Jerusalem Artichoke

Despite their names and their common family, the Jerusalem artichoke and the globe artichoke aren't at all alike—one is a tuber, the other a thistle. Yet, flavorwise, they relate perfectly in this pasta dish. Add some slivers of red onion, lots of garlic, a kick of red pepper flakes, a squeeze of lemon juice, and a shower of thinly sliced fresh mint and you have a boldly seasoned pasta dish worthy of serving to company yet easy enough for a family meal.

AFTER WALKING BY A BIN OF LOCALLY GROWN, knobby brown sunchokes one autumn afternoon, I became curious about this unusual ingredient. Also known as Jerusalem artichokes, they taste like a cross between an artichoke heart and a potato and are at their best in the fall and winter months. If you can’t find sunchokes, substitute Yukon Gold potatoes.

The kormas of India, serene, rich, silken, have much in them that works with the sweetness of the parsnip—cream, yogurt, nuts, sweet spices. The Mughal emperors who originally feasted on such mildy spiced and lavishly finished recipes may not have approved of my introduction of common roots but the idea works well enough. Despite instructions the length of a short story, I can have this recipe on the table within an hour. For those who like their Indian food on the temperate side.

Good cooking often comes from simply going with what is around at the time. Ingredients that are in season at the same time tend to go together—in this case, the last of a hat trick of leek soups made with all that is left in the depleted winter vegetable patch.

A damp January morning (2006) and a walk round the vegetable patch reveals only two herbs in reasonable condition: rosemary, which loses some of its potency in winter, and parsley, most of which has collapsed in a dead faint to the ground. I value both enormously, feeling even now that they have an edge on the imported basil and spindly thyme in the markets. Both respond well to earthy winter cooking. Chilled to the bone (I find it’s the damp that gets to me more than the temperature), I come in and use the parsley where it really matters: in a pan of braised artichokes and pork sausage, whose brown depths I freshen up with Italian lemons and, at its side, some crisp and chewy greens.

I have long made a simple artichoke soup by adding the scrubbed tubers to softened onions, pouring over stock, and then simmering until the artichokes fall apart. I often add a little lemon juice, bay leaves, and sometimes a thumb of ginger. I blitz it in the blender, then stir in lots of chopped parsley. Some might introduce cream at this point but I honestly don’t think it’s necessary. The soup is velvety enough. It has become a staple in this kitchen over the last few winters; its warm nuttiness is always welcome on a steely-skied January day. Late in the winter of 2008, possibly having had one day too many of what Beth Chatto calls “dustbin-lid skies,” I changed the soup’s tone by adding a stirring of bright green spinach. As often happens, it came about by accident—a bowl of creamed spinach left over from a boiled ham lunch—added to the soup just to use it up. The magic in this soup is in the marriage of earthy cold-weather food and a shot of mood-lifting chlorophyll. Spring is obviously stirring.

The juicy crunch of a raw artichoke bears many of the qualities of a water chestnut. Few ingredients pack such snowy crispness. I use them in a parsley-flecked salad to add a snap to baked pork chops, but have also offered them at a Saturday bread’n’cheese lunch of Cornish Yarg and Appleby’s Cheshire. Lemon is essential if the peeled tubers are not to discolor.

Having discovered the delights of raw artichoke with lemon and walnut oil, it was only a matter of time before the ingredients took the leap into the pan. A main course of artichokes is probably more than most gentle people could take, so I use this as something to cuddle up to a main course. It is very good with smoked mackerel.

Jerusalem artichokes share with the potato an ability to drink up both dressings and the fat in which they cook. Roll a still-warm steamed artichoke or potato in a sharp oil and vinegar dressing and it will soak up the liquid like a sponge. It is this quality that makes them a candidate for cooking in luxurious mediums such as bacon fat or, better still, duck fat. This contemporary twist on the sautéed potato is, as you might expect, something with which to garnish a steak. An ice-crisp salad of winter leaves (Belgian endive, radicchio, frisée, maybe) would slice the edge off its richness.

“Monday cold cuts” is a key dish in our house: it shows our intent to use every scrap, to make the most of what we have, but it also gives me a break. It is one meal I don’t have to think about other than sharpening the carving knife. The appearance of thin slices of cold meat on the first day of the week also gives me a chance to consider a side dish more interesting than a baked potato. Sometimes I bring out a bubble and squeak, fried in my old cast-iron pan, or some leftover mashed root vegetables warmed in a bowl over hot water with a tablespoon of butter; other times it’s red cabbage, shredded with pickled walnuts as black as coal. Another favorite is a warm salad of some sort of root vegetable, fried or steamed, then turned in a mustardy dressing.

Jerusalem artichokes (sometimes marketed as “sunchokes”) are a hardy fall root vegetable. Their appealingly offbeat flavor and texture, something of a cross between potatoes and water chestnuts, will appeal to adventurous soup-makers. Barley or Rice Triangles (page 152) complement this soup nicely.

