Choke Me

I'm coming back to the artichoke. I said before that as a food, it was a cruel joke. But it's not. Well, not really. It's more like a good date. The kind that makes you work for it. Waiting at it's core: a beautiful, tender heart. An elusive flavor that is unlike any other, something that doesn't play well with many other kids on the food playground. It perplexes the complex, such as wine, and it can alter the perception of your tongue.

Then again, it's also like lobster. But if your date looks like a lobster, then call me; I'll give you some tips. No one should have to date anything with a carapace. I don't care how tasty they are; foreplay just isn't the same with an exo-skeleton.

Treated well, artichokes will shed their clothing for you, piece by piece. And you'll want savor every bit, sliding it between your teeth, dipping it in hot melted butter. As butterfat and liquid solids slide off the tip, steam rising from the wood-green leaves....it's rustic food ecstasy.

And non of that Smart Balance shit, ok? I'm all for giving props when necessary, but Brandeis Butter does not a sexy food story make. Neither do fatty, sweaty man-folds on your stomach, so don't go overboard.

So the artichoke exudes beauty and modesty in its design. It can stand on its own; it doesn't need to hide in pasta or sauces just to feel included. It's my rose: although the violet hues are hidden within, it blends sensorial satisfaction to the patient and pain to the trembling tips of the impatient.

And like any good relationship, there must be compromises. Should you steam an artichoke, there's a chance the stem will be reduced to a slightly mushy mass. If you clean them, and cut and roast the stems, then you inevitable lose the chance to easily eat the leaves.

So this is what I like to do when I'm 'choking it. Um.....yeah.

In a dry wide, straight-sided pan, toast 1 Tablespoon each paprika and cumin over low heat until fragrant.

Add 1 Cup of your finest cheap white cooking wine, raise the heat to medium-high, and cook, stirring frequently, until liquid is almost entirely evaporated.

Place four artichokes, cleaned of only the outermost leaves (and perhaps the very end of the stem if it looks less than appealing), in the pan, and swirl so they are coated with the remains of the liquid and spices.

Add 2 cups vegetable stock or water, and raise the heat to high. The liquid should come about 1/4 the way up the pan. Cover with a lid when it begins to steam.

Swirl pan occasionally, to evenly turn the artichokes, as they steam/braise. You may need more liquid, so add as necessary.

The artichokes are "done" when a knife slides easily in and out of the point where the stem meets the base.

Place artichokes on a plate, and sprinkle with coarse sea salt and fresh ground pepper. Serve with melted butter. And a large bowl for the leaves.

Now get your hands dirty and eat the damn thing. The base of the leaves are edible, as is the base and stem, once the hair-like center (the choke) is removed.

If you're feeling soupy, you can make some from the beat-up remains of your cooking conquests. Bring whatever scrap is left over to a boil with just enough water or stock to cover, using a kitchen towel to keep it submerged. If you have any of the initial cooking liquid left over, this will add another layer of flavor. Cook until wicked tender. Blend with a high-powered stick or standing blender (this can get fibrous, so be careful not to overwork your blender). Strain it through a fine mesh strainer, and adjust as needed with salt, pepper, cream, water, etc.

Vive l'artichaut!