Snow day Sunday lunch.
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#italy #piedmont #artichoke #carciofi (at Bossolasco)
Springtime in Rome means fried artichokes on the plate.
#italy #rome #food #carciofi (at Piazza Campo Di’ Fiori)
Markets shuttered religiously
Sunday and Monday,
we lucked into
a small shop
in a neighboring village
selling local vegetables
verduras
bucking tradition
in a tiny town
in a catholic country.
Rows piled high
with rainbows of spring
primavera;
asparagus, green garlic,
onions, peas,
rapini, radicchio.
The coiffed grocer
offered kindly to
clean the artichokes
of their daggerous thorns;
peligroso she exclaimed,
dangerous.
The dozen returned
wrapped in paper
like roses for a funeral
sheared
shorn
stripped of character,
demanding to be cooked
quickly
the rosebud
the tender young choke
exposed
deflowered.
Oddly saddened,
longing for the beauty
of the whole creature,
vegetable, fish, fowl
or four-legged creature,
for my two hands
to take apart
to break down
allowing time
for reflection
for joy
for gratitude
even amidst
the mess of
bones, blood, thorns.
#italy #piedmont #langhe #carciofi (at Bossolasco)
Mind the thorns.
#italy #piedmont #langhe #carciofi #vegetables (at Strada Romantica delle Langhe e del Roero)
A rainy Saturday morning breakfast of purple artichokes steamed in old white wine and lemon and finished in a maniacally stoked fireplace; eaten with blazing red cheeks and blackened fingertips only occasionally wiped on a frayed and tattered housedress smelling of wood smoke and garlic.
#eatlikenobodyswatching #italy #piedmont #autumn #artichokes #carciofi (at Bossolasco)
Artichoke.