The saga of the artichokes.

Guys, I know. It sounds ridiculous. But I kind of obsess over artichokes. I don’t know why, I’ve just always loved them. My mother would make them when I was growing up. First she’d steam them, and then serve them with melted butter. Sometimes there were parmesan bread crumbs sprinkled into the leaves, but usually it was just a simple steamed artichoke paired with melted butter. Then you’d dip each leaf in butter, savoring over the deliciousness until you worked your way down to the best part - the heart!

Anyone who knows me, knows my deep love of artichokes. When they are in season, I’ll steam several a week and eat them as a meal for dinner. But once I moved to the island, who knew that this was going to be one of the biggest things that I missed? ARTICHOKES. Now, we do get canned artichoke hearts here, but it just isn’t the same.

One intrepid friend tried to bring me artichokes in her luggage when she came to visit. Her bag got detained and she spent half the trip without it. When it finally arrived? The artichokes had been removed.


Imagine my delight when I walked into the store the other day and saw real, fresh, globe artichokes. I almost shrieked in the store. Naturally, I bought eight of them.

See? Look at that photo. Heaven.

Unfortunately, since it’s been so long since I’ve cooked artichokes, I forgot that it’s best not to throw the discarded leaves down the garbage disposal.


Three days of The Scotsman cursing under the sink.

Three days of no kitchen sink to use.

Three days of glowering looks from the Scotsman.

And an assist from a plumber who had a few of the tools we didn’t have.

And now, my sink is clear, my pocketbook lighter, and can you guess what I’m making for dinner tonight?

You’re damn right. ARTICHOKES. Mmmmmmmm.