A few months ago B and I went to a restaurant and ordered artichokes for our appetizer. They were insanely good. They came with some butter based sauce to dip them in. Mmmmmm...... butter.
I have thought about them. A lot. Too much, to be frank with you.
At Costco they had packages of these big, beautiful, magazine photo shoot worthy artichokes for $5. I walked past them, because I have never made artichokes before and they intimidate me.
When I was a little girl, my mom, an adventurous chef herself, made artichokes. In our little brown and yellow kitchen on Sycamore Street, she slaved away on her day off. I remember her working on them for what seemed like forever. I remember her fingers bleeding all over the place from cleaning them. I remember, vividly, her cursing. I wondered why my mom would subject herself to such pains for us - and on her day off, of all days. My mom worked crazy long hours while I was growing up. Frankly, we weren't a very appreciative crowd to receive her culinary endeavors. I didn't understand that for my mom, the rewards of cooking arduous gourmet foods far outweigh the blood sweat and tears (and cursing). I get it now.
Something came over me when I saw the fresh artichokes at Costco. So I went back. I actually drove all that way for just one item. Does anyone else think Costco is as big of a pain in the butt as I do? Seriously people. Lucky for me, my MIL needed a few things so the trek out there seemed justified.
They are in my fridge. They are on a shelf at eye level. Every time I go to the fridge, they look at me sadly and ask, "are you going to make us? Or are you going to chicken out and let us go bad then toss us in the trash the next time you clean out the fridge?"
Oh little artichokes. I will make you. I will make you tonight! I do not know how to make you, but I will do it! And I will announce to the blogosphere the fruits of my labor.
The next time you hear from me, I will be a changed woman. I will be a woman who has made artichokes!