My mom was a prolific cook during my childhood. We ate veggie-stuffed omelets before school, toted hot lunches tucked into thermoses to our lockers, and after she came home from work, she delivered a homemade dinner to the kitchen table most nights. All of which is to say, I was an incredibly fortunate kid—eager to assist as she cooked from an overstuffed binder filled with her repertoire of recipes.
One favorite for spring was a steamed artichoke. Just one—though we were a family of four. My mom would lop off the top, snip the remaining leaves to blunt them, trim the sides and stem, and plop it in lemon water while the water came to temperature on the stove. At the table, we’d eagerly pluck the softened leaves, then dunk them in melted butter and lemon juice, dragging our teeth across the bottoms to secure a bite of the nutty flesh. It all felt fantastically indulgent. Once the leaves were consumed, she’d scrape away the fuzzy exterior of the choke with a spoon and precisely quarter the heart. My portion was more precious to me than any dessert could be.
So you can imagine why, as a child, I thought artichokes must’ve cost more than gold. Now I know the cost was her labor. The finicky leaves claw back as you snip them. The woody, stringy stems resist peeling without catching on your blade. And the cook time! Those artichoke nights were a treat, and one I couldn’t fully appreciate until I was the one responsible for feeding someone else.
Now when I buy artichokes, I’m prepared to luxuriate in the work. They’re not my go-to for weeknights, but they are a dish I want to cook for people I love, including myself. I can settle into a rhythm, snipping and peeling and dunking them in something acidic to prevent oxidation. I love them in a braise, like this Artichokes Braised in Lemon and Olive Oil recipe from Gourmet, which, as nearly every commenter notes in one way or another, is “a bit of work but worth every minute spent!”
Recipe developer Maggie Ruggiero’s method of prepping them is simple, and makes the ancient-looking vegetable entirely less intimidating. Once they’re ready, you’ll simmer the artichokes with shallots, carrot, garlic, coriander and fennel seeds, then reserve that cooking liquid, and sizzle the artichokes in oil until golden and frizzled. Finish it all off by reducing the reserved liquid into a sauce.
It’s a beautiful dish for a spring dinner. Lemony, with a floral zip from the spices, and oh how tender the artichokes get. The recipe generously estimates an entire artichoke per person. And I’m all for that. After the meditative work of preparing the recipe, it’s like striking gold at the dinner table.
