Artichokes and anchovies

Many people are intimidated by artichokes. I sort of understand it, in the same way that I sort of understand being intimidated by lobster: "You want me to eat what? Just look at it! That's not edible!" But just like the succulent lobster, the artichoke rewards the brave and patient. Peel away the spiny leaves and scrape the undersides with your teeth. Then bite off the bottoms of the tender inner leaves. Then slice off the fuzzy "choke." Only after all that can you gobble down the heart -- or, better yet, nibble at it. You don't eat an artichoke in a hurry.

You can, however, prepare one in a hurry, should you so desire, and why on earth wouldn't you? Get your nice big globe artichoke. Whack the stem off flush with the base. Cut the top inch off, too. Turn it upside down on a square of plastic wrap (or cling film, if you're a Brit), swaddle it tightly like a squirmy baby, and upend it on the seam so it stays wrapped. Put it on a plate and pop it in the microwave for 6 or 7 minutes, depending on how big it is and how powerful your microwave is. Let it sit for another minute, unwrap it, and start plucking off those tasty leaves. Watch out for the prickly bits!

And speaking of prickly things: Anchovies used to be on my list of things I avoided. No, they weren't on the short list of gag-inducing foods, but...tiny salty fish with seemingly more bone than flesh? Why bother? Then I discovered pasta puttanesca, for which the anchovy is a necessary component. You still won't find me putting them on my pizza, just because I feel strongly that fish and pizza don't mix. You don't put tuna on your pizza, do you? Do you? Well, maybe if you're in Japan, you do. They put just about anything on crust in Japan and call it a pizza. They put mayo and sunny-side-up eggs on pizza there, and dear lord, I cannot think of anything more repulsive than that.

But with tomatoes and olives and capers and red pepper flakes and oregano and lots of olive oil and garlic, anchovies are a fine, fine thing. Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I need to go make some penne.

Fish got livers!

Today's adventure: ankimo, or in English, monkfish liver.

Okay, it wasn't an adventure to me. I've eaten it many times. It is one of the first things I look for on the menu at a sushi bar, and if it's not on the menu, I ask the chef if it's available. Basically, it's fishy paté, steamed until it's a little firmer than chicken liver paté and comes apart in chunks instead of crumbling. It generally arrives in little round pieces, about the size and color of a slice of hot dog, and it tends to be on a bed of shaved daikon.

Today's was topped with a little dollop of grated daikon infused with chili so hot it made my eyes water and little bits of minced green onion. It was perfectly fresh, rich, and creamy. I was tempted to get a second order, and now I'm sorry I didn't.

Later, I had two macarons -- hazelnut (sadly, not as nutty as I'd like) and chocolate-mandarine (the orange and dark chocolate in excellent balance). Macarons are not adventuresome; they're just sublime.

Crispy, green, and irresistible

My original plan was to blog only about things that took actual courage to eat, but I can't be expected to seek out chocolate-covered insects and lightly grilled organ meats every day. So I may choose on some days to ramble about some food item I think is odd. Today is one of those days, and the food item in question is guacamole tortilla chips.

Now, I am a big fan of avocados in all their delicious buttery forms. At its best, combining the creamy green goodness of avocado with the proper bite of a good salsa and a shiver of lime, guacamole is sublime. And a corn chip, in addition to being satisfyingly salty and crispy on its own, is the perfect delivery vehicle for a big dollop of guac. But I cannot figure out how they get the avocado into the chip. I'm sure it involves a giant vat of multi-vegetable slurry, and that is something I prefer not to think too much about.

Nonetheless, I bought a bag yesterday from Trader Joe's, which I can rely on to meet many of my "hmmm, never tried that before" needs, and dug in, and: crackity crack crack crack. These things are dangerous. They aren't perfect; they need real guacamole on top. But I munched my way through half the bag in what I can only call a snack food fugue in about 15 minutes. Beware the guacamole chip! Beware!

a little less conversation, a little more action

Some time in the last few weeks, I found myself having a serious conversation about calf's liver. I saw it on a menu, made some comment to the friend I was with that amounted to blech, liver, and...well, I'm told it's quite good if it's prepared properly, but clearly, I've never experienced it properly prepared.

Anyway, that's where the idea for this blog came from. I am not a gourmet or any kind of food professional; I'm just a woman who likes food -- cooking it, and more importantly, eating it. I'm pretty much omnivorous. I'll try just about anything once, and if it doesn't trigger my gag reflex, I'll probably try it again. And I'll tell you about it.

For reference, these are some things that trigger my gag reflex:

• Runny egg yolks. You can keep your poached, sunny side up, soft-boiled, what have you. I call that raw, and while raw is nice for sushi, it is not so nice for eggs.
  
• Uni. Looks like snot, smells like the beach at low tide, tastes like snot on the beach at low tide. Also, has a mouthfeel not unlike library paste.
  
• Mayonnaise. If it's in potato salad or lightly spread on toast for a BLT, I'm fine with it. Otherwise, it's (shudder) raw egg yolks, and I already told you how I felt about those.
• Calf's liver, maybe. Just the thought of it kind of does me in. But I will bravely try it. Because I care. Or is that because I can?
  

This is not a comprehensive list. It's just meant to give you some idea of what to expect.