Artichoke moments
#07—You don’t want to multitask with this.
Welcome to Mind Flexing, your weekly thought expedition to everywhere and anywhere. Strap on your boots (or put your feet up), take a deep breath, and let’s get flexing.
When the sun leaves its winter’s rest to climb higher into the sky, lengthening the days, and the earth warms enough for the Manchurian pear to blossom then sprout, but not enough to plant nightshades, and the creek, high with snowmelt, whirs beneath the birdsong, and the last frosts burn across the paddocks leaving tiny water droplets to catch the light, and their vapours rise into the air forming a cloud that stretches snakelike along the fold of the mountain—this is when the thistle Cynara scolymus forms its green globular flower bud, and I, with my shears, pick it.
The globe artichoke, never left to reveal its purple tassel, dipped in salty water to tease out the earwigs, and sliced of its top quarter, each petal snipped of its thorn; placed in a ceramic dish, soaked in olive oil, garlic and herbs, covered and roasted until tender; drizzled with lemon juice and served with a sauce of yoghurt, mustard, garlic and lemon juice.
My springtime ritual.
The artichoke demands attention. It can’t be eaten half-heartedly. It can’t be consumed quickly. The recipient can’t read or talk in rambling sentences as it’s raised to the lips. The artichoke requires a focus that draws you deep into the moment. Never ever turn on the TV. Make sure the birds are singing.
I tuck my fingertip under the trimmed edge of a petal, browned by the oven’s heat, and gently fold it back until it falls off the base. I dip it, and, placing it on my tongue, bite down ever so gently, pulling it away to scrape the soft, satisfying, yet tiny morsel of flesh from inside—petal by petal, by petal, by petal—working around the flower, slowly, layer by layer, until I reach its fibrous choke, which must be spooned out to prevent… choking. Finally, I bite fervently into the elusive heart—it’s always tender—and I’m delighted, then satisfied, then pensive. The moment is gone and the earth will pass once around the sun before the thistle reappears again.
You can’t multitask with an artichoke. Busy thoughts, busy lives, busy surrounds, are pushed aside, and in the repetitive motion of pealing petals and scraping their flesh, the brain slips into its element; it focuses—it looks to one thing. The heartrate steadies to a restful beat. The brain is content.
Repetitive movement and focus.
These days it’s popularly called mindfulness. From a scientific perspective, it’s simple: the brain can only focus on one thing at a time, and when more than one task is attempted, the brain must rapidly switch back and forth between tasks, creating stress.
We call it multitasking: computer terminology from the 1960s that we applied to ourselves and senselessly aspired to. Multitasking: talking to backseat Betty while driving, emailing Bob while in a Zoom meeting, watching the news chopping broccoli, and, oh dear me, eating breakfast while reading a book.
We may be physically attending to multiple tasks at a time, but the brain is not. The brain is flicking back and forth like a short circuit.
We are more prone to mistakes, perform tasks slower and fail to contain new information when we multitask, neuroscientists say. Try as we might, the brain isn’t wired to capture everything that’s going on. Those of you who played the ‘Monkey Business Illusion Test’ in my Flexible Memories essay a few weeks ago will understand exactly what I mean.
Interestingly, the research shows there to be one instance of multitasking that bucks the trend, and that’s walking while thinking (assuming it’s not through an obstacle course or Town Hall Station). For everything else, we are better off when we choose one task and focus.
Yet, focusing is easier said than done in a distracting world full of instant everything. We must create the conditions for it, and for many of us, those opportunities will be fleeting. So, when you chance upon something that demands your focus, that takes you into that calm and contented state of concentration whereupon you find yourself smiling, protect it. It’s your artichoke moment.
Things I’ve enjoyed reading on Substack this past week
The French Revvie: Parts I, II, III & IV—by Margaret Atwood
The Queen of dystopian fiction has been kindly schooling us in the French Revolution. If you do nothing else, watch this short video from Part IV, which contains a succinct explanation of how a country descends into Totalitarianism.
dipshit MAGA truckers are now a huge violent problem in Eagle Pass—Jeff Tiedrich
And with this, Jeff adds proof to Margaret’s pudding.
How do we know that what happens to us isn’t good?—Maya C. Popa
On a completely different note (or is it?!), Maya serves up a great mind flexer.
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I’ll be back next week. Until then, keep 💪.
This is wonderful. A boyfriend used to cook for me often and once prepared artichoke, serving it before the rest of the meal. It was my first experience and he explained it almost exactly the way you do here. It was a meditation. I will always remember it fondly.
... the pressure to multitask seems to be higher in women, and interestingly leads to more frequent anxiety episodes.