I am of Scottish descent and as such am predisposed toward the thistle, which is one of my people’s national symbols. Yes, it’s true. We Scots can be a wee bit prickly. But while the Scottish thistle is tasty in salads and you can eat the tiny little hearts, I look to the Italians for my edible thistle fix.

Romans ate a lot of giant thistles they called carduum, and there is some debate over whether these were cardoons or artichokes. Most scholars think Pliny and Caesar ate both artichokes and wild cardoons; the broad-stem cardoon is believed to have arrived in the Dark Ages.

For those who may have never heard of a cardoon, they look about the same as an artichoke, although the cardoon (my Puglian neighbors call them cardoni) will have wider stalks and a flower that is somewhere between a wild thistle and an artichoke.

I grow both. I have a hedge of artichokes in my front yard, and sporadic cardoons growing around my back yard. And while I often go on and on about how wonderful it is growing things here in Northern California, the Sacramento area is not ideal for artichokes. We are too hot (it is 100 degrees today) and too dry (we only got 14 inches of rain this year). The foggy coast is a far better place for ‘chokes, and most of the ones you eat come from Watsonville or Monterey.

Still, I get several dozen a year, plus a few rounds of tasty cardoon stalks. Both vegetables require a bit of work to shine, but it is worth the effort, at least to me. We Scots are not afraid of hard work, if you recall…

I preserve my artichoke hearts by poaching them in olive oil for a couple hours at very, very low heat. I use the same process I do to make my own “tunafish,” only I cook the ‘chokes for less time. Kept under oil, they will last a few months — after that, however, the hearts get mushy and unpleasant.

But then there is always that huge pile of artichoke leaves sitting on the counter. Because it’s so dry here, my artichoke leaves are tougher than store-bought, although far more flavorful. What to do? I was at a loss until I read about an artichoke soup in Paul Bertolli’s Cooking by Hand. It is a brilliant use of the leaves and other detritus from breaking down artichokes. I have modified the recipe to meet my own tastes, but I remain indebted to Bertolli.

As for the cardoons, I generally cook them only one way: As a gratin. Yes, I know cardoons are fantastic batter-fried, and they are also good made into a soup like the one above, but I really, really like the slightly bitter, deep artichoke flavor of the cardoons juxtaposed against a variety of salty and gooey cheeses. All this needs is a squeeze of lemon and maybe a touch of salt.

But you can’t just chop cardoon stalks and toss them in the oven. Nope, you must strip away as many of the long strings running along the ribs of the stalks as you can — like celery. Then you boil them in salty water with the juice of a lemon mixed in for a good 15 minutes, and then put them in the casserole with the fat and cheese. And when I say “fat,” I mean bacon fat. The marriage between bacon and cardoons is a strong one. If you are bacon-phobic (poor child), use olive oil.

All of these dishes — the confit of artichoke hearts, the pureed artichoke soup, the cardoon gratin — are wonderful, but remember that the cynarin in artichokes and cardoons makes things taste sweet. This makes wine pairings difficult. My advice? Go with a malty beer. Or better yet? A Scottish ale.