Roman Artichokes

By Patricia Winton

At this time of year, the giant purple Roman artichoke—known as cimiroli—comes into season. Two regional recipes, carciofi alla romana (Roman artichokes) and carciofi alla giudia (Jewish artichokes), vie for the dinner table. Either may join the Easter feast. The former, carciofi alla romana, requires less work. Both are delicious when well cooked.

I have to admit that I’ve never tackled the carciofi alla giudia (a fried artichoke) because it’s quite complicated. I've savored them at restaurants in the Roman ghetto, however, and they are quite wonderful. If you are interested, you can see a video (dubbed in English) that demonstrates the process.

To make both recipes, first you must clean the globes. (The video linked above gives a good demonstration of how to do this.) In Italy, artichokes are normally sold with a portion of the stem, which is edible. To clean, first prepare a bowl of water with the juice of a lemon along with the two lemon halves. Artichokes will darken your hands, so you may want to rub them with the lemon before you begin.

The first step is to snap off the tough outer leaves. Keep going until you begin to see green edges at the base of the remaining artichokes. Next, cut off the points by taking a sharp paring knife and begin making a horizontal cut midway between the base and tip. Turn the artichoke as you go, cutting deeper and deeper into the flesh until you reached the center. Next, use the knife to peel away the tough base of the leaves you removed earlier. Peel any stem remaining. Put the artichoke in the waiting water. Now choose a recipe, either the one below or the one in the video.

Carciofi alla Romana

4 globe artichokes (cleaned and put to soak in lemon water)

2 clove of garlic, minced

2 tablespoons chopped mint
3 tablespoons chopped Italian parsley

salt and pepper

1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil
water

Mix together the garlic, mint, parsley, and enough of the olive oil to moisten the mixture. Mix well. (The usual mint used in this dish is mentuccia—Roman mint—but you can substitute other mint if the mentuccia is not available.)

Remove the artichokes, shaking and blotting with paper towels to remove water.

Using your thumbs, stretch open each artichoke, making a little well in the center, and pull apart the leaves without breaking or separating them.

Fill each artichoke with some of the mixture, rubbing the exterior with the mixture as well. Place the artichoke in a large pot.

Pour the remaining oil over the artichokes and add enough water to come half-way up. Cover the artichokes with a large piece of crumpled parchment paper.

Cover the pan and bring to a simmer, cooking over a moderate flame for half an hour.

Pierce the artichokes with a fork to check if they are done. Continue cooking until they are tender, if necessary.

Serve the artichokes at room temperature.

Serves 4.

Join me on alternate Thursdays at Novel Adventurers. Next week I blog about my first journey to Italy, a trip fraught with seemingly insurmountable hurdles.

Happy New Year, Pisan Style

By Patricia Winton

If you got off to a slow start this year, if you’ve lagged behind in keeping your resolutions, if 2013 is shaping up to be a bad year, take heart. You can join the Tuscan city of Pisa and celebrate New Year 2014 on March 25.

The stile pisano—Pisan style—dates back to 985 AD. The New Year begins on the day of the annunciation, which is when the Angel Gabriel announced to the Virgin Mary that she would become the mother of Jesus. The date, March 25, is nine month before Christmas, the birth of Christ.

The Pisans, known both for warring with other cities and engaging in trade, took their calendar with them to such cities as Milan, Padua, and Pistoia. In 1749, the Grand Duke of Tuscany decreed that the entire Tuscan region should follow the Gregorian calendar—the one we use today.

This decree did not please the Pisans who continued to count the years in their own style in private. To use the Pisan style, you date January 1 to March 24 like the Gregorian calendar, but from March 25 forward, you must subtract one year.

This practice eventually died out, but in 1999, historical society researchers found archives detailing these old New Year’s celebrations, complete with menus. The Pisans, recognizing a good commercial venture, reinstated the celebration as a kickoff to the tourist season. Last year, 40,000 people from outside Italy traveled to Pisa for the event.

Pisano pulpit

The ceremonies begin this year on Saturday, March 23, with events throughout the city, ranging from reenactments to equestrian demonstrations, continuing Sunday. On Monday a parade of people in medieval dress ends in the Field of Miracles, the area where the cathedral, the baptistery, and the leaning tower sit. Inside the Romanesque cathedral, there is a religious ceremony ending precisely at noon. At that moment, an astronomical event occurs. A ray of light floods a round window in the cathedral dome and strikes a marble egg, symbolizing fertility, next to the Giovanni Pisano pulpit. And that, for the Pisans, marks the beginning of the new year.

So if you need a new start, join the Pisans. Buon Anno 2014.

