All Sunchoked Up
we'd been driving for hours –
After days spent on the 101, the highway that runs adjacent to the slightly more majestic PCH, we finally reached the coast. We stopped the car (a trusty silver Subaru Forester we affectionately named Joe) at Pismo Beach and ran to the sea. It was windy. We were tired. We feigned interest but what we really wanted was to arrive at the Los Alamos motel we'd booked and drink copious amounts of wine. We were half an hour away, and as the sun rose to its highest point we came away from the coast and returned to the 101, listening to a heady mix of sunny 70s sounds, soft modern soul and the occasional punk banger: The Beach Boys, Joni Mitchell, Loyle Carner, BADBADNOTGOOD, The Kinks.
My road trip compadre, Billie, was visiting from London, a second album just recorded and a similar open road, volume-up-and-windows-down mentality (and, happily, a similar thirst for wine). We had booked the The Alamo Motel, captured by its clean-but-nostalgic California aesthetic, the addition of cacti in every room, Pendleton-esque blankets and the convenience of having a wine tasting room on site (we didn't realise until we arrived that Los Alamos is a real one-horse town, so all other establishments are so close they might as well be on-site, too). It didn't disappoint our little motel-loving hearts.
We had only booked in for one night as we were heading south to Santa Barbara and then east to Ojai. With no time to waste, we laid bags down in our room and beelined for Muni, proceeded to try every wine we could and make friends with our pourer, who gave us the lay of the land.
At this point of writing, I've had to pull up a Google Map of Los Alamos because after that first round of drinking, I'm not totally sure where we headed after. But I know there was beer, and that we sat on the floor outside, grabbing the last of the sun on our faces. It's also the last place I remember seeing my favourite pair of sunglasses (RIP).
What I do remember is the sunchokes. We were sat in the dimly lit Bell's restaurant, no doubt more wine flowing as we had earnest conversations often accompanied by salty tears and heartfelt words of affirmation. I wish I'd taken a picture of the menu (I've vowed to start doing this on future trips, whenever they might be) because I only vaguely remember ordering smooth and silken salmon – or was it trout? – either way it was perfectly pink, each flake almost falling off the fork. But it was the sunchokes (FKA Jerusalem artichokes) which we were soft on the inside, gorgeous and crispy on the outside. Unfortunately alcohol has prevented me from remembering anything else other than the revelation of sunchokes (and from taking any pictures to help me piece my dinner together) but it was my first foray into this root vegetable and I'll never forget it (ok, I have forgotten most of it, but still... the sunchokes!).
The rest of that evening was a blur of saloon drinking, playing pool with various locals, me falling over, blood on my knee, and us almost going to a house owned by a brother and sister who we just met, despite the fact that the room we had paid for was across the road. (We decided against this, but it's safe to say this wasn't the last time this happened on this trip).
On grey January days where travel is impossible, the yesteryear of road trips a distant memory and the hope of new food experiences intoxicated by wine a far away hope, it was listening to Billie's new track, Garden Of Eden – a total summer-stomping-stunner – which made me think of those road trip days.
Here's to the good times we had before, and the ones we'll have soon. And to sunchokes, of course.
Cat x
days in the sun(choke)
These days, down at the Horniman Market on a Sunday, you'll find a tub of Jerusalem artichokes, still muddy from their time in the soil. All different shapes and sizes – unassuming but for some reason, a likeness to the magic of truffle. We've got them a few times, but never with a recipe in mind. Until I saw a post from Skye Gingell – a Jerusalem artichoke risotto that had more finesse than I could ever hope to produce. We can but try.
I used my basic risotto making skills to cook up a low and slow white risotto, feeding in roasted artichokes halfway through and leaving a few to crisp up in the oven as a topping.
For two generous servings plus leftovers for a risotto toastie the next day...
Ingredients:
8-10 Jerusalem artichokes, scrubbed and cut in half (or quarters, depending on their sign)
Fresh thyme and rosemary + oregano for serving
250g Carnaroli rice
1 white onion, diced
1 small glass of white wine (and obviously the rest of the bottle for drinking)
8-10 stalks of cavalo nero, stalks removed and finely sliced
1/2 cup of hard cheese (parm, grana padano, pecorino)
Salt and pepper
A large knob of butter (you know how much)
1- 1.5 litres of veg/chicken stock
2 tbsp olive oil plus more extra v to serve
Pre-heat the oven to 220º. In a baking tray, add the artichokes and drizzle with olive oil, add stalks of fresh rosemary and thyme and plenty of salt and pepper. Roast for about 25 minutes.
In the meantime, drink some wine and also melt the butter in a heavy bottomed pan on a low-medium heat. Sweat the onions (remember SWEATING? No, me neither) for about eight minutes (or maybe the length of David Bowie's Let's Dance). Now dance.
Add a few sprigs of thyme then the carnaroli rice. Coat in the buttery onions and add your wine. Let it evaporate. Once the wine has disappeared, start to ladle in the stock, bringing the heat up to medium and always stirring. Wait until the stock has absorbed into the rice and continue for the next 30 minutes (or an episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm).
When the artichokes are looking cooked but not crispy, take 1/2 of them out of the oven and add to the risotto pan. Put the rest of them back into the oven so they can crisp up. Keep an eye on them, but would put them back in for about 15 more minutes. If they look done but your risotto isn't, keep them in the oven but turn it off.
Just as the risotto looks like it's almost ready, add the cavalo nero and hard cheese. Up to you whether you like your risotto super soft and creamy or a little bite.
Serve in wide bowls with a gratuitous glug of extra virgin olive oil, a showering of cheese, some chopped oregano and thyme, a heavy grind of pepper and finally those crunchy artichokes on top. Maybe get as drunk as that one time on holiday even though it's just your living room and wake up hungover enough to make risotto toasties and drink Bloody Marys (so what if it's a Monday?).
food stories.
– A throwback to 2018 when Eric Kim wrote his first Table For One column for Food52: What Do You Cook When No One Is Watching?
– A great piece by Tejal Rao for The New York Times on how restaurant cooks have taken to their home kitchens (and Instagram) to sell their wares.
– An article after my own heart – Anna Berril on whether measurements are actually that important, for The Guardian.
leftovers.
– More risotto vibes, but make it nettle and in a donabe, c/o Fanny Singer
– Chef Max Rocha's January meals are making me hungry (espesh that celeriac and fennel slice of cheesy goodness)
– Constantly influenced by Joe Woodhouse (husband to Ukranian chef Olia Hercules) – this time, more beans
– Tiramisu forever, especially this particular one by Sofie Thompson (check out her Museum Of Restaurants tote bags while you're at it)
– Mortadella, olives and martinis – Miranda York is really nailing January, I feel
– Current mood: drooling over Karan Gokani's biriyani
before you go.
Obviously in more normal times, I'd suggest going for an IRL coffee (or more likely, a martini). But if you like what you're reading and want to support my writing, I've set up a Ko-Fi account.
and if you like what I'm putting down?
Tell your friends! Tell your family! Tell your lovers!