Master of my artichoke

There are moments when you cook when your mind is focused on nothing but the task in front of you. An hour or two goes by and you finally lift your head up with the urge to say:
"Where am I? Hello? Is anybody here?"
Your brain just gets sucked into some vaccuum of concentration that starts from the moment you start prepping the food to the point where you finally sit back from the table and say:
"Damn. That was good."

You see, I'd never cooked an artichoke before. My recent decision to lose my artichoke virginity was partly inspired by Sam's attempt to dispel the myth of preparing artichokes for those of us who, namely me, have lived a life of artichoke avoidance.

So I took the first step and bought one. Then I found a simple recipe which would give me a cooked artichoke to pull the leaves from and dip. And you know I'm a fan of the dipping.
So I made the recipe without any major incidents. Then I sat down at the table and began to suck the tender yummy bit from one of the leaves.
"What about the rest of the leaf?" I said aloud to G, who was really not interested in the play by play of my artichoke. "They're still kind of tough."
"Just eat the tender bit." he said from the study without looking up from his computer.
"That's alot of work for just a nubbin's worth of goodness." I declared, while madly pulling, dipping and eating the leaves.


Artichoke leaves, with the good stuff sucked out.

Halfway through my feeding frenzy I felt inspired to take a picture. I ran to the kitchen, snapped a couple of my half eaten artichoke and ran back to the table, sat down and started eating again.
G paid me no mind.
I got up from the table and true to my dorky self, I said: "That was fun. I'm going to do that again really soon."
My glee was met with silence.
So I grabbed my phone and dialed my friend Alisa's number. Because I was pretty sure she would want to hear about my fun with the artichoke.
But she wasn't home.
And then like I'd just been pinched, there came that moment, as I tipped the leaves into the garbage I thought: "What the hell just happened?"
I conquered the artichoke. That's what.

Artichokes with Basil Mayonnaise from Epicurious.

Recipe Notes
Try substituting the mayonnaise for greek yogurt as I did. It's lighter and lower in fat if that is of any concern to you. You may not need as much lemon juice though since the yogurt is tangy.
The combination of basil and garlic went superbly with the artichoke.
I think one large artichoke per person is not unreasonable since the yummy bit on each leaf is tiny.
I will definitely make this again.
Even though I thought it was a lot of work at first, now that I've done it I realize it wasn't all that hard, and it was definitely worth it.

Skinny Dipping

While we're on the topic of dips, let me just say that I am no lightweight dipper.
Truth be told, I am a downright scooper.
This is an inherited trait; I blame it on my genes.
Put my dad and I in a room with even a small bowl of tortilla chips, and the salsa jar had better be a large one.

And let it be said, it is not just my genes that have contributed to my scoopiness.
I come from Canada, a country that has proudly embraced the idea of serving dips with our pizza. And before your eyebrows disappear into your hairline, let me say that it is really, really good. Those little plastic containers of creamy mysteriousness have changed the way many of us eat pizza. The hardest part is deciding whether you want the Creamy Garlic flavour or Cheddar Jalapeno. And hold onto your hats, because the truth is, that if you're willing to shell out a few extra coins, you can actually get both.
Oh the joy.

But then again, there is the waistline to think about.

So when I found this recipe that would allow for guilt free scooping, I did a little dance and got down that very same night.

This is the easiest dip to make. It is simple, light and fresh in flavour. It is great as a dip on its own with veggies or pita bread, or as part of a greek-style meal with chicken, lamb or beef brochettes, and rice. Just make sure you like the yogurt you're using, since it acts as the base of the dip. (ok, that obvious piece of advice was really just for my mom. Love you mom!)

Feta Mash
Adapted from Crazy Water, Pickled Lemons by Diana Henry

75g (2.75 oz) feta cheese, crumbled
300g (10.5 oz) greek yogurt
45ml (3tbsp) olive oil
1 garlic clove, crushed
30ml (2 tbsp) dill, chopped
30ml (2 tbsp) mint, chopped

Mix the following ingredients together and serve.

Suggestions:
Crumble the feta as large or as small as you want.
Add more feta cheese if you want a lumpier dip.
Add some lemon zest for an extra bit of flavour.
Strain your yogurt in cheesecloth over a bowl if you want a thicker dip.
Omit the olive oil if you wish, for a slightly different texture.

Disclaimer:
I loved this dip, my boyfriend did not. If you aren't a fan of mint or dill, then this recipe is probably not for you.

On missing mom, and some fennel tzatziki..

So alas, no trip to Scotland for me today. And I was so excited to check out the recommendations that Melissa from The Traveler's Lunchbox has given on Edinburgh. Again, the blame goes to my boyfriend, who is far too successful in his career to allow us the luxury of pre-planning anything. Tickets to a concert are not even safe. He's a man in high demand!

Nonetheless, it is Mother's day and with my travel plans thwarted I have lots of time to ponder the sweetness and light that is my mother. She of the endless giggling in inappropriate places. Like the waiting room in a doctor's office or in an elevator full of people. And generally, there is nothing all that funny to laugh at. Just a mother and daughter who soon are just laughing at each other because they realize they are laughing the same. A few perfectly synchronized snorts and the game begins all over again. It's a vicious cycle as you can see.

So mother, even though I know you are having a wonderful day celebrating not only mother's day, but also grandma's 85th birthday, with a family reunion at my cousin's new house in Toronto, I will be here, by my lonesome, thinking about you. And G also sends his love from his lonely hotel room in England.

If you were here in Heidelberg, and not otherwise occupied with fun family events that I wish I could attend, I would take you to the movies. Yes, even if you wanted to see Miss Congeniality 2. Then we'd stop for coffee, somewhere with big comfy chairs, because I know you like those big comfy chairs, and we'd giggle the afternoon away. Then, of course, I'd cook you dinner, and over a bottle of wine, we'd talk about all the things we miss about living so far away from each other.

Well mom, you're not here, but the bottle of wine is. And I did make a nice fennel tzatziki last night that you would have liked. It went really nice with my grilled salmon.

This recipe is adapted from one I found on Epicurious.com, which I can't actually seem to find on there anymore to provide you the link. But here's how I made it, having remembered the ingredients. Though I'm pretty sure they added raw fennel, which I don't much like. I sauteed it first and I really enjoyed the end result.

Happy Mother's Day mom!

Fennel Tzatziki

1 cup plain yogurt
1 cup sliced fennel bulb (remove tough core)
1 teaspoon olive oil
2 tablespoons lemon juice
1 garlic clove, minced
pinch or two of salt
2 or 3 teaspoons of fronds from the fennel bulb, finely chopped

Set the yogurt in cheesecloth over a bowl so the extra water drains. Leave out at room temp for a couple of hours. The longer it sits, the thicker it will get. If it gets too thick for you you can always add a touch more of the regular yogurt.
Saute the fennel in olive oil until softened. Then chop it up well on a cutting board. You don't want large slices in there. Add the fennel, garlic, lemon, salt and fennel fronds to the yogurt. Mix well.
Note: you may not want to use all the fennel, depending on how thick your yogurt is. So add to taste.
If you make it ahead, it will give the flavours time to blend together.