes; top up with water if the tray gets dry. Remove the foil and bake for 10 minutes more, until the top of the stuffing is crisp and golden. Remove, leave to cool for five minutes and serve.

• Yotam Ottolenghi is chef/patron of Ottolenghi and Nopi in London.