The Giant Artichoke, Castroville, CA

I lose all shame (I know, what shame, right?), but really I am quite without restraint when it comes to all things artichoke. I’ve been known to dig through my kids' discard piles to find the unscraped leaf, and I could happily eat an artichoke, or three, every day for the rest of my life.

So my biggest worry driving in to Castroville was that I might stake a tent next to a big prickly field of green and never leave.

By the time I pulled into the parking lot of The Giant Artichoke, my imagination was running wild.

Children, where is your mother?

Well, you see that crazy lady over there with the big pot of boiling water and the stick of butter…

But it was not to be. I came all the way to Castroville, heart of artichoke country, and managed to discover an artichoke that I didn’t want to eat.

Not that it was a wasted trip. The Americana-loving part of me, the part that loves building-sized balls of string and cowboy boots and funky refrigerator magnets, got a kick out of the giant artichoke that looms over the fruit stand’s parking lot. I wouldn’t mind having one of these in my backyard, maybe with some kind of club house inside.

I decided to skip the restaurant and go straight for the fried artichokes at the stand.

There was nothing wrong with the little golden mounds of fried hearts except that I didn’t like them. They were fried beautifully and served suck-your-breath hot. It seemed like something that would be impossible to resist. I mean what doesn’t taste good fried? One of the reasons I don’t get a home fryer is the fear that if I started frying things I might not stop until I’d dumped the entire contents of my pantry into hot oil.

So what was wrong? I’m not sure. For one thing, the artichoke was kind of lost in the seasoned batter. And while, normally, I don’t mind fried batter, in this case I resented it for coming between me and my artichoke. I may just be a purist when it comes to the green globes.

I also tried a boiled artichoke, which came with dipping options of ketchup, mustard, mayo or ranch. Huh? And go figure, I didn’t like this one either.

The artichoke tasted like it had been boiled in vinegar. I get the whole add a-little-acid-to-the-water thing, but again this time there was no artichoke flavor left. I ended up tearing the leaves off and just eating the heart, which had been protected a bit from the dousing.

The one prize I did find was bin after bin of beautiful artichokes to take home and cook. Next time I stop here, it will be on the way to my brother’s house instead of on my way out of town.

I did love the feeling of artichokes everywhere. Even in the planters.