Artichokes
Though modern science refuses to grant aphrodisiac
status to the artichoke, the weight of historical, mythological, cultural and
etymological evidence suggests
otherwise.
• •
•
•
Consider that for centuries the ancient Greeks and Romans believed in the power
of the artichoke to stimulate extra-nutritional benefits.
• • •
•
Consider that the Latin name of the vegetable,
Cynara
scolymus, was borne from the Odes of the great
poet Horace, in which he describes a young mortal, Cynara, a lover of Zeus.
When she becomes homesick and spurns his advances, he castes her cruelly from
Mount Olympus and turns her into the spiny
artichoke.
• •
•
•
Consider that the word artichoke
derives from the northern Italian
articiocco
and
articoclos.
This latter term comes from the Ligurian word
cocali,
meaning pine cone. (I think we are all familiar
with an item of similar form that gets its name from this
root.)
• •
•
•
Consider that in the prudent 16th century, women were forbidden to
eat artichokes lest their virile powers be enhanced and they be driven to
inappropriate
desires.
• •
•
•
Consider that the young vixen Catherine de Medici (1519-1589), who married King
Henry II of France at the age of 14, is reputed to have ignored the above rule
and dined on them regularly.
• • •
•
Consider that Italy (land of lovers) now produces over a billion pounds of
artichokes a year – almost exclusively for local consumption.
• • •
•
Consider that in 1947 Marilyn Monroe, the great sex symbol of our time, was
voted the first California Artichoke Queen.
Coincidence? I think not.
Scientists allow that the phytochemicals
abundant in the plant may have such broad, beneficial health effects that eating
them could enhance a wide range of physical activities including, ahem, certain
amorous activities. Most say that it’s just in your
head.
We have a name for those doubting
Mustafas: gnocchos. But let’s go ahead and prove them
wrong.
For dinner last night, I made
artichoke muffaletta, which not coincidentally comes from a book entitled
“Intercourses: an Aphrodisiac Cookbook.” Muffaletta is a classic
New Orleans stuffed sandwich, which here is adapted to contain such yummy
entrails as pesto, provolone, tomatoes, spinach, and of course, an abundance of
artichoke hearts. I have often made it as an appetizer, with slices arranged to
display the colorful strata inside, but last night, we ate it as a sandwich...
with (in the name of science) a steamed artichoke on the
side.
To make muffaletta, slice a really
goad loaf of French or Italian bread horizontally and scoop out the inside.
Scooping carries two great advantages: 1. you can dip chunks of bread into pesto
to munch on while you cook, and 2. the bigger the hollow space you create, the
more room you have in which to stuff other good things. You can’t be too
zealous though – over-scooping will lead to the crust giving way. On each
side of the loaf, spread some pesto with a little Dijon mustard mixed in for
kick. Then layer tomatoes, artichoke hearts, baby spinach, and provolone.
Close the sandwich up, hold it together with toothpicks or twine if necessary,
and let it get melted and melded in the
oven.
We ate dinner, and it was very
good. You really can’t go wrong as long as you have good, fresh
ingredients – they were made to go together. And they really do mesh well
inside their crispy shell, creating something better than the sum of its parts.
At the same time, having the artichoke on the side helped to bring out the
artichoke flavor in the muffaletta. I suspect that if you were to have tomato
soup on the side, the tomatoes in the muff would stand out more, and so on.
Anyway, that was that. That’s all
she wrote. You can go home now.
Wait!
What of the experiment; what of our assault on science? Does it work? Does it
work!?!
Should I answer the burning
question? Right here, right now in front of all these people? I urge you to
try this for yourselves, if not for the experiment, then for the sheer delight
of the sandwich itself. But let me at least say this: Science be damned. I am
still a believer.
Posted: Fri - January 16, 2004 at 12:45 PM