Artichoke Caponata

It is weird to admit you miss people you’ve never met, but I do. That chef Judy Rodgers no longer walks the earth frequently pains me. Fortunately, she left us with a single, perfect work, the Zuni Café Cookbook.

The Zuni Café Cookbook, together with Paula Wolfert’s The Cooking Of Southwest France, made me the cook I am today. I know I often say so, but these books took me from being a decent cook to somebody who understands herself in the kitchen. Notice I do not say “great cook.” That comes with time and practice. But Rodgers was a born teacher, able to convey her expertise with passion, warmth, and clarity.

This artichoke caponata crops up in variant formats across the Chez Panisse oeuvre: David Tanis offers an artichoke antipasto in his book of nearly the same title; another appears in One Good Dish. David Lebovitz, writing in My Paris Kitchen, chimes in with Artichoke Tapenade in Rosemary Oil. Paul Bertolli pairs artichokes stewed in olive oil with sea bass in Chez Panisse Cooking. These recipes are relatives, their ingredients a call-and-response from the Mothership Alice: olive oil and garlic, lemon and salt. Everyone includes a punchy element: olives, capers, both. There’s vinegar’s acidic bite, or David Tanis’s “small glass of white wine.” Perhaps a bit of cayenne, or minced rosemary, oregano or marjoram or mint. Maybe just chopped parsley. Even Tamar Adler, in the midst of her Everlasting Meal poetics, tosses out an artichoke recipe speaking purely of Chez Panisse:

Put them in a pot in a combination of water and olive oil, a sprinkle of white wine, a single bay leaf, a very big pinch of salt, and a few sprigs of fresh thyme. Simmer them until they’re completely tender.

Of course, there are the artichokes themselves. Canned or frozen won’t do, as they’re either already marinated, or treated with ascorbic acid. Fresh is the name of the game, fresh and as small as you can find them; preferably those marketed as “baby,” too small to have formed chokes, therefore costing more.

If no small artichokes are to be had, buy medium ones. So long as you avoid artichokes the size of your skull, the recipe will work.

This brings us to the general anxiety surrounding artichokes. Namely, many people have no idea how to handle them. There’s also concern about needing lemons to prevent darkening and which knives or pots to use. As this recipe requires long cooking, it does away with the kerfluffle. Use stainless steel or enameled cast iron.  Avoid cheap aluminum. Any oxidation–that is, vegetable darkening–will vanish during cooking.

This is an old-fashioned recipe, the kind requiring time to prepare and a waiting period while the caponata mellows. This is not instant food.

Artichoke caponata begins beautifully, with baby artichokes resplendent in all their Fibonacci glory, accompanied by fresh celery and brick red tomato paste.

Matters grow progressively greyer with every step, the end result looking, Rodgers writes, like “dryish vegetable chutney.”

Prep times are elusive. I don’t know how big your artichokes are or how quickly you peel them. While this recipe won’t take all afternoon, nor is it a 15-minute special. The artichokes need to be fully cooked, which could take 10 minutes or an hour. Trust me: undercooked artichokes make for chalky, unpleasant eating.

A final note: Rodgers uses more sugar in her recipe, making an authentic agrocdulce–sweet-sour–dish. I prefer less sugar. Let taste be your guide; the original recipe adds up to 2 tablespoons.

(serving suggestion. not shown: curious feline.)