Please. Do it for the artichokes. [RECIPE]

Dudes.

If I ever hear of someone trying to pawn off a "2 minute artichoke" again, I'm going to lose it. Like, I will throw punches and become unfit to be around, kind of lose it. It's not right.

Because, friends, artichokes are delicious green beauties when they are made properly, and that proper-making requires more than two stupid inadequate minutes. And a nice dip. And a good-sized area for fast discards. And absorbent napkins.

And all this artichoke opinion-having came back to me as Bubba and I relived our annual trip to Monterey, CA during our weekend of anniversary celebrating.

We love it there - in Monterey. Because of the beach and the relaxing and the seafood and the wine and, of course, the artichokes.

These are fried artichoke hearts. I dare you to produce a better appetizer.

Never is a trip to Monterey complete (or, really, ever even considered) without a trip out to one of the farms to get a box of freshly picked enormo artichokes.


Yes. That's what I said - a box. We buy a box. A Wet-Loc box that holds 15+ artichokes, depending on whether you buy the enormo ones, which we do.

You could get those little ones, but why?

The big ones are just so, well, BIG.

And then we come home from our lovely little anniversary getaway and gorge ourselves on nightly artichoke feasts. It's poor behavior, but what better way to say, "I really do love you no matter how gross you are.", than to scrape artichoke leaves with your front teeth while butter sauce runs down your arms?

Ah, love. It's a messy and complicated thing.

And I want everyone to have similarly delicious and graceful experiences with their loved ones. But since I've recently come to find that not all people grew up with parents as artichoke-loving as my own and, thus, either don't know how to make an artichoke or *GASP* have never had one - I want to share with you how to make a proper artichoke with the boiling method.

And don't let me hear of you doing otherwise or I will spank your ass. With my foot.

How to make a proper artichoke, already.

Recipe by me. Finny.
Although I'm sure it's vaguely common knowledge.
For some people.
Whatever.

Ingredients
1 artichoke per person, trimmed/stems cut/halved
3-4 cloves of garlic
1 lemon, halved
Salt

For the sauce
Juice from 1/2 lemon
1/3 c butter, melted
1/4 c mayo
1-2 T garlic salt
Fresh chopped parsley
Fresh ground pepper
Salt

To make
Procure your artichokes by whatever means necessary. If it means taking a weekend trip out of town to buy them fresh from the farm, so be it.

Start a big pot of water to boil - include in said pot: a good amount of kosher salt (I'm sure I use something in the 3+ T category), your halved lemon and your garlic cloves. Cover.

While your water is working on boiling, trim your artichokes. This is where the Art in Artichokes comes from:

1. Trim the stem to about 1/2 inch below the base of the choke. If you want to wear an outfit to match your dinner, go right ahead. I won't, um, judge you or anything.


2. Using a strong serrated knife, cut off the top of the choke at the fattest point on the thing.


3. Admire the thorns. They are massive. Handle carefully.


4. Then take your (sadly - dull) kitchen shears and snip all remaining thorns off the leaves. You don't want to stab yourself in the lip with one of these. It's, um, painful I'VE HEARD.


5. Set your choke flat side down against the cutting board and cut in half across the stem.


6. Throw all your chokes in the boiling water. Cover. Turn heat to medium, or just make sure to keep at a rolling boil.


7. Start the sauce. With your chokes boiling away, gather all your sauce ingredients and get this thing going. It only takes a minute and helps to justify having herbs in a vase on your counter rather than proper flowers like a normal person.


8. Melt your butter in a heat proof bowl like this one that Bubba's had since before our time together. You could call that time, "B.F.", but I don't think he does.


9. Using your smiley face egg whisk, scoop out a solid whiskfull of mayo because you don't want to dirty a spoon for no effin good reason. Also, using this whisk makes you feel ridiculous and that's good. Add it to the butter and whisk to your heart's content.


10. Get out one of those lemon hairnets that you have because you were feeling spendy at the cooking store and shove your half a lemon in there. Squeeze away, right into the bowl.



11. Then, because you still feel retarded for having purchased hairnets for your lemons, photograph the proof that they're a useful kitchen device and post it to the internet.



12. After whisking in your seed and pulp-free lemon juice (so worth it!), chop up some parsley with your proprietary chopping block and knife that you HAD TO HAVE even though you have 60 fucking cutting boards and *censored* knives and put it to some use. Because, really, it does a fine job chopping parsley.



13. Whisk your parsley into the sauce, with some nice fresh ground black pepper and the garlic salt.


14. Allow your smiley egg whisk to enjoy his job well done. Briefly.



15. Chill your dip next to a solitary Diet Coke and your tub Tub while you go back to check on the artichokes.


16. Here's where things get important: You must allow these fuckers to boil until you can super easily pluck off a leaf from the middle of the leaves. Don't go settling for a leaf you can drag off the bottom there, because those cook through faster and, if you do this, you'll be punished by way of tough middle leaves.

And you do not want this! I swear it to you!

Another good indicator that the chokes are done is the smell. Much like baked goods and broccoli, I've found, you know you're done because the kitchen will have a noticeable Waft to it that will smell pleasantly like artichokes. Not that bread smells like artichokes when it's ready, but you know what I mean. Don't get smart.


17. Then, because you're feeling grateful and fancy and flush in the way of artichokes, invite your neighbors over for an artichoke feast to thank them for watching the furry ones while you were off drinking wine in a jacuzzi and misbehaving on the beach with Bubba.

Like hanging out with 9 year olds, we are.

Don't forget the super chilled white wine of some variety you like, your chilled garlic butter dip from the fridge (it'll be a solid mass now, all the better for scooping with your hot artichoke leaf), some generous-sized cloth napkins and your district's newsletter spread out on the table to catch the discards.

Candlelight is optional. I suppose.


Then store the rest of your chokes on a newspaper-lined shelf in the fridge for week long artichoke gorging.


Cheers. And don't make any fucked up artichokes, now. Hear me?