A fresh, ripe artichoke cooked perfectly will taste like the very essence of late spring and early summer. It’s more than worth the care and wait.
By Ruth Kirwan
The humble artichoke reminds me of how it feels to be miserable in chair pose. Halfway through, my instinct is to throw in the towel, to lie back down on my mat and pretend I’ve pulled something. An artichoke can only be eaten if a little work is put into removing its sharp edges and hidden prickly parts. The entire vegetable is an antidote to my reluctance to leave my comfort zone. But after the thorns are snipped, and the inedible choke surrounding the heart is scraped away, after the artichoke is cooked slowly and patiently, what emerges is wondrous.Print
Midwestern transplant living in New York City. I live in a teeny apartment in NYC with my husband, whom I call the Big Man. I'm a food writer, recipe developer and tester, cooking school instructor, and total cheese lover. I'm happiest whenever I'm in front of a hot stove with a wooden spoon in my hand.