Cauliflower Salad

 

Sometimes it's the little things that make me so happy, like seeing a baby smile, smelling a soft yellow rose, or catching a tram the minute I get to the stop.

Or when I find a way to serve cauliflower that my children like.

Cauliflower has been a hitherto spurned vegetable in our house. I use it only every now and then, aiming for a very gradual sixteen presentations or however long it takes kids to like a vegetable. A year or so ago I did this with broccoli over the course of two weeks, but now I'm slower at these things.

I first made this cauliflower salad a month or so ago, much to my children's disgust. Yet my eight year old has learned that it is easier to eat the small portion required of her than to have a big argument and be made to eat the food anyway, so she looked at the cauliflower, sighed, picked up her fork, and et it – then looked up surprised and had a little more.

But her five year old sister has not yet learned that resistance is futile. As her father placed a small portion of cauliflower on her plate she, as usual, let out a big wail. It sounded like someone had just deliberately dropped an anvil on her foot – there was a clear note of betrayal amongst all the pain and anguish.

We offered our usual measured response ('hush now, just have a bite'), to which she responded with further wails at which point I, lovely mother that I am, snapped 'just eat the damn thing'. She gave one last sob, then took a tiny nibble, looked surprised, and et the lot. 'Delicious,' she said, serving herself some more; then she leapt from the table, ran to the kitchen, grabbed a small container and packed extra for her school lunch the next day while we all looked on speechless. Then she yelled at someone else for polishing the rest of the salad off.

At such a moment I am torn between exasperation and triumph. Why, I wonder, does she need to shriek like a steam train? – especially when it turns out she likes the food!

Anyway, I've made this cauliflower salad once or twice since then, just to consolidate, and each time it has been demolished at dinner, and extras taken for school lunch. It's the sort of salad that sits quite well in the fridge for a few days. You can always add a few more olives and capers, or a dash more vinegar, to sharpen the flavours.

While it's a bit late for cauliflower in Melbourne, there are still a few local ones floating around. See what you can find.

Cauliflower Salad - 1 medium sized cauliflower - 1 decent sized carrot - 3 anchovies - ¼ cup olive oil - 1 tbs red wine vinegar or to taste - 1 tbs capers, drained and rinsed - 1 handful kalamata olives (about 20) - 5 or so stems continental parsley - salt Put the kettle on to boil. Peel the carrot and slice it into rounds about the thickness of an English pound coin, that is about ⅓ cm thick. Break or chop the cauliflower into roughly even sized florets, whatever size feels natural. Pour the boiling water into a saucepan fitted with a steamer. Drop in the cauliflower and the carrot and steam for 6 minutes. Check to see whether they are done: you should be able to slip a knife into the thick part of the vegetable. If not, give them another minute or two. Remove them from the heat. While the vegetables are cooking, chop the anchovies very finely. Now, using the flat of your knife, smoosh those finely chopped anchovies against the board until they are paste. Scrape up the paste and put it into a bowl. Add the olive oil, vinegar and a pinch of salt and mix very well; I use a small whisk. Using the base of an espresso cup, press against each olive until it splits, then slip out the pit. Tear the olive into one or two pieces. Chop the parsley. Scrape the dressing into a shallow platter. Tumble the cauliflower and carrots on top of the dressing along with the olives, capers and parsley. Mix with your hands until the dressing has been well distributed and all is glistening. Freely adapted from a recipe in Insalate: Authentic Italian Salads for All Seasons by Susan Simon. (Local: cauliflower, parsley, olive oil. Not so local: carrot, olives, capers, anchovies, red wine vinegar, salt.)

Pasta with Buttery Broccoli and Cauliflower

Once upon a time, before I knew myself much at all, I studied pure mathematics. I was entranced by the beauty of the world, and thought maths might be a way to understand it. Now I no longer need to understand, but instead want only to appreciate and celebrate what is before me; and I do this through words and people.

So I have forgotten almost everything I learned; but every now and then I still stumble across an intriguing mathematical observation. For example, I recently noticed that a cauliflower is a fractal. Simply put, this means that its large florets and small florets repeat elements of the same mathematical pattern.

Next time you have a cauliflower in your kitchen, take some time to look at it. Sit down, and examine the curd. Notice its whorls, how the florets are like little trees, from which smaller trees branch; notice how the branches cluster. Break off a floret, and compare its form to that of the whole you have just observed. Now break a little floret off the bigger floret, and compare the two. Continue until you cannot separate the florets without damage. If you have a magnifying glass handy, peer at the smallest floret, and see how it continues the pattern you have observed on the largest.

For a mathematical description of what is going on, click here.

Or, if you are more poetically inclined, merely murmur to yourself,

Big fleas have little fleas,
Upon their backs to bite 'em,
And little fleas have lesser fleas,
and so ad infinitum.

(Which reminds me of a photograph of a flea I once saw, taken through an electron microscope. Upon its back, lodged in the crevices, one saw mites. As someone who has always been very attractive to fleas, mosquitoes and March flies, it was nice to know that, from time to time, justice prevails.)

