Wiley Thistles

I love the artichoke, but more importantly, I RESPECT the artichoke. It’s the only food I purchase from the grocery store, take home, and then wage epic battles against. It attacks. It draws blood. It makes a big effing mess of fluff, like I’ve been standing alone in my kitchen for hours slaughtering adorable baby ducks. Actually, now that I think about it, I could probably stuff a comforter with the fluff from inside an artichoke. But then it would come out in the middle of the night and kill me, which is why they call it a “choke.” Aggressive little boogers.

They’re a member of the thistle family. Fun fact! But the only thing I’ve ever heard of that eats thistles is Eeyore, and he never looks very happy, does he? I feel pretty happy when I eat artichokes, though that might correlate directly to the amount of butter I can transport to my maw with a single, delicately curved artichoke leaf.

The point is, sometimes I feel like donning my protective armor (bullet-proof vest, doc martens, cycling helmet, skiing goggles, and a trojan just in case it gets any ideas), and sometimes I do not. Tonight, I did not. And I used frozen artichoke heart quarters. And I’m not ashamed. There are a great many convenience foods that are terrible, have caused a nation of overweight, cancerous, lazy people who have no idea that food comes from a series of ingredients to feel completely content in their incapability, and taste like dick. Then there are a few that have made my life AWESOME.

-OreIda potato steamers (look it up–they’re awesome and un-messed with)
-Aseptically packed chicken stock (when I don’t have time to make my own)
-and basically all frozen vegetables, including artichoke hearts.

Tonight they got fried and served with a spicy mango, green apple, and habanero glaze. Dizzamn, woman! SO GOOD.

Batter of eggs, cream, flour, salt, lemon juice, and an obscene amount of black pepper:

Mixture of panko, cayenne, paprika, garlic powder, salt, and *ta-da* more pepper.

Freshly cleaned fryer of vegetable oil heated to 375 F.

and then you EAT IT LIKE IT MIGHT ESCAPE. Honestly, it might given its aggressive history.

Oh, and I also made some tequila-lime fajitas with a sweet chipotle marmalade. They were excellent, but sitting next to those artichokes they got the sloppy seconds of my culinary affections.

We then sat in our pajamas with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s apiece watching Grandma’s Boy, and then played Gears of War 2, until a plot twist made me so sad that I was sobbing and we had to stop. It’s like we BOTH had PMS, except neither of us did.

6 thoughts on “Wiley Thistles”

  1. whatever… can i just high five you on the enjoyable read and not comment on the food – which sounds just lovely and all, but really – it was just fun to read as usual.

    and look, i am getting so sick of talking about fooooooooooooooooood…

    is it just ME?

  2. I was trying to think of a ribald and embarrassing act that I would NOT do to get a taste of your artichokes, and I couldn’t think of one. Those are no holds barred for sure. And dude, I’d give up SUGAR for pepper.

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