Lettuce from Full Belly Farm

Happy Spring! Yes, the vernal equinox arrived on Saturday at 10:32 a.m., Pacific Daylight Time. Thank you, astronomists, for tracking the exact moment when the center of the sun would be precisely in line with the earth's equator. More generally, though, the equinox represents the twice-yearly date when the sun spends approximately equal time above and below the horizon, producing a day that's almost evenly split between day and night. After the equinox, the days begin to lengthen, adding a few more minutes of daylight to every 24 hours until the summer solstice in June.

And because, short of mushrooms, every plant we eat needs warmth and sunshine to grow, lengthening daylight means new crops springing up with every week that passes. In lucky California, that is. Back in the Northeast, the weather may be finally warming, but it will be months before anything fresh breaks through the frozen ground, and weeks before New Yorkers can even start trying to muster enthusiasm for the season's first foraged ramps (stinky, skinny wild leeks) and fiddleheads (curled fern tops, with a shelf life of about an hour).

Asparagus from Kaki Farm

But yesterday the Berkeley Farmers' Market was awash in tender greens, including that rock star of spring, asparagus. Just in time for Passover dinners and Easter brunch, the season's first succulent spears are popping up from the bare ground like something fresh from the kitchen of Dr. Seuss. Full Belly will have theirs for at least another month. And while the stalks are delicious simply steamed or roasted with a drip of butter and lemon, they also makes a splendid quiche filling mixed with a handful of sauteed green garlic.

Green garlic from Full Belly Farm

Green garlic stalks, which look like knobby-ended slender leeks or tough-minded scallions, are just what the name says: immature garlic plants, thinned out from the ground before the bulb can form. Left to mature, the bottom part of the stalk will fatten into a plump bulb, packed with individual cloves covered in a papery carapace. Once the bulb is fully ripe, the green stalk will yellow and wither, and the plant can be yanked out, left to cure in a warm dry place for a few weeks, then trimmed and stored to provide delicious pungency for months.

Green garlic, however, is perishable, a happy by-product of garlic growing. Only small farmers bother to market it, since it takes a little customer education to get buyers to know what it is and what to do with it. But thankfully, we live in a place with green-garlic pizza and more, and its sweetly delicate pungency has become a essential part of cooking here in early spring.

Artichokes from Swanton Berry Farm

Artichokes, too, are pumping out their fat fists. It's no surprise that, like asparagus, these harbingers of spring also come from perennial plants, plants that can store reserves of food and nutrients all winter, then spring into action at the first touch of warmth. Left to their own devices, these chubby buds would fold back their spike-tipped petals to form a tufty purple flower, making the plant's place in the thistle family abundantly clear. But picked still at the tight bud stage, the petals and the tender heart within make a dreamy base for any number of sauces--homemade mayonnaise, buttery hollandaise, blood-orange maltaise, lemony vinaigrette, even straight-up melted butter.

Citrus is still aglow, from grapefruits and lemons to blood oranges and tangy mandarins. Soon, though, the first pink rhubarb stalks will be arriving, alongside early-crop strawberries, perfect for cascading over angel cake or baking into rosy crisps and pies.

Sugar snap peas

In my own garden, the sugar-snap peas, planted in January, are in full-blown tangled bloom, the green pods swelling to succulence day by day. This type, made by crossing a green pea with a snow pea, produce what the French call mange-touts: sweet, crunchy edible pea pods wrapped around equally sweet full-sized peas. They make an irresistible snack while weeding, and somehow, no matter how hard you look, there's always one more hiding among the leaves.

But, as energetically as I plant my community-garden plot, I'm not sustaining myself every day from that door-sized patch of dirt. Food doesn't happen without farms, and farms don't happen without farmers and farmworkers. From now through mid-April, Berkeley's Ecology Center is honoring the life of Cesar Chavez, whose work as an activist and organizer within the farmworker communities of California (and beyond) made a difference in so many lives. On Tuesday, performers on a stage set up at the market filled the street with songs, poetry, music, and dance honoring Chavez's work and the achievements and struggles of the United Farm Workers.

Artichokes are a deceptive vegetable. Their prickly and tough exterior makes them look not only inedible, but a bit dangerous to handle. Underneath those sharp and rough leaves, however, is a sweet and tender treat that is worth excavating. Left alone on the stalk, the artichoke morphs into an elaborate flower that looks a bit like a peacock with purple plumes. I often grow them in my side yard and leave the later harvest to flower because they are so pretty. If you pick them early enough, however, or purchase them at the farmer's market or store (and you can find them everywhere this time of year) you get something that is both earthy and sweet. Such a great way to start spring.

My mother has always made giant stuffed artichokes for Easter dinner. Her large full chokes are truly gorgeous to behold -- like enormous desert flowers filled with bread crumb pollen -- and even more delightful to eat. But because I am lazy, I rarely make this dish. Filling each leaf of an artichoke seems a tedious task. And, although I love to spend long dinners leisurely making my way through a giant artichoke, my children and husband don't have the patience to slowly nibble the meat from the edge of each leaf. I therefore came up with a compromise recipe: keep the stuffing, but ditch the tiresome preparation and elongated eating period. This makes everyone happy.

In my version, I use medium-sized artichokes, trimming off all the hard outer leaves and chopping off the top. I cook them halfway in a pot of water and then finish them off on the grill. Trimmed and halved, you're left with the perfect receptacle for a dollop of stuffing with the added bonus that almost the entire vegetable is now edible.

