Roasted Sunchokes

I used to scoff at sunchokes. Walking around the winter markets, it always seemed like everybody was selling them but nobody was buying them. I once even asked a farmer whether there was actually a demand for them, or whether farmers just offered them for sale because they were easy to grow. I'm not much of a gardener, but I've heard that they are, in fact, very easy to grow.

Sunchokes used to be known as "Jerusalem artichokes" until a bunch of marketing folks got together and tried to figure out why nobody was buying them. Someone suggested rebranding them as "sunchokes", which wasn't as big of a stretch as it sounds because they are, in fact, part of the sunflower family.

Nobody knows why they came to be known as "Jerusalem artichokes" in the first place. They're definitely not part of the artichoke family, although they do have a distinctly artichoke-like flavor. They're indigenous to this hemisphere, and one theory is that whoever first came up with the name was referring to the New World's one-time reputation as the New Jerusalem. Another theory as that the "Jerusalem" in the name is a bastardization of "girasole", which is a flower that bends towards the sun, like its sunflower cousins.

In any case, they're quite good for you. They're reminiscent of potatoes, but have almost no starch and plenty of fiber. They're also bountiful at a time of year when there isn't much other local produce available.

Up until the past few weeks, I never had much luck cooking sunchokes. For some reason I thought that you absolutely had to peel them, and they're knobby and small, and it seemed like a lot of work for not very much food. I also didn't seem to digest them well.

I brought some home a few weeks ago because a farmer had a big box of them left over at the end of a market and offered them to me for free. I said I didn't have the patience to peel them, and she said she never bothered. It was a revelation.

So here's how I've been preparing them. It's so simple that it seems silly to use a recipe format. Slice them thinly. Aim for the thinness of potato chips, although--if you're anything like me-- most of them won't end up quite that thin. Toss the slices with olive oil. Use your hands, so you can actually coat them without using an insane amount of oil. Sprinkle them with salt and pepper, and roast them at 400 degrees Fahrenheit for about 20 minutes.

It's that simple. The thicker ones will be tender and satisfying. The thinner ones will be almost crispy, like artichokey potato chips. It makes me think of the amazing possibilities for someone with a big budget and plenty of marketing savvy: Sun choke chips!!