Different Kinds Of Artichokes

Let’s be honest: the artichoke looks like a thistle that got into a fight with a pinecone and lost. It’s armored, prickly, and frankly, a little intimidating. But beneath that scaly exterior beats the heart of a vegetable that has conned kings, baffled botanists, and made your grandmother look like a culinary genius.

The Giant Green Goliath: Globe Artichokes

First up is the Globe artichoke, the one you see at the supermarket looking like a medieval weapon. This is the big daddy of the artichoke world, the one you steam for forty minutes and then spend another twenty minutes peeling leaves to find a tiny, delicious heart. It’s the vegetable equivalent of a treasure hunt where the treasure is butter-dipped and you eat the map.

Fun fact: The Globe is actually an unopened flower bud. If you let it bloom, it explodes into a stunning purple thistle that looks like something from a Dr. Seuss book. But we don’t let it bloom. We eat its potential. That’s power.

The Sneaky Baby Artichoke

Then there’s the Baby artichoke, which isn’t really a baby at all. It’s just a smaller variety that grew low on the stalk, like the runt of the litter that turned out to be delicious. You can eat the whole thing—no fuzzy choke, no tedious leaf-peeling. It’s the artichoke for people who have places to be.

Baby artichokes are the convenient cousins. You just trim the tough outer leaves, halve them, and toss them in a pan with olive oil and garlic. In ten minutes, you have a side dish that makes you look like you know what you’re doing. It’s the instant gratification of the artichoke world.

The Purple Punk: Violetto Artichokes

Now let’s talk about the Violetto, because you’ve probably never heard of it, and that’s exactly why I’m bringing it up. This Italian beauty is smaller than a Globe, but it’s got a purple hue that screams “I’m fancy and I know it.” It’s also tender enough to eat raw, sliced thin in a salad, like nature’s potato chip with an attitude.

Growing up, I thought all artichokes were green. Imagine my shock when I saw a purple one at a farmer’s market. I felt like I had discovered a unicorn at a petting zoo. The Violetto is proof that vegetables can have a personality—and a fashion sense.

Delicacy of the Week, Artichokes. Steamed Thistle with Lemon Verbena

The Spiky Rebel: Cardoon

Okay, brace yourselves. The Cardoon is the artichoke’s crazy cousin who lives in a van and eats only kale. It’s not a true artichoke—it’s a thistle you eat before it flowers. You don’t eat the bud; you eat the stalk. And, fair warning, it tastes like a bitter celery stick that’s been working out.

Cardoons are a pain to prepare. You have to blanch, peel, and soak them in lemon water to stop them from turning brown. Why bother? Because when you braise them with anchovies and garlic, they turn into something transcendent. It’s the underdog of the artichoke family, and we love an underdog.

The Starchy Imposter: Jerusalem Artichoke

Don’t let the name fool you. The Jerusalem artichoke is not an artichoke. It’s not from Jerusalem, either. It’s a knobby, brown tuber that tastes like a cross between a potato and a sunflower seed. It’s also called a sunchoke, which is a much better name because it doesn’t lie to your face.

Here’s a surprising fact that will either excite or terrify you: Jerusalem artichokes are full of inulin, a fiber that your stomach cannot digest. That means if you eat too many, you will become a human air horn. I learned this the hard way at a dinner party. Let’s just say the host thought I was hungry; I was actually powering a small wind farm.

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The Tiny Terror: Chokeberries? No. (Correction: Wild Artichokes)

I almost forgot the wild artichoke, or Cynara cardunculus—the plant that started it all. It’s what the ancient Greeks and Romans ate before someone domesticated it into the plump Globes we know today. Wild artichokes are spiky, small, and taste like a bitter bite of history.

You can still find them growing along roadsides in parts of Europe. Locals harvest them, and they’re prized for their intense, earthy flavor. Eating one is like time-traveling to a toga party, except there’s no wine and you’re stabbing your fingers on every leaf.

The Final Bite: How to Choose

So, which one should you buy? If you want a project that involves butter and a long, satisfying session of peeling, go for the Globe. If you’re impatient, grab the Baby. If you want to impress your friends with something purple, snag a Violetto. And if you’re feeling masochistic, tackle a Cardoon. Just avoid the Jerusalem artichoke before a date—unless you’re trying to clear the room.

Remember: every artichoke, no matter how prickly, has a heart worth fighting for. Even if that fight involves a little steam, a lot of butter, and a mercifully short conversation about gastrointestinal distress. Now go forth and eat a thistle. You’ve earned it.