This Is Your Mind on Plants

by Michael Pollan

Taloma began by taking a bundle of dried sage from a purse and lit it; she then smudged the plant, the knives, and then us with fragrant smoke. There were two ways to cook cactus, and Taloma showed me both. The first, more painstaking method calls for cutting the spiky plant into foot-long lengths with a knife, and then systematically removing its defenses. First the spines, by cutting a tiny notch around each areole and then scooping them out, taking care to remove as little of the precious flesh as possible. Next you stand the piece of cactus on end and, using a long knife, carefully slice down the length of each rib, separating it from the woody white core, which is discarded. After cutting the long triangular ribs into more manageable lengths, you remove the cuticle—the tough, semitransparent layer of skin that, along with the spines, protects the plant’s watery flesh from its unforgiving environment. This was the painstaking part: gaining sufficient purchase on an edge of cuticle, either with a paring knife or a thumbnail, in order to slowly peel it off in strips. Shorn of its defenses, the cactus’s flesh is surprisingly tender and moist, like a soft cucumber. It had the puckering bitterness of any plant alkaloid; think of oversteeped tea, but nastier.