Prepping artichokes can look a little intimidating, but it’s actually quite easy. Have a look at this guide to learn the finer points:
https://www.seriouseats.com/how-to-prepare-cut-trim-clean-artichokes-hearts
Unlike many stuffed artichokes (alla Romano, for example), in the Carluccio method they’re cooked the right way up, so they need to be a fairly tight fit in the pan so they don’t fall over. The red artichokes we have in the shop hardly have any choke, and what’s there is perfectly edible, so you don’t need to worry about scooping it out.
This recipe is simplicity itself, but the method and cooking time are the same whatever you decide to stuff them with. Serve, slightly smashed, on bruschetta with a smear of Haverstock White or Graceburn Persian feta or as part of an antipasti or mezze spread. Other options include a soft, sweet blue (Dolcelatte-style), nduja, or simply herby breadcrumbs.
When stuffing, you need to leave a fair bit of bract (the spiky bits), otherwise you won’t have anything to hold the filling. The more you leave, the better so the fresher and more tender the artichokes, the better. Discarded, half-chewed leaves on the plate aren’t a great look.
More a delicious platter of fresh and flavoursome ingredients - with the lamb getting a best supporting actor award - than classic British meat and three vegetables. It's a fairly daunting list of ingredients but you'll find many of them in the spice rack. There's nothing complicated and it doesn't need to be any hotter than warm so there's no pressure with timings etc. Most of it can be done in advance. We've opted for baking, rather than frying, the flatbread strips and toasting the nuts but feel free to differ. Either way, it's a sure fire showstopper.
At Ben’s Farm Shop, we love dishes that celebrate simple, honest ingredients and this vibrant salad does just that. This recipe is a from Brindisa, it’s all about contrast: smooth, creamy hummus paired with crunchy roasted chickpeas and cauliflower, finished with a fresh, colourful chopped salad.
Using quality chickpeas that crisp up beautifully in the oven, this dish is as satisfying as it is wholesome. Perfect for a light lunch or as a generous sharing side, it’s a great example of how a few good ingredients can come together to create something really special.
When chef, Rowley Leigh, suggested serving a frittedda at our, somewhat premature, 'end of covid' celebratory lunch in June, 2021 I thought he was talking a bout an omelette. I missed the lunch because my daughter came back from London with, guess what, covid, so it was a while before I really familiarised myself with Sicilian frittedda. Since then it's become a family staple and I'm particularly partial to extending the primavera theme by adding a few Jersey Royal or Cornish new potatoes. Obviously fresh peas and beans are best but frozen will still give a pretty good result. Just adjust the cooking times accordingly. I also like to add a little preserved lemon. It's not traditional but, with North Africa just across the Strait of Sicily, it doesn't feel too sacrilegious.
Frittedda is a tasty vegetable stew / salad originating in the Sicilian capital, Palermo. Prepared with fresh broad beans, peas, asparagus and artichokes, it’s a ‘primavera’ classic for spring (in Italy) or early summer in the UK and can truly be called “spring on a plate”. The vegetables are slowly sautéed, and gently shaken rather than stirred in order to preserve the textures and flavours of each ingredient – the sweetness of the peas, the pleasant bitterness of the artichokes, and the nutty flavour of broad beans.
These flavours can be rounded with the addition of agrodolce, sauce made with caramelized sugar and vinegar. Our Frittedda will work with the antipasto, as a side dish with the cheese tart of pork, or a vegetarian main course. Back in Palermo, it is often served with panelle – Sicilian chickpea/gram flour fritters.
My artichokes were so young that no choke had formed at the centre; larger ones will have to be quartered and the chokes carefully removed. Fresh peas can be added to the mix, or as a substitute for asparagus.
The agrodolce sauce (one part sugar dissolved in two parts white wine vinegar and reduced by half) can be gently mixed in, warm, at the end. How much you add is a matter of choice. If you're serving frittedda as a side dish, you don't want it too fierce so keep it minimal. If it's as part of an antipasta platter a stronger agrodolce flavour might be in order.
This spatchcock chicken with sticky miso & harissa is sure to wow any guests you have over this summer. It's simple to put together but the delicious umami and sweet flavours of the marinade give it a mouth-watering and succulently complex taste.
For years I thought that anything other than the green Genovese version was sacrilege - until I was introduced to its Sicilian cousin aka Trapanese. Since then, I’ve been swimming with the Trapanesian fishes. The only caveat is that you have to have the right tomatoes. Only the finest and tastiest will do and that definitely doesn’t include cherry - or anything available in the supermarket.
You need that mythical beefsteak tomato some old lady in a french provisioners used to make you a sandwich, one hot afternoon just outside Carcassonne about twenty years ago. As you can tell, it was the highlight of my holiday but I was firmly put in my place a few years later when a friend, who had had a similar experience told me that she had extracted some tomato seeds from said sandwich, smuggled them back to Blighty, germinated and grown them the next year. Now that really must have been a good sandwich.
Anyway, back to the pesto. It’s a simple concoction of peeled and deseeded diced tomatoes (blessed by the lady in black from Carcassonne), blanched almonds, garlic, basil and a little mint. Recipes invariably call for Sicilia or Sardinian pecorino but I reckon it’s best left out of the sauce and grated over the finished dish.
If, like me, you've been suffering over the not so festive period, not only does cooking become a bit of a chore but, even worse, it's hard to summon up much enthusiasm for the fruits of your labour. Unless those fruits include a 'Totnes hug' of a chicken soup. It might have been slightly hijacked by Ashkenazi Jews as 'Jewish penicillin' but I think it's true to say that every culture has its own, much cherished, version. This one started in Persia - so, as with so much Middle Eastern food, probably by the historic Sephardic population.