alcachofas

I was first introduced to the artichoke in Andalucia. Rosario put a china bowl of lentil and artichoke soup in front of me, and I remember asking her what the weird leafy things protruding through the surface's layer of film were.

"Son alchachofas. No comas la parte dura."

Well, I did eat the hard part. And I nearly choked on it.

I've only known artichokes as alcachofas. Even now, when I request them for dinner I have to stop for a split-second to think of how the word translates into english. Alcachofa is just so much more fitting than artichoke. i like the way it rolls off my toungue with effort... 'oomph'...how i have to form four different shapes with my lips to get the word out. Al-CA-CHO-FA.

The second time I ate artichokes was in Chile. In fact, the only times i've eaten them have been in the context of spanish-speaking countries. Andrea made artichoke a couple of weeks ago at her mother's house in Las Condes, and i was one of the only dinner guests who knew how to properly eat them, thank you very much. How entertaining it was to watch Jay, an overgrown thirty-year-old with a red beard, discover the joy of artichokes. First the confusion..."how do you eat these goddamn things?"...then the look of disgust as Andrea makes chilean mayonaise dip in front of him. Then the first tentative bite...and then the next one, a bit more enthusiastic. it's a complicated process...especially when you reach the heart. andrea cut it up for him, and airplane-fed the heart into his mouth. I think he was wearing a bib.

He had three artichokes.

It took him an hour to eat them.

When I stumbled across Pablo Neruda's "Oda al Alcachofa," I wasn't the least bit surprised. It's no wonder I connote the Spanish language and culture with artichokes...Pablo Neruda, Chile's national poet, emblemized the alcahofa, turning it into the vegetable of all spanish-speaking peoples (in my opinion).

perhaps i'll write a song and make lyrics out of his poem. :) :) :)

Ode to an Artichoke:

The artichoke
With a tender heart
Dressed up like a warrior,
Standing at attention, it built
A small helmet
Under its scales
It remained
Unshakeable,
By its side
The crazy vegetables
Uncurled
Their tendrills and leaf-crowns,
Throbbing bulbs,
In the sub-soil
The carrot
With its red mustaches
Was sleeping,
The grapevine
Hung out to dry its branches
Through which the wine will rise,
The cabbage
Dedicated itself
To trying on skirts,
The oregano
To perfuming the world,
And the sweet
Artichoke
There in the garden,
Dressed like a warrior,
Burnished
Like a proud
Pomegrante.

And one day
Side by side
In big wicker baskets
Walking through the market
To realize their dream
The artichoke army
In formation.
Never was it so military
Like on parade.
The men
In their white shirts
Among the vegetables
Were
The Marshals
Of the artichokes
Lines in close order
Command voices,
And the bang
Of a falling box.

But
Then
Maria
Comes
With her basket
She chooses
An artichoke,
She's not afraid of it.
She examines it, she observes it
Up against the light like it was an egg,
She buys it,
She mixes it up
In her handbag
With a pair of shoes
With a cabbage head and a
Bottle
Of vinegar
Until
She enters the kitchen
And submerges it in a pot.

Thus ends
In peace
This career
Of the armed vegetable
Which is called an artichoke,
Then
Scale by scale,
We strip off
The delicacy
And eat
The peaceful mush
Of its green heart.