Love, Garlic, and Artichokes: A Southern Italian Tradition

We're on our way to a Sagra di Carciofi—an artichoke festival—in Southern Italy, and as the car winds past fields and roadside stands, I’m flooded with memories. Artichokes have always held a special place in my heart—and in my family kitchen. A Southern Italian American tradition.

Get ready for the Sagra di Carciofi! Join locals and travelers alike in celebrating Southern Italy’s most beloved spring ingredient. Check the flyer for time, location, and all the delicious details—because no one throws a food festival like Italy

Artichokes meant joy, tradition, and an excuse to gather. My great-grandmother passed her recipe down to my grandmother, who passed it down to me. And though our hands changed over generations, the essence of the dish never did: breadcrumbs, Parmigiano, olive oil, and garlic—lots of garlic.

Stacks of fresh artichokes at a Southern Italian market—spiky, tender, and full of promise. The season’s harvest waiting to become someone’s Sunday masterpiece.

Growing up, Easter was always marked by artichokes. But it wasn’t just the holiday that kept the tradition alive. When I got older, my grandmother and I made it our thing. We’d plan special artichoke lunches, and for a while, every Wednesday was "Artichoke Day." We'd sit together, peeling back each leaf, savoring the soft meat at its base, dipping bread in the garlicky oil pooled at the bottom—the sacred scarpetta. We’d laugh at our garlic-scented hands, and she’d joke that I’d never catch a husband smelling like that. (Spoiler: I never cared.)

Eventually, I became "the one who makes the best artichokes" in the family. My cousins said it. My friends knew it. If you were lucky enough to have lunch at my table, chances are you’ve tasted them.

Over time, I even started collecting stories about artichokes. One of my favorites? Someone once told me that they’re called "arti-chokes" because if you don’t clean them well enough, you’ll choke. (I’m not saying it’s true—but it’s hilarious.)

Gently clearing the fuzzy choke to reveal the heart—where the true soul of the artichoke lives. A delicate step in a delicious ritual.

Truth be told, artichokes are high maintenance. They need to be trimmed properly, the tough outer leaves peeled back, and when you get to the heart—the sweet reward—the fuzzy "choke" has to be removed. It takes time, love, and patience. But that’s exactly what makes them so special.

Artichokes soaking in lemon water—an old Southern Italian trick to keep them fresh and bright before the magic happens in the kitchen.

Hands carefully trimming the tough outer leaves of a fresh artichoke, preparing it for stuffing or cooking.

Stuffed artichokes aren’t just food. They’re a ritual. A declaration of love served on a plate. A recipe that tastes like home, no matter where you are in the world. The next time someone asks if I like artichokes, I might just send them this blog. Because yes—I don’t just like artichokes. I love them.

Close-up of a stuffed artichoke generously filled with breadcrumbs, olive oil, and plenty of minced garlic—a classic Southern Italian preparation.