The Artichoke Made Me Practice Mindfulness: How slowing down can nourish your mind as much as your body
One Saturday not long ago, I found myself an hour and a half late for my friend's 50th birthday party. And while lateness isn't usually my style, this time I wasn't stressed about it. Why? Because I'd just spent the previous two hours eating… an artichoke.
Yes, an artichoke. But not just eating it — being with it.
As a therapist and mindfulness practitioner in Paris, I often guide clients towards slowing down and reconnecting with the present moment. That Saturday, however, it wasn't a meditation session or breathing exercise that brought me into mindfulness. It was dinner.
The Slowest Lunch in Paris: My Artichoke Adventure
The story started the Sunday before, at my local market. Bobby, the vegetable seller at La Place de la Réunion's produce market, talked me into buying not one, but two fresh artichokes. I quite like artichokes, though I only ever buy them once or twice a year — usually when Bobby's enthusiasm (and their sunlit beauty) get the better of me.
If you've ever prepared an artichoke at home, you know they're no quick snack. They're an event.
Steaming artichokes is one of the quicker methods of preparation, and it takes over an hour, including prep. Eating them is another long process. You pluck from the exterior a single leaf (technically called a bract), dip it in your chosen sauce (I'm partial to mayonnaise with a spoonful of pesto), scrape the tender flesh from the fibrous shell with your teeth, and discard the rest.
Then you repeat… and repeat… and repeat.
Unlike crisps or nuts you can absentmindedly munch in front of the TV, an artichoke demands a small amount of your attention in the same way that painting a wall or knitting does. It's slow, hands-on eating.
That Saturday, nearly a week after buying them, I finally found the time to steam both artichokes. Or rather, I noticed that they would soon be going bad, and took the time out of my Saturday for them.
At first, I wasn't particularly excited. There were other things I felt I should be doing and the artichokes felt like an imposition.
But as the earthy, sweet scent of steaming artichoke filled my apartment, my mood shifted. Every time I smell an artichoke cooking, I'm reminded again of how rich in flavour they are. By the time they were ready, half an hour later, my anticipation had me smiling like a child.
I set myself up at the table with two bowls (one for dip, one for discarded leaves), put on a podcast, and began eating.
When a Meal Becomes Mindful
About 15 minutes in, I noticed I wasn't following the podcast at all. In fact, the voices in my ears were distracting. So I turned it off. Instead of dividing my attention, I chose to focus entirely on the artichoke in front of me.
What happened next was interesting.
As I continued peeling each leaf, dipping, scraping, and discarding, my focus deepened. I noticed the changing colours and textures as I got closer to the heart of the vegetable. Each bite offered subtle variations in flavour and sensation. My thoughts quietened. Time seemed to stretch and dissolve. I was fully absorbed in the act of eating.
By the time I reached the artichoke heart — a tender, creamy reward after so much patient effort—I felt completely calm. Nourished not just in body, but in mind.
And then I started on the second one.
When I finally looked at the time, I realised I was already late for my friend's party. Normally, that would stress me out. But after an hour and a half of mindful eating, I felt centred and at ease. I knew I'd arrive exactly when I needed to.
(And besides, this was a Parisian party that really didn't demand the Australian punctuality to which I sometimes rigidly hold myself.)
Mindfulness Isn't Just Meditation (It's Also an Artichoke)
So what's the lesson here?
Mindfulness doesn't have to mean sitting cross-legged in silence or following a complicated breathing technique. It can be as simple as eating an artichoke—slowly, intentionally, with full attention.
Many people feel intimidated by the idea of mindfulness because they think it requires special skills or a monastic level of discipline. But mindfulness is less about what you do and more about how you do it. It's an attitude of presence and curiosity you can bring to ordinary activities.
What Does Mindful Eating Look Like?
That Saturday, I found mindfulness by focusing on:
The colours and textures of each leaf
The changing flavours as I chewed
The sound of the leaves as they separated
The feeling of fullness and satisfaction building slowly
The passage of time, without rushing
Eating mindfully is a powerful, grounding practice. It's accessible — after all, we all eat. And it allows you to reconnect with your senses, body, and the present moment in a natural, enjoyable way.
If you're new to mindfulness, mindful eating is a wonderful place to start. One common beginner's exercise? Slowly eating a single raisin, noticing its texture, smell, flavour, and the entire experience of chewing and swallowing it.
Everyday Mindfulness: It's Closer Than You Think
Mindfulness doesn't need to be reserved for meditation cushions. It can be:
Noticing the colours of the sky on your walk to work
Paying attention to the sounds around you as you sit on the Metro
Feeling the warmth of a cup of tea in your hands
Listening to your own emotions without judgement
Standing quietly while the kettle boils, instead of scrolling your phone
The next time you're eating—whether it's an artichoke, an apple, or a bowl of soup—see what happens when you slow down and focus on the experience.
Interested in Mindfulness or Therapy in Paris?
If you'd like to explore mindfulness in more depth, or if you're looking for therapy as an English speaker in Paris, I'd be happy to work with you. I offer mindfulness-based approaches as part of my integrative therapy practice.
Get in touch to find out more, or book a session today