The porcupines of the vegetable world
A preteen boy develops a fondness for globe artichokes, but how does Dad cook them?
By Robert Klosefrom the June 6, 2007 edition
Page 1 of 3
The other day my son caught my ear with a strange request. He asked me for an artichoke.
Only one parental rejoinder was possible: "Why?"
It turned out that during a visit to a friend's house, the boy's mom had served globe artichokes as part of the dinner. "And you ate it?" I asked, trying to mask my surprise.
"It was good," said Anton.
An artichoke of all things. Come to think of it, I don't know if I qualify to be surprised, because I've never eaten an artichoke.
When I was a kid, such an exotic veggie (it is a vegetable, isn't it?) would never have made it past the front door of my meat-and-potatoes family's house. I chuckle when I think back on a "Little Rascals" episode on TV in which Stymie (I think) is told that the thing on his plate is an artichoke. With bugged-out eyes he shakes his head and declaims, "It might've choked Artie, but it ain't gonna choke me!"
So.
I would have thought that artichokes belong to that category of vegetables that kids avoid at all costs – as if it were a law. Included are Brussels sprouts, asparagus, spinach, parsnips, and broccoli.
A number of kids learn to enjoy these foods, of course, but for some, the aversion is so deeply rooted that it lasts a lifetime. Think of the first President Bush, who went out of his way to condemn broccoli to the netherworld of foods unfit for human consumption. In protest, broccoli farmers drove truckloads of the vegetable to Washington and unloaded it in front of the White House. (There are, after all, greater furies than a woman scorned.)
I wouldn't touch broccoli as a kid, although my parents, especially my mother, seemed to enjoy it. I remember when I was about 10, her casually slipping a stalk onto my plate with the offhand admonition to "try it." Frowning, I poked at it with my fork, as if expecting it to sprout legs and leap from the table. I examined it rather antiseptically, but just couldn't bring myself to deliver it to my mouth. It was as if the broccoli bore a clearly printed label that read, "Adults only" – which was just fine with me. I passed on it.
But sometime in my 20s I started to eat it – raw at first, dipped in ranch dressing. This was a sort of bridge to steamed broccoli with butter, which I also eat with great relish now, as well as spinach (fresh, not steamed), asparagus, parsnips, and Brussels sprouts.
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