“The best snack is the head of wild artichoke”
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THE CHILDREN HIDE AND SEEK behind the unchanging, micro-monument of dry stones, identical to the early spring. The unseen roots of artichokes and springtime patiently endure the fiery, long summer beneath the scorched skin of the small and great southern stems, surrounded by the sea, until they muster all their will and strength and begin to flourish. The people who tend the gardens and fields know that the rich artichokes in their gardens are eager to emerge into the light, so they handle them with care. This plant, much like them, is resilient to the harsh life of the arid islands, offering so much while demanding only the bare minimum.
Once you plant artichokes, they’re yours forever, requiring little care. They’re akin to the God-given wild grasses that grow untended. However, once the new plants have sprouted and are jostling for dominance, you need to “thin” them out to allow them to spread and grow more vigorously. Even at this stage of growth, the artichoke feeds the fantasies of traditional cooks before it even shows its face. They gather the tender leaves from the heart of the plant, peel them, and keep only the crunchy stalk, which they cut into four-centimetre pieces. These are lightly boiled in salted water and paired with a variety of dishes, such as goat’s egg lemon, fish, rabbit, or pork with braised agnar leaves.
The best snack is the head of a wild artichoke. Generally speaking, raw artichokes – whether day-old or wild – in their natural form, cut into fanciful shapes, are the first hint of ripe heads and pair very well with rakes, requiring no treatment except for brining with lemon, or simply, light charring over a fire.
The magic of traditional cooking with a modern twist is ubiquitous on Sitia’s waterfront at Onodion, where Gogo Garefalaki works her culinary wonders. She cooks pork with braised agnarophylls, heating olive oil in a pot and frying the medium-sized pork pieces along with the chopped “karedaki” onions. She then deglazes with red, aged wine and lets the dish simmer over low heat.
When the meat is nearly cooked, Gogo seasons it with salt and adds to the pot the shredded stems of the artichoke leaves that she has previously boiled for a quarter of an hour, drained, and set aside. She also adds plenty of grated tomatoes and lemon juice, and continues cooking for another quarter of an hour. Towards the end, she increases the heat to “sear” the food and thicken the sauce, adding a touch of black pepper.
In the meantime, after the leaves of the heart of the plant, the evolution of the artichoke’s independent, single-celled life in gardens and mountains continues.
For there are the tame, the semi-wild, and the truly wild. The cycle of the latter – appearing majestically unbidden, alongside other wild grasses in the mountains – draws the attention of those who are passionate about sourcing their food directly from nature, as unprocessed as possible. They spot the plant with its spindly leaves on the ground, and using a knife on either side of the stem, they trim it clean and pull out the entire bare plant. It’s then simply boiled and dressed with oil and lemon, or stewed with onion and tomato sauce. But the best part comes later when the tiny, intimidatingly spindly “heads” are harvested. Despite the painstaking process of snipping with scissors and cleaning with a knife, they ultimately justify the effort on the plate, as they become a part of a yam or even pilaf, delivering their extraordinary, wild flavor.
We were once told, while sipping our victorious tsikoudia at the exit of the Samaria’s “Faranga” in Agia Roumeli, that the best meze is the head of a wild artichoke. In general, raw artichoke – whether it’s a day-old or wild – in its natural form, cut into creative shapes, is the first approach to ripe heads and pairs harmoniously with the rakes. It needs no treatment, except for a lemon brine, or simply, a light charring over a fire, like the one we tasted as a souma meze at “Bakaliko-Galanis” in Triovassalos of Milos. It’s also a convenient roadside snack in the countryside, especially at this time of year. You simply cut the head off the plant and start peeling it, pulling off the leaves one by one, which, as they detach, bring with them a bit of heart flesh at the tip, tempting you to bite it off delightfully, until your mouth and teeth turn black; until you reach the main “food”, the heart, cleaned of its “hair”.
A rare dish that we’ve only encountered at the end of the barren line in Kasso works along the same lines: whole artichoke heads stuffed with rice. You see, it’s the very “body type” of the semi-solid artichoke that tempts you to stuff it. The way the leaves diverge outward with their vestigial spines, making room for the other ingredients. Striking it on the cutting board opens up the head’s leaves and removes the soil and insects they may harbor. They’re then placed in water with lemon slices to make them more digestible and prevent them from browning, until the filling is prepared.
The stuffing is a blend of finely chopped dried and green onion, tomato, parsley, mint, and fennel, mixed with “nihaki” rice, tomato juice, and olive oil, seasoned with salt, turmeric, and ground pepper along with dried coriander.
Begin by stuffing the artichokes with a spoonful of filling, tucking it between the head leaves. Arrange them in a pot so they prop each other up, and simmer them in their own broth, a mix of water, oil, tomato juice, salt, and a squeeze of lemon. The artichoke hearts are boiled in this broth until the leaves detach; the steam cooks the stuffing nestled within.
Spring has sprung, and with it, the dance of artichokes on our tables. These versatile vegetables are a delight for home cooks and professional chefs alike, whether they’re preparing everyday meals or haute cuisine. The artichoke is a versatile star in dishes like stuffed artichoke heads with staka in the oven, goat’s head stuffed with artichokes and staka, omelettes with artichoke heads, dolmades filled with artichoke and other vegetables, artichoke meatballs, artichoke risotto served with lime cheeseburgers, and artichoke moussaka. Katerina Remoundou’s “Stou Zosef” in Pitrofos, Andros, is renowned for its artichoke dishes, including the popular artichoke a la polita eggolemono. Other favorites include artichoke pie, artichoke leaves with alliada, and artichoke soup.
Dolmades stuffed with chopped artichoke hearts are a testament to the creativity of traditional cooks, who elevate simple, everyday ingredients to new heights of deliciousness. Gogo uses blanched fresh or pickled vine leaves to wrap a filling of half a kilo of rice, finely chopped hearts of five or six large May artichokes (or “dafnatas” as she calls them), two large onions, a bunch of parsley, fresh tomatoes, half a spoonful of tomato paste, olive oil, salt, pepper, cumin, and the juice of a lemon. She carefully wraps the dolmades and arranges them upright in the pot, ensuring they stay intact and presentable after boiling. They simmer for an hour in two glasses of water, olive oil, and a final squeeze of lemon juice.
And, of course, the taste of artichokes is enhanced by their local provenance. The artichoke, in various forms such as the renowned pickled artichokes, is an iconic vegetable of Tinos and contributes to its local mythos. The Kefalonian artichoke pie with codfish captures something of the “fugitive” spirit of the people born there. This is why Calliope starts her recipe for agnaropsupa with ten artichokes from the gardens of Vlora, a charming rural settlement in the Olympus region, served on a Monday at the “Golden Beach” in Diafani, at the northern tip of Karpathos.
The recipe continues with a generous handful of dill, three diced potatoes, two mature onions, three spring onions, a cup of olive oil, salt, pepper, and a splash of lemon juice – the perfect complement to artichokes in any form.
This article was first published in the fanzine Taverna
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