The Lollipop Guild

By Patricia Winton

Munchkinland isn’t the only place with a Lollipop Guild, but Italy’s Lollipop Guild isn’t here to welcome you; they’re here to stop you. Italian police use the paletta del poliziotto (which resembles a giant lollipop) as a signal for drivers to stop. The paletta is a metal or plastic circle, about ten inches (25 centimeters) in diameter mounted on a stick; one side is red, the other green. Police keep them handy, attached to the doors of squad cars. Spiffy motorcycle cops tuck the lollies inside their boots, making them easy to grab. I’ve seen bicycle troops with the paletta sticking out of saddlebags, and while I haven’t seen them, I suspect the Venetian version of motorcycle patrols use them as well.

Italian motorists, and even pedestrians, know the paletta means stop. Squad cars, sirens wailing, swoosh through intersections with a cop holding the paletta out the window. To the uninitiated, that little circle of red may go unnoticed, but you ignore it at your peril. The police officer with the lolly has the right of way. Fortunately, the sirens are a better signal for most tourists to Italy.

There can be perils for the police, as well. A couple of years ago, a police officer saw a motorist trying to pass another car on a dangerous stretch of road where passing was prohibited. The officer stuck out his paletta to stop the car. It was traveling too fast, and the side mirror of the car struck the paletta, wrenching the officer’s arm and breaking his elbow.

The paletta is also sometimes used in crime. Thieves armed with a counterfeit paletta target cars with foreign tags. In one recent case, such a thief stopped a French man driving a camper. Once the driver opened the window, the thief ordered him to open up the back of the van, which he planned to strip of its valuables. This tourist was lucky. Real police officers came upon the incident. The thief tried to hide his paletta falsa under his jacket, but he was apprehended and the French man went on his way.

In another case, two men impersonating police officers stopped a van carrying three Hungarian tourists, using a counterfeit paletta. One of the tourists became suspicious and asked to inspect the police credentials. This trio enjoyed good fortune as well in that Caribinieri came along in time to interrupt the thieves and take them into custody.

Genuine and Counterfeit Palette

The genuine paletta has a band of white reflective material around the rim with the name of the issuing agency (municipal government, defense department, state department, etc.) with the agency’s seal in the center. Many counterfeits don’t have any identifying marks. So if you’re in Italy, respect that lollipop if you encounter one, but be wary as well. That is, “trust, but verify.”

Please join me on alternate Thursdays at Novel Adventurers. Next week I'm writing about one of my favorite Italian treats.

A Chocolate Battle

Today is Valentine’s Day, and if tradition holds, Italian television viewers will be treated to emotional discussions about why Italian chocolate is the best. On cooking segments of news shows. On a consumer affairs show. On the grandaddy of Italian cooking shows “La Prova del Cuoco” (“The Test of the Cook”).

It’s a ranting that has waged for ten years, but its seeds go back to the early 1970s. In 1973, Britain, Ireland, and Denmark produced chocolate using vegetable oils such as palm or karité instead of cocoa butter. Other countries in the European Union had the option of banning chocolate made without cocoa butter. Not only could countries such as France, Belgium, and Italy regulate how chocolate was made within their own borders, they could also ban imports that didn’t follow their rules.

Italy's favorite, gianduia

For 27 years, the European parliament tried to hammer out a compromise to please all 15 member nations. Two primary arguments emerged, economics vs. taste. The cost of cocoa butter continues to rise, argued those who favored economics, while vegetable fats allow manufactures to produce chocolate at a lower cost—a savings passed on to the consumer. But, counter the purists, chocolate made with cocoa butter simply tastes better.

The purists didn’t rely on emotional responses here; they had science on their side. Cocoa butter, it seems, has a melting point that is slightly lower than human body temperature. When chocolate made with cocoa butter goes into the mouth, it melts faster than chocolate made without it. Thus, there is an immediate burst of flavor.

Finally, in 2000, the European parliament voted to allow chocolate made with five percent vegetable oils to be sold across the union. This change in the law meant that Italy and other countries banning British, Irish, and Danish chocolate had to amend their own laws.

Italy and Spain held that chocolate without cocoa butter had to be labeled “substitute chocolate.” These regulations affected the importation of chocolates made in six of the 15 EU states. The Court of Justice of the European Union ruled against the southerners in 2003, saying that Italy and Spain, along with other EU members, had to accept chocolate made with other oils as “pure chocolate.”

Italy continued to rebel, requiring that chocolate sold within its borders could only be labeled “pure chocolate” if it contained cocoa butter. The EU court ruled against Italy in 2010, threatening the country with a fine if it didn’t permit chocolate with other oils to have that label.

Thus the annual rant. In Italy, where gusto, flavor or taste, is prized above most anything, we’ll hear about what makes chocolate taste good—that cocoa butter melting immediately in our mouths. I challenge you to a taste test.