Memory:
Eating artichokes as a child. Working forever toward the heart, scraping off the meat of each leaf with my teeth. The warm butter for dipping, the Bugs Bunny marks left on the denuded leaf.
Then the heart.
Mother's ability to remove the entire choke in one circular motion, releasing to our waiting eagerness the rich, thick, meat of the heart.
Then adult me, burning my fingers trying to release the heart, scattering the choke's thistle.
God bless the first human who ate an artichoke.
