Saving Private Cauliflower

It is hard to fuck up cauliflower. At least here in Israel. The damn thing is stunningly gorgeous, at least until the drought months of summer when cauliflower goes all shriveled and mealy looking. But for a good part of the year, cauliflower here is nothing short of a work of art. I’m in love with it.

And so here we are, in the midst of glorious cauliflower season. The love of my life and I have a half head of beautiful cauliflower sitting on the counter top. We pick off florets at a time and eat them raw or dip in tahini/tchina. It’s our go-to snack. And then out of the blue, the love of my life decides to boil the damn thing, reducing it to something that is too obscene to write about here. I try to be civil, bite my tongue, not say anything, like “how the hell could you do that to something so perfect?”. She decides to fix it, sauteeing it in an egg mix. To me, it seems rather okay. She’s repelled by the rescue effort, naming it one of the most disgusting things she’s ever tasted.

I should have left well enough alone. Not gonna happen.

A few hours before, I had made a lemon and curry leaf rice dish, infused with cinnamon and cloves. I mixed that in with the cauliflower in a large pan. OK. Not bad. Sprinkled the egyptian spice mix dukka on top. Getting better. Chopped up some arugula leaves to add a bit of color and bite. Looking pretty damn good. Add a few pickle hot chilies for color and attitude. And I’m thinking, damn, I should add this to our soul food menu.

It’s a ridiculous amount of effort to go thro9ugh something that didn’t really need to be rescued in the firt place. But you knew that already, right?