"When the cauliflower incident happened my confidence in your cooking decreased by about 70%", said Kate.
Never one to hide vegetables in soup or tomato sauce, not one to smother those glorious herbaceous plants in gooey cheese, I boldly present my produce as an integral part of the meal, never regulated to a wimpy side dish, subject to the nagging mother mantra "eat your vegetables".
In my quest to develop the appreciation for cauliflower that I so enjoy I have roasted and stir fried, I have grilled and chopped for salad, all to dismal reviews. This time would be different, I was trying something new, and, against my own vegetable code of ethics, burying the evidence.
I pureed the raw florets, adding capers, garlic, lemon, roasted pine nuts, rosemary, Parmesan and olive oil. Tossed with warm fettuccine, I was convinced that I had found the one, the very thing that would bring them all over to my side, the side of glowing devotion for that white lumpy stalk. Kate, who will try anything, dove right in. "Mom, this is not my favorite", nor was it mine.
Honesty is always the best policy.