To make carciofialla giudia, the fried artichokes that Roman Jews have prepared for centuries during the thistle’s spring harvest, cooks start by plucking the tough bracts off a bunch of very fresh blooms. Next, they trim and strip the stalks of their fibrous skin and carve the blossoms to expose their inner cone of tender, chartreuse leaves. Then they deep-fry the artichokes a few at a time—twice. Once to soften up the vegetable’s dense heart, and again to make the petals unfurl and crisp.
It’s a lot of ceremony for a simple primo, but according to Joyce Goldstein, chef and author of several books, including Cucina Ebraica: Flavors of the Italian Jewish Kitchen (1998), the fuss was intentional for Renaissance-era Jews. When they were banished to the ghetto along the Tiber River and stripped of their livelihoods, they made the very best of what they could get—which, food-wise, was mostly produce.
“The vegetables were like a festival of food,” Goldstein said, “and you wanted to make each one sort of special so that