Any recipe that includes cauliflower makes me a happy girl. In this dish I roast cauliflower (which is one of the easiest ways to cook it) together with Jerusalem arties (a.k.a. sunchokes), and the payoff is huge: You get great flavor and a really sexy texture. Then I add some spices. The end result is a super-special, slightly exotic side dish—with a minimum amount of effort. This is the way I like to roll!

The Palestine Gardens is a miniature replica of sites from the Holy Land built down in the piney woods around Lucedale, Mississippi. For sixteen years Reverend Walter Harvell Jackson and his wife searched for a place to build his Bible-themed garden. After seven years of construction, the forty-acre garden opened in 1960 with Bethlehem, Jericho, and Jerusalem all constructed out of concrete blocks, and with its own Dead Sea. It has expanded over the years to include the Sea of Galilee. Jerusalem artichokes do well in the kind of sandy soil and full sun they have down there in George County and will thrive in most gardens, producing the edible tubers and brilliant yellow sunflowers. I like to serve this over Israeli couscous, of course.

A disadvantage of these root vegetables is that they provoke wind. But they do have a delicious flavor. Smoother, less knobbly varieties available today are easier to peel.

When I worked in Gray Kunz's kitchens at Lespinasse, there was an honest-to-God Swiss princess living at the St. Regis Hotel. Her name was Princess Doria, and every night, she would phone down to the kitchen and tell us what she wanted to eat for dinner. In the beginning, Gray would cook for her himself: he was Swiss, she was Swiss, it was a whole Swiss thing going on. But after a while, he got tired of taking her calls, and the job devolved to me and the sous chefs. Every night, that phone would ring, and I would say, "Good evening, Princess," and she would tell me what she wanted to eat that night. Princess Doria wasn't into super-fancy creative cooking: her thing was refined-but-homey. Some- times, for example, it would be a roast pintade for two: I would plate the breast for her, and the thighs for her cat. So I developed some dishes that were just for her. I named them after her: Salad Doria, Chicken Doria. And sometimes on cold winter nights, she would call down and say, "Andrew, I would like some Soup Doria tonight, please." Time passed. I left Lespinasse to travel and cook in France. When I got back to New York, I helped open Le Cirque 2000 in the Palace Hotel. We'd been up and running about two weeks when the kitchen phone rang by my station one night, right in the middle of the busiest part of service. I heard a familiar voice say, in French-accented tones, "Andrew?" Princess Doria on the line. She'd moved on to the Palace right behind me, and she would be pleased, she said, if I would send up some Soup Doria for her. This soup is just Princess Doria's style. It's really a potage—a French minestrone, a chunky winter vegetable soup. I like to sprinkle Parmesan cheese on top and serve it with some crusty, crunchy French bread.

Chef Todd Aarons of Tierra Sur at Herzog Wine Cellars in Oxnard, California, shared this recipe as part of a Hanukkah cocktail party menu he created exclusively for Epicurious. These potato and Jerusalem artichoke latkes fry up quickly and are best served immediately, but if necessary, they can be held briefly in a warm oven. If you can't find Jerusalem artichokes—also known as sunchokes—Aarons recommends substituting parsnips or celery root.

Horseradish has a very special sharp, peppery taste that is highly versatile. It can be used in sauces and dressings, or just shredded and sprinkled on a cold piece of meat served on a slice of bread with mustard. Horseradish grows very well in our climate. If you can't find chervil for the sauce, use parsley.

Pumpkin seeds are available at many supermarkets and at natural foods stores and Latin markets. The pumpkin seed oil can be found at specialty foods stores and at surfasonline.com.

The small, knobby tubers called Jerusalem artichokes grow wild all along the Eastern Seaboard, and southerners have long prized their sweet, nutty crispness in turmeric-spiked relishes and pickles. Countless cooks south of the Mason-Dixon Line have inherited a yellow-stained index card that reads something like this.

Chefs will tell you that sometimes inspiration comes from the exalted—but just as often by chance. "I was shopping for porcini mushrooms at a restaurant-supply store and saw a bag of king oyster mushrooms sitting next to a package of some amazing pistachios," says Chang, though this sophisticated dish would never give away its accidental origins.

Editor's note: Erika Lenkert, author of the book, The Last-Minute Party Girl: Fashionable, Fearless, and Foolishly Simple Entertaining, learned this recipe from Chef Hiro Sone. For Lenkert's tips on throwing a last-minute New Year's Eve party, click here. One holiday I hosted a potluck dinner party in Napa with some of my favorite food friends, including one of my very favorite chefs on earth — Hiro Sone — accompanied by his talented pastry chef wife and dear friend Lissa. Hiro anted up this soup, which I forced him to teach me how to make. It offers truly luxurious results with minimal effort. Kept covered and warm in a double boiler on the stove, its velvety texture and creamy flavor should last the length of any party.