Memories are funny things.  Some of them are perfectly vivid down to the smells and tactile sensations.  Others evoke an emotional response with the details obscured by the fog of time.  Artichokes induce such an emotional response in me, giving me a sense of calm, a feeling of safety, and a feeling of warmth.  You see, when I was growing up artichokes where a special treat at our dinner table, a time when the stresses from the day disappeared and for a brief moment everything was perfect.  We would each receive our own artichoke accompanied by a small bowl of melted butter.  Peel a leaf, a light dip of butter, and just enough flesh on each to give a taste of the treat waiting ahead, the ritual was almost as good at the meal.  Finally after what seemed like an eternity you would reach a furry center.  I was convinced this would kill me if not for the valiant efforts of my father who would expertly remove the “choke” making the heart safe for consumption.  A final dip into butter and we would consume the heart, perhaps one of the best of all epicurean delights, only made better by the work required to obtain this other worldly delight.  Until very recently I had only ever prepared artichokes in the same way as my mother.  She would carefully steam them until the flesh of the leaves yielded to the tooth and the heart was soft and warm.  Awhile back while preparing a grilled meal I decided to finish the artichokes on the grill, and my world has never been the same.  Read on to see how I prepare my grilled artichokes.

Continue reading Dr. Thistlelove or: How I learned to stop steaming and grill the artichoke