Like my mother, I use bread crumbs, Parmesan cheese and parsley in my stuffing, but I've also added a few other ingredients. Because the intense heat of the grill caramelizes the natural sugars of the artichoke, I wanted to include a salty component to the stuffing. I have therefore added cooked pancetta to the mix, which really helps highlight the vegetable's natural sweet flavors, along with a little mint to liven things up.

Grilling is the easy part. Just lay the artichokes leaf-side down on indirect heat and cover for about 20 minutes. I tried flipping a few over and the stuffing held in all but one. That said, they turn out wonderfully if you just leave them alone as well.

The final product is something you can eat with normal bites. No more gnawing off edges for impatient kids and husbands, although plenty of sweet artichoke flavor for everyone.

Grilled Stuffed Artichokes

Makes: 16 artichoke halves

Ingredients:
8 medium artichokes
2 lemons
½ cup fresh bread crumbs
¼ cup grated Parmesan cheese
¼ cup pancetta or bacon
2 garlic cloves
2 Tbsp chopped Italian parsley
1 Tbsp chopped mint
6 Tbsp extra-virgin olive oil
2 Tbsp water or white wine
Dash of salt and pepper

Preparation:
1. Wash the artichokes and then trim off the top prickly edges, about 1/2-inch from the top down.

2. Fill a large pot ¾ full with water and squeeze the juice from one lemon into the pot, tossing in the actual squeezed lemon at the end. Add 1 Tbsp salt to the water.

3. Remove the outer leaves of the artichoke until you get to the lighter and more tender underleaves.

4. One by one, slice the artichokes in half and core out the furry part above the heart. Place each one in the pot of water when you are done. Be sure to place each artichoke half in the water as soon as you have finished cutting and trimming it, or else it will start to brown in the air.

5. Once all the chokes are trimmed, halved and defurred, bring the covered pot of water to a boil.

6. Turn off the heat once you gain a rapid boil and then let the artichokes sit in the covered pot for 5-7 minutes.

7. Remove the artichokes from the water and drain. Press a paper towel against them to try to gently press out any excess water.

8. Place the artichokes in a large baking pan, cut side up, and drizzle 3 tablespoons of oil on top along with the zest of your remaining lemon as well as that lemon's juice. Flip the artichokes over, and then cover and refrigerate the pan until ready to use. You can make these up to a day ahead of time.

9. About a half hour before you're ready to grill, cut the pancetta or bacon into small cubes and sauté with the garlic in 1 Tbsp olive oil until crispy.

10. Place your bread crumbs, cooked pancetta and garlic, parsley, mint, remaining 2 tablespoons olive oil, Parmesan cheese, and water or white wine in a food processor along with a dash of salt and pepper. Pulse until everything is thoroughly chopped and combined.

11. Turn the artichokes over so they are once again cut-side up and gently press a small mound of stuffing into each cavity. Top with a sprinkle of kosher or sea salt.

12. Grill each artichoke on indirect heat for about 20 minutes, or until ready.

Note: For fresh bread crumbs, just place two slices of bread (I use the ends) in a food processor and pulse about ten times.

As a kid, the only green vegetable I willingly let into my mouth without making faces and disgusting noises was the artichoke. Knowing what I know now about the seasonality and regionality of food, I'm pretty impressed that my mother was able to get her hands on artichokes in Minnesota all those years ago. As a born and bred Californian, my mother loved artichokes just as much as we did. That said, I think she was motivated to stop the retchings, gaggings, and death rattles at the dinner table more than anything else.

I grew up scraping my eager teeth across the "strip the leaves and dip them in hot melted butter" globe variety, and it wasn't until I moved out to California that I really had any experience with delectable baby artichokes. These little suckers are now in season, but if you don't know how to strip and cook them, they can end up tough and bitter.

You want the leaves to be tightly closed. The more open the leaves are, the more likely they are to have a choke.

The stems of artichokes are just as delicious as the artichokes themselves, but the tougher outer skin should be stripped down. Using a very sharp paring knife, carefully peel off the layer.

This is what a clean stem looks like.

Snap off all the outer leaves until you get down to the tender pale green/yellow leaves.

Trim off the top of the leaves and cut the artichoke in half lengthwise.

Because artichokes start to brown (oxidize) the moment you cut them, toss them in a bowl of acidulated water. That is, water that has lemon juice squeezed into it.

Sauteed Spring Artichokes

Serves 2 as a side dish

Ingredients:
2-3 tablespoons olive oil
Spring onions, thinly sliced
1 lb baby artichokes
1/4 cup water
Juice from 1/4 lemon
Salt
Freshly ground black pepper

Preparation:
1. Heat the oil in a high-sided saucepan over medium heat. Add the onions, raise the heat to medium-high, and sauté the onions for about 2-3 minutes.

2. Add the artichokes, stirring to coat with the olive oil. Splash in the water and lemon juice and cover the pan. Stirring every so often, simmer until the base of the artichokes are tender when pierced with the tip of a knife, about 10 minutes. Add salt and pepper to taste and serve.

Serving Ideas:
You can serve these artichokes as a side dish just as they are or with a little Fiore Sardo grated on top, but I also like to combine them with farro and snipped chives, with pasta, or with roasted potatoes.