Almost 10 years ago I made my very first trip out to the wilds of Redwood Valley, California to meet Sarah's family. Our relationship was in its fledgling stages and I was determined to make a good - no great - first impression! Two days in things were going well and I, buoyed by this success, volunteered to make dinner. Steve, Sarah's Dad, has an incredible heirloom vegetable garden that I had been itching to cook from and so I proposed a meal centered around what we could abundantly harvest from it. "Do you like artichokes? I have lots of beautiful artichokes!" Steve offered cheerfully. Sure! I loved artichokes. The only problematic part was that I had zero clue as to what an artichoke plant looked like. Yep, embarrassing as it may be, after nearly a decade spent cooking in professional kitchens, I had yet to encounter an artichoke in its natural habitat. So is the fate of some young city chefs. I certainly wasn't going to let Steve know that, though! So, eager to impress and with vegetable clippers in hand, I marched out to the garden hell bent on returning with artichokes.
