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‘We Brake for Artichokes’ : Two Motoring Gourmets Search From Pescadero to Carmel for Deep-Fried Perfection

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<i> Allegra is a food and travel writer based in St. Helena. </i>

We were cruising south to Santa Cruz with the sun roof pulled back and the last wisps of morning fog tracing cool fingers through our hair. The weather was right, and our only immediate ambition, my friend Harvey and I, was to hunt down the best fried artichokes in the area. We had made this plan, sparked by a recommendation from Harvey’s son, Peter, a self-anointed expert in this form of culinary art. “Pescadero,” he’d told us emphatically. “Don’t miss the Greek-American place off the highway.”

In this era of low-fat mania, you’d think that glistening fried artichoke hearts straight out of a hot oil bath would strike horror in American arteries--even in the state that produces virtually all of the nation’s artichokes. Deep-fried artichokes are greasy. They’re fatty and, thanks to thousands of Californians and other tourists courageous enough to defy the health experts, they continue to be immensely popular. Just ask Ray Bei, owner of the Giant Artichoke in Castroville. He’ll tell you that fried artichoke hearts have remained his all-time best seller, without a slump, since his produce stand/restaurant opened in 1965.

So, we followed Peter’s directions. We sailed south from San Francisco to the Pescadero exit and turned east on Pescadero Creek Road, which led us to an otherwise bleak area that clearly serves as a turnaround for 16-wheel rigs and lost motorists. South of the road stood a modest wooden building marked “Dinelli’s Restaurant--Greek & American Food.” Outside the place, a five-foot tower of plastic lugs crammed with just-harvested artichokes balanced against garbage cans overflowing with discarded artichoke leaves.

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A glance around the one-room restaurant told me we were in serious eat-your-heart-out territory. Even though it was closer to breakfast than meals more likely to be followed by Tums, every seat was taken, and each of the five tables sported at least one plate topped with a mountain of deep-fried artichokes flanked by bottles of ketchup and Tabasco. We ordered two servings of fried artichokes ($6.50 per serving of 18 to 20 pieces) plus one bowl of “chunky artichoke soup” ($3.95).

While the food was being cooked, I looked around the room. The floor space was overpowered by the to-go counter and the cold drink refrigerator. At a corner table, a family sipped Diet Coke and wine with their artichokes. (So much for the general rule against pairing artichokes and wine.) I saw a burly man wrestling his huge hands around a mammoth bun and burger. Our appetites were delirious with anticipation by the time the food was served. The artichokes arrived: chestnut-colored flowers--evenly cooked and not too oily. Although I’d skip the soup, which was thick and pasty, there is no question that Dinelli’s is a superb source for deep-fried artichokes . . . even for breakfast.

As we headed south from Dinelli’s, down California 1 on our way to Carmel, the sun began to burn and move the sky from gray to pale blue. Kenny G’s soft jazz notes massaged our brains and we chatted about our kids--employed and otherwise--as we savored our good fortune on the artichoke road.

I recalled fried artichoke experiences from my San Francisco childhood. Tiny artichokes, about the size of a baby’s fist, were often brought to my family’s kitchen by my uncle from Carmel. At that time, still in the geographic womb of my untraveled youth, I had yet to make the connection between my uncle in Carmel and his proximity to the Salinas Valley, the heart of artichoke growing in the United States. All I and my four sisters knew was that when he arrived, he had mortadella and artichokes in hand.

After the whole artichokes were halved or quartered by my mother, they sat in a bowl of water spiked with lemon juice until we kids were allowed to drain the gray-green leafy chunks and dip them into a prepared batter. Then the magic happened. The creamy, coated, hard bits of artichoke were plunged into hot oil and, within minutes, the pieces emerged a toasty brown, plucked from the deep fat fryer’s wire basket, ready for us to devour without any dressing or sauce.

As we drove south along the coast from Santa Cruz to Carmel, we found ourselves deep in the center of the sea of spiky plants that is artichoke country in the spring. Mile after mile offered views of silvery-green rows occasionally broken by a tractor’s profile. Could the 19th-Century Spanish settlers who first planted artichokes in California have imagined travelers driving through their plantations at speeds faster than a horse-drawn carriage? In fact, in their wildest dreams could they have envisioned Japanese chefs cooking their artichokes?

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Since a frequent description of deep-fried artichoke hearts is “something like tempura,” we decided to track down a Japanese restaurant listed in the Monterey area dining guide. At Robata Grill and Sake Bar in the Barnyard shopping center in Carmel, we enjoyed the “Castroville 10” appetizer (95 cents), listed as tempura-fried mushrooms and artichoke hearts served with a mustard-mayonnaise sauce. The restaurant proffered the feeling of a Japanese country inn, with wooden booths topped with short cotton curtains. Behind the sushi bar, a diligent Japanese chef and his Hispanic assistant fileted fish and mounded sushi rice nonstop. The sushi was delicious, and so were the fried mushrooms and artichoke hearts, with the caveat that the artichoke hearts were canned, which seemed unfortunate in artichoke farmland.

