How to Cook and Eat Artichokes

What is it about the artichoke that baffles Italian-vegetable sampling novices?
I am fortunate that my Sicilian ancestors had the daring, to heat and taste, this ornately designed thistle plant. My forbearers' secrets now may be unveiled; our hermetic tenets revealed.

Let me help you master the art of what I like to call "artichokia." If you think artichokes eke out too little, for too much work, you haven't cooked with, dined with, or met an Italian perhaps.

Italians evolved an abstruse alchemy of mixing earth, water, air, fire in cooking, to produce our philosopher's stone, the tenderized heart, of the artichoke. Surging with anti-oxidants, with flavor, artichokes will fill you to bursting, a satiated feeling.

Our occulted rules. First, the buying:

When you shop ideally al mercado, meaning, at the fresh-air market, excavate plump Green Globe specimens.

Adhere to the dictum that Ugly is the new Pretty. "New," that is, for centuries. Hunt for artichokes with a deep green coloring to the leaves, but not consistently so. You want the leaves beautifully marred by brown blurs across the leaf-skins, here and there. Recoil in horror from artichokes exhibiting dark stains edging the leaf-tips, publicizing an aging condition. Perhaps rotting inside. The "good" brownness, even paling to white whorls, for which you crave, results from frostbite. The juiciest artichokes indeed are frostbitten.

Back home, rinse, dry, the vegetables, then slice an inch off the tip of each artichoke.

Per each stem, peel, remove it intact, and reserve.

If you must (audible sigh) you may trim further. Carve minimally. How much of an emerald would you whittle? Same mentality. Begin toiling, utilizing sharp, not serrated, scissors; snip horizontally across each leaf, etching straight lines.

Leave be, the rest of the artichoke.

The cooking process: