It started because the lemons were going soft in the fruit bowl.
And because the day was quiet in that weird way where even the dog seemed unsure about moving. The kind of stillness that doesn’t feel like peace—it feels like a held breath.
So I opened a can of artichokes. I didn’t plan it. I just needed to do something with my hands.
Her Highness’s artichoke dip isn’t fussy. Mayo. Lemon. Garlic. A scallion if you’re feeling conversational. It’s not lush or complicated like her spinach one. This one’s clean. Direct.
It felt like the kind of thing I could handle.
What the Original Looked Like
Martha’s version calls for two cans of artichoke hearts, light mayo (because she’s trying to be gentle), lemon, garlic, scallion, and a bit of Parmesan. She blends half, folds the rest, bakes it hot until it sings.
No breadcrumbs. No mozzarella rainstorm. No herbs that require rinsing.
It’s minimalist, but not cold. It’s warm in the way a simple dish can be when you don’t want to talk about anything.
What I Did Differently (And Why I’m Not Sorry)
I added black pepper. Just a little. The day needed it.
Used regular mayo, not light—because that’s what was there.
And I roasted the garlic again, not on purpose. I keep forgetting I’ve left it under the broiler.
That’s it. The rest I followed. Even measured the lemon juice. Almost.
The Way It Fell Together
The food processor coughed once—probably dying—but it made it through. The base turned pale and creamy, like a memory you’re trying not to make too vivid. I stirred in the rest of the artichokes, chunked and blunt, like someone cutting corners on purpose.
When I baked it, it puffed. Not dramatically, but enough to look like it had something to say.
I forgot the crudités. Of course.
So I tore a piece of toast and called it dinner.
What It Reminded Me Of
Nan used to mash sardines into mayo and eat it with Triscuits.
This felt like that. Not in taste. In spirit.
Something humble that still dared to be hot.
Would I Make It Again?
Yes.
Especially when I need something that doesn’t ask much but still shows up.
Why I Used Full-Fat Mayo
Because light mayo tastes like trying too hard.
And because this isn’t the kind of dish where you fake it.
You’re either all in, or you’re hungry and unsatisfied.
FAQs
You Can, But Rinse Them. Otherwise The Oil Takes Over And It Starts Tasting Like Regret.
Of Course. I Didn’T. But I’Ve Thrown A Cheddar Crust On It Before And Nobody Complained.
Just Mash The Base With A Fork Or Whisk. It’Ll Be Chunkier, But Also Kind Of Charming.
Technically, Sure. But It’S Better Hot. Soft In The Middle, With The Edges Browned.
Better, Maybe. I Ate It Standing In Front Of The Fridge With A Spoon.
Check out More Recipes:
Martha Stewart Artichoke Dip
Description
Simple. Salty. Warm Enough To Count As Dinner If No One’S Asking.
Ingredients
Instructions
- Preheat the Oven : Turn it to 220°C / 425°F. No need to grease the dish—this isn’t a stickler of a dip. Use something you like. I grabbed the wobbly ceramic one I keep meaning to throw out.
- Blend the Base : In a food processor, toss in half the chopped artichokes, a generous spoonful of regular mayo, most of the grated Parmesan, lemon juice, and a garlic clove (roasted if you’re me, forgotten again). Blend until smooth-ish.
- Add the Rest : Stir in the minced scallion and the other half of the artichokes. Pulse once, barely. You want contrast. Like adding punctuation to a rambling sentence.
- Bake : Pour it into the baking dish. Top with the last bit of cheese. Bake for 30–35 minutes, or until golden and bubbly and a little loud around the edges.
- Serve : I meant to serve it with peppers. Ended up using toast. Could’ve been a spoon. Mae took a bite and said it tasted like “a warm yes.”