A great artichoke post hit my reader earlier:
I'll have to admit that I was basically unfamiliar with artichokes until a few years ago. Oh, I knew what they were and loved a pasta salad w/ artichoke hearts sold at a local supermarket deli.
So, I never had much experience with them until I dated a woman who cooked me dinner one night - steaks, corn-on-the-cob, baked potatoes and for an appetizer, she prepared an artichoke. I watched her as she trimmed the leaves, then boiled the thing in a few inches of water. (basically steaming it, she informed me)
She made a couple of dipping sauces; one was just melted butter and another was made with mayo and some various herbs and a dash of spicy mustard. The artichoke was done, so she put it on a serving platter along w/ the sauces and told me to have at it while she finished the rest of the meal.
Gamely, I snapped off a leaf, dipped it in butter and popped it in my mouth. I started chewing...and chewing and chewing and chewing. I chewed until my jaw was aching, then decided to swallow. It was like swallowing shredded tree bark. (not that I've ever done that, I just imagine it was like that)
I sat there wondering what it was people saw in this particular dish. My gosh, maybe a cow would like it, what with the ability to chew, swallow, then bring it back up to chew some more, just as they do a cud of grass. I bet grass would be easier to digest than an artichoke leaf. Thinking that perhaps I had just got a leaf that wasn't cooked through, I popped another leaf off and started chewing on it. Same thing as before. This time I didn't attempt to swallow, but got up with the excuse I needed a glass of water (and I did!) but went to the trash and spat out the leaf, making sure she didn't see me. I went and sat back down, saying nothing.
My lady friend noticed I wasn't eating the artichoke and asked me if there was something wrong with it. She came over, snapped off a leaf, dipped it in butter, scraped it on her teeth then discarded what was left on an empty plate. She looked around the table and asked me where my "spent" leaves were. I told her I hadn't done as she did, but had chewed and then swallowed the entire thing.
She laughed until she was crying. Then, when she caught her breath, told me that you don't eat the entire thing, but was just supposed to scrape the waxy covering off the leaf, then throw the rest away.
It would've been nice if I had known that before eating the entire leaf.
Sometimes ignorance isn't bliss. Sometimes it's painful to chew.
