Sometime in the mid-1990s, after a lifetime of servitude to the shriveled heads of garlic that I would bring home from the supermarket, I finally declared myself independent. As a cook and a garlic lover, I would no longer stand for garlic heads that contain 47 cloves each, cloves that I had to painstakingly peel one by one in order to get the itty bitty chunks of garlic inside. After every such ordeal, my fingers would appear to have been tarred and feathered by the whisps of garlic paper.
But since my independence, I have been fortunate to interact exclusively with big, easy-to-peel cloves. It’s the best garlic that money can buy, and I get it for free because I grow it.
