Jerusalem Artichoke

Spring’s awakening.  Jerusalem artichokes. They look like potatoes. Nubby new potatoes.  They don’t look like artichokes.  That was my first thought.

Jerusalem.  That was my second thought.  All the way from Jerusalem.  Cool.  Land of the Pharaohs.  Helianthus tuberosus.  Don’t take my word for it.

I love that town.  Love the sound of it.  How many times a day do you think, “I’ve gotta get to Jerusalem”?  None?  Zero?  Twenty?  Five?  Very seldom?  Almost never?  I know.  But wouldn’t it be great?  Here we are in downtown Jerusalem.  And the market stalls are full of Jerusalem artichokes. It’s crazy.  No telling what’s gonna happen here.

This Is Not An Artichoke

This Is Not An Artichoke

You can chop ’em up and roast ’em in the oven.  That’s one method that works pretty good.  They look like roasted potatoes.  They taste like artichokes, roasted. Sort of.

It's Tough To Figure It Ouit

It’s Tough To Figure It Out

My camera broke down.  It only takes fuzzy pictures now.  ‘But not all our power is gone’.  This beautiful little camera that basically made me and made my career is now, apparently, going to cost more than it’s worth to fix.  How about that?  Stay tuned.  We’ll sort it out.

That was funny learning that the Jerusalem artichoke isn’t an artichoke, has never been to Jerusalem, and is basically a case of mistaken identity.  It’s a member of the darn sunflower family.  It’s gotta stop.  Now this.

And did those feet in ancient time
Walk upon England’s mountains green?
And was the holy Lamb of God
On England’s pleasant pastures seen?

And did the Countenance Divine
Shine forth upon our clouded hills
And was Jerusalem builded here
Among these dark Satanic Mills?

You know what?  There’s no mountains in England so you have to be careful about what you believe.  Wales maybe.  Prince of Wales.  And no.  There was no Jerusalem builded there either.

Bring me my Bow of burning gold:
Bring me my Arrows of desire:
Bring me my Spear: O clouds unfold!
Bring me my Chariots of fire.

I will not cease from Mental Fight,
Nor shall my Sword sleep in my hand
Till we have built Jerusalem
In England’s green & pleasant Land.

Bill, it just didn’t happen.  Zilch.  Mandrake root?  Okay.  Mandrake root but there’s no Jerusalem artichokes in England unless somebody brought them there.  It wasn’t me.  Today’s lesson.  My old accounting prof was right.  Things can get confusing.

This Is Still Not An Artichoke

This Is Still Not An Artichoke

Jerusalem artichoke.  Sounds lovely.

 

 

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About Steven Brown

Love, life, literature, writing.
This entry was posted in Absurdities, Certainties and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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