Peeling & dipping into melted, salty butter with fresh basil & obscene amounts of garlic.
Sucking the fleshy parts & discarding spent leaves into a bowl.
Listening to the subtle fizz of chilled cava as we enoy a simple meal in silence.
Artichoke’s strip-tease on a lazy Sunday afternoon.

Bliss.

Tags: Cava | España | Kitchen Time | Poetry