Flower Power

In 1960s San Francisco, “flower power” meant more to my family than daisies in rifle barrels. It meant flowers to eat: zucchini blossoms, caper buds, nasturtium and fava bean flowers, wisteria and acacia blooms and, especially, artichokes.

I recall exactly when and where I learned that artichokes are immature inflorescences, the scaly buds of edible flowers seemingly from some lost saurian age. It was in 1964, near Castroville, a “Grapes of Wrath” farm town in Steinbeck country. My father had driven us down Highway 1 from San Francisco, past Santa Cruz, to a fishing pier at Moss Landing. Over the sandy plain east of the highway spread fields of spiky plants bristling with maces. The air smelled of beach fires and smoking oil. From a flyblown roadside stand my mother, a transplanted Italian, bought something fried and began to nibble. “Flowers,” my father, the gardener, said. “Your mother is eating fried artichokes. If you let artichokes grow, they look like big purple thistles.”

Shortly afterward we moved from San Francisco to my mother’s native Rome. The grocery stores on every ancient street sold bottled artichoke hearts. The scent of artichokes crisping in olive oil wafted from trattoria terraces facing Baroque fountains. Campo de’ Fiori, the open market where my mother shopped, reminded me of the familiar fields of Castroville, festooned with spiky artichokes.

Italians call artichokes carciofi. In Rome, the native carciofi romaneschi are a cult vegetable, with as many different names as there are sizes. Street markets provide nearly year-round thrills for artichoke aficionados like me. Small carciofi are carciofini, big ones from the plant’s main stem are called cimaroli, mamme or mammole, depending on what neighborhood you come from. Medium-size artichokes are called either figli, children, or braccioli, from the plants’ arms, le braccia.

Romans eat romaneschi and other artichokes raw, pickled, fried, braised, fricasseed and barbecued, alone or in sauces and stews, in frittatas, with roasts, fish, squid and shellfish. They distill them into green-black liqueurs such as Cynar or Fernet-Branca, which are believed to possess miraculous curative powers. “Have a spoonful,” my mother would say, chasing after me whenever I felt unwell.

From Steinbeck country to the suburbs of Rome, artichoke festivals celebrate the vegetable’s versatility. Castroville calls itself the world’s artichoke capital and hosts a two-day artichoke festival that draws about 15,000. Similarly, dusty old Sezze, south of Rome, and hayseed Ladispoli, north of the city, each claim artichoke capital status. The latter two boast weeklong carciofo jamborees that attract hundreds of thousands visitors.

In Castroville, folks compete to see how many artichokes they can gobble, and there’s an artichoke-burrito prize. In Sezze and Ladispoli, artichoke maestros wield curved-blade paring knives in speed-trimming competitions, while cooks transform carciofi into everything from classic antipasti to artichoke-heart gelato.

Sooner or later someone in or near Rome was going to have to marry artichokes with carbonara, another culinary cult favorite. Will the combination play in Castroville, I wonder?

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Vegetarian Carbonara with Artichoke Hearts

Serves 4

1 lemon, preferably organic, halved

2 medium artichoke hearts, fresh or frozen, finely chopped

2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

1/4 cup hot water

4 large eggs, at room temperature

2 heaping tablespoons freshly grated Pecorino Romano

Freshly ground black pepper

Kosher salt or coarse sea salt

1 pound spaghetti

1 cup freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano in a bowl

Freshly ground black pepper

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Juice one half of lemon into a medium-size bowl of cold water and submerge artichokes. Use remaining lemon half to rub the artichokes as you work.

Heat the oil in a large, nonreactive frying pan. Add artichokes and stir, sauteing until browned, 3-4 minutes. Add 1/4 cup hot water, cover and steam until tender, about 2 minutes. Remove the lid and boil off remaining water. Remove from heat and allow to cool, 3-4 minutes.

Separate yolks of 2 eggs. Put yolks and cream into a small mixing bowl. Crack remaining eggs into the bowl and beat thoroughly, incorporating the Pecorino Romano. Add pepper to taste. Pour egg mixture into the warm frying pan and stir. Boil 5 quarts of water. Add pinch of salt. Add pasta, stir and cover pot. Return to a boil, remove lid and cook pasta uncovered until al dente. Drain and transfer the pasta immediately to the frying pan with the egg-and-artichoke mixture. Stir vigorously until thoroughly coated. Cover frying pan. Let sit for 1 minute. Serve with pepper and freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano.

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David Downie’s next book is the forthcoming “Cooking the Roman Way: Authentic Recipes from the Home Cooks and Trattorias of Rome” (HarperCollins).