Tonight for dinner I ate an artichoke. By all means not so exciting, except for the fact that the artichoke came from one of the two artichoke plants that me and the hubby planted nearly a year and a half ago.
Now that, my readers, is exciting. It was so beautiful and I really had wanted to take a picture, except in the heat of the moment I simply forgot. There was a lot of thought and emotion that went into actually deciding to cut the cute little veggie off it's burly stalk and definitively plop it into a pot of water and cook 'er up.
I've always boiled my 'chokes in the past and eaten the yummy leaves with a side of ranch. I didn't have any ranch and well, I was hoping there was some other, perhaps more dignified, way of consuming the vegetable. Alas, my searches on the internet provided nothing except the idea to cut the threatening thorns off - for aesthetics (only proper, I thought) - and mix up a delicious honey mustard dip in place of the boring - yet dependable - ranch.
The artichoke was, I must report, a little tough, but for all intents and purposes, exceptionally yummy - if not a slight bit bland on flavor - and every bit satisfying.
I am now dutifully waking up early enough in the morning to water the remaining three blossoms. The plant that brought me tonights veggie side is also bearing two others and the second plant, although a bit less fertile, is bringing forth one more.
As a last homage to the now food baby 'choke, I promise to take a picture of her remaining siblings; and if I get that particular whim, perhaps even take a picture I will eventually hang on the wall.
Ah, the whimsical feelings of an urban gardener. So be it.