The following morning we hit the artichoke trail with a specific plan: No more than three stops (to be kind to our stomachs) and the Giant Artichoke in Castroville was a must.

First stop was Pezzini Farms in the Crossroads shopping center in Carmel. The night before, we had spoken with some Salinas Valley natives who directed us to Pezzini . . . “in case you’re ready for a break from fried artichoke hearts.” (We were.) The steamed artichokes ($2.95 per artichoke) were more than a break: They were delicious. “Which sauce’ll you have?” asked the college-age girl at the counter. The options were: onion-herb, pesto, lemon-dill and garlic-Dijon. We tried the latter two and ate at white plastic tables outside the fish shop next door. The presentation was fast-foodish, but the artichokes were perfectly steamed, the sauces appropriate and the hearts had a velvety texture that outsung their fried cousins when it came to true artichoke flavor.

We were now on our route back north on California 1, heading to Castroville and pondering such riddles as where fried artichokes originated. There is much debate, but one prevalent story has it that a local woman, Emilia Tottino, now 90 years old, moved to Castroville in 1923 and soon thereafter became known for her fried artichokes, which her daughter Dolores worked into a recipe. That very recipe has made deep-fried artichokes famous during the annual two-day food extravaganza called the Castroville Artichoke Festival (this year, Sept. 18-19). During the festival, artichokes are served fried (inspired by Tottino’s recipe), steamed, marinated, sauteed, in soup, on pizza and in nut breads as dessert. Above all else, deep-fried artichokes are the most popular.

Certainly one of the region’s landmarks is the Giant Artichoke, in the growing fields outside Castroville. The enterprise offers a restaurant featuring artichoke dishes and a fresh produce market with artichokes of all sizes, and a wine/cheese/takeout food shop.

Fried artichokes are offered for varying prices under the shade of the mammoth green artichoke, which dominates the landscape. You can buy a pound bag of frozen French-fried artichokes in the produce market for $6.25. (I bought them but cannot speak to their success, since they are still in my freezer. I am, alas, dieting for my son’s June wedding.) The restaurant lists fried artichokes at $4.50 for a dozen pieces (cooked to order), and the takeout area sells trays of 15 fried but creamy pieces for $3.95 (precooked and held under heat lamps for a quick turnover due to the popularity of the place). You can also buy artichoke plants, artichoke flour, batter for fried artichokes, artichoke magnets, aprons, pot holders, mugs, key chains and so on. I still prefer the lighter style of the Pescadero fried artichokes to these, but if you like batter-dipped deep-fried food, this is a place you’ll return for sure.

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Our final visit was to the Moss Landing Deli Bar & Company, which stands in the shade of the PG&E; power plant north of Castroville, still on California 1. On the way to the Moss Landing frontage road paralleling the highway, we had passed furrowed brown fields ready for planting, as well as acres of Brussels sprouts and the ever-present artichokes. Suddenly, instead of gray-green fields, we saw trailer parks, antique shops, a military clothing/collectibles center and an ersatz castle with llama rug salesmen displaying their wares.

And then there was the restaurant. This place is truly the Holy Grail of grease, yet the deli bar folks offered the strongest welcome of the artichoke odyssey. I’d compare the chummy warmth to that of an English pub. And I’d equate the “Deep Fried Artichokes” advertised on a large blue and white board out front with the sizzling batter style of British fish ‘n’ chips. Our $4.95 bought a dozen artichoke pieces coated with an herb batter. On a scale of 1 to 10, these rated “8” in the grease department.

Two days of this foray-for-the-fried may be one day too many. By the time we had chomped down our last Moss Landing artichoke, Harvey and I felt like the Thelma and Louis of California 1, ready to drive into the horizon of ocean-rimmed artichoke country with one twist on the movie: Instead of careening off a Grand Canyon cliff into oblivion, we jaunted home with happy memories and contented--although heavy--stomachs. Our plans include a return to others of the dozens of fried artichoke delis, dives and drive-ins from Pescadero to Monterey, and to the siren call of cholesterol and artichokes.

GUIDEBOOK

Where to Find Great Artichokes

Dinelli’s Restaurant--Greek & American Food, 1956 Pescadero Creek Road, Pescadero; telephone (415) 879-0106. Open Wednesday-Sunday, 10 a.m.-8 p.m.; closed Monday and Tuesday.

Robata Grill and Sake Bar, 3658 The Barnyard, Carmel; tel. (408) 624-2643. Open daily 5-9 p.m., sometimes later on the weekends.

Pezzini Farms, 102 Crossroads Blvd., Carmel; tel. (408) 626-2734. Open Monday-Saturday 8 a.m.-6 p.m., Sunday 9 a.m.-5 p.m.

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Giant Artichoke, 11241 Merritt St., Castroville; tel. (408) 633-4259. Restaurant open daily, 6 a.m.-9 p.m.; wine and cheese store open daily, 8 a.m.-7 p.m.

Moss Landing Deli Bar & Company, 421 Moss Landing Road, Moss Landing; tel. (408) 633-3355. Open daily 7 a.m.-4 p.m.

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