By now, between the maths and the fleas, I have probably put everyone off their grub. Nevertheless, here’s a recipe. I have been eyeing off this suggestion by Deborah Madison for years, but have always been put off by the idea of cauliflower as a pasta sauce. That, and the inclusion of shallots. Madison uses three in her recipe; and she is referring to those tiny tight brown onions, insides tinged purple, whose texture is melting and flavour is sweet; but they are so hard to find.

However, with half a cauli and some broccoli in the fridge and my father coming for dinner, it was time to be brave. I tried the recipe sans shallots. It was delicious. The tiny pieces of cauliflower and broccoli were soft against the pasta; the Dijon and lemon gave character to the unctuous base; and the toasted breadcrumbs provided a delightfully contrasting crunch. I ate two big helpings, and would have gone a third except the men beat me to it.

Pasta with Buttery Broccoli and Cauliflower - ½ medium-sized head cauliflower - 1 medium or 2 small heads broccoli - 7 tbs unsalted butter, at room temperature - 2 tbs Dijon mustard - 2 cloves garlic, minced - 2 tsp balsamic vinegar, or to taste - 5 or 6 stalks flat-leaf parsley, chopped - zest of half a lemon, finely chopped - 1 cup bread crumbs (I chucked a very thick slice of slightly stale bread into the food processor and whizzed until I had an exciting combination of fine crumbs and little chunks.) - 4 sun-dried tomatoes, chopped - 300g dried pasta (I used Powlett Hill’s spirals; Madison recommends wide handmade spinach or fresh herb noodles, but then she doesn’t have three young hungry children clamouring for dinner.) - salt - Parmesan (optional) Heat a large pot of water. While it is heating, break the cauliflower and broccoli into tiny florets. You should have 4 – 5 cups of florets. Place 4 tablespoons of the softened butter with the mustard, garlic, vinegar, parsley and lemon zest into a bowl, and blend using a fork. Melt the remaining butter in a wide skillet. Throw in the breadcrumbs, and toss and fry until they are golden and crisp. Scrape them into a bowl and set aside. Once the water is boiling, gently melt the flavoured butter in the same skillet you used for the breadcrumbs. Add the sun-dried tomatoes. Salt the water, and throw in the cauliflower and broccoli florets. Return to the boil and cook for 1 minute only. Scoop out the florets and place into the skillet with the butter and ¼ cup of the cooking water. Add the pasta to the boiling water, and cook. Drain the pasta immediately it is done, add it to the skillet and cook for another minute, stirring gently to combine. Serve sprinkled with a generous helping of breadcrumbs, and some grated Parmesan if you like. Adapted from a recipe by Deborah Madison in The Greens Cookbook. For some lovely observations on the onion, read The Supper of the Lamb by Robert Farrar Capon; I have reviewed it here. (Local: cauliflower, broccoli, garlic, parsley, lemon, pasta. Made locally from unspecified ingredients: butter, bread. Not local: Dijon, balsamic vinegar, sun-dried tomatoes, pepper, salt, parmesan.)

Cauliflower Polonaise

 

When I was a very young pun-loving child*, I used to make flower soup. I'd put water in a bucket, add ferns tips and fuschias, dandelions and buttercups, and whatever else looked pretty, stir it up with a stout stick, and call it dinner.

One morning, a friend of my mother's came over and wandered into the garden to see what I was up to. "I'm making spaghetti pollenaise," I said gleefully. "Oh Alison," she smiled, "It's spaghetti bolognaise, not pollenaise." My mother said I looked over her friend's shoulder at her, rolled my eyes, then went on with what I was doing.

So imagine my delight when I discovered that there is a whole method of playing with vegetables called 'polonaise'. I have no idea if the Polish actually do this, but it's what you call a dish garnished with chopped boiled eggs, breadcrumbs and parsley.

Although I can rarely get enthusiastic about cauliflower (it is, to me, not cabbage with a college education a la Mark Twain, but cabbage rendered bland and distasteful), I find cauliflower polonaise an interesting, even attractive, dish.

And as it evokes happy memories of mud pies and buckets of fuschia petals stirred to a pulp, so much the better.

Cauliflower Polonaise - 1 head cauliflower, kept whole - 3 eggs, 4 if you're feeling lavish - butter - 1 very thick slice stale bread, grated into coarse breadcrumbs - 5 stems flat-leaf parsley Trim the cauliflower of its leaves, and level the stem. Place it stem down into a saucepan in about an inch of boiling water. Cover and steam for 15 minutes, or until a knife can be inserted into the stem easily, but before the florets go mushy. Boil the eggs by slowly bringing them to the boil, then simmering for six minutes. Remove from the heat, peel under cool water, and chop them finely. Warm a generous knob of butter in a skillet. When it has melted, add the breadcrumbs and stir and toss for 5 or so minutes, or until the breadcrumbs are golden brown and toasty. Remove from the heat. Chop the parsley. When the cauliflower is done, carefully remove it from the water and position it on a large plate. Sprinkle it with the egg, the parsley and the breadcrumbs, and drizzle with extra melted butter if you wish. Adapted from a recipe in A Canon of Vegetables: 101 Classic Recipes by Raymond Sokolov. (Local: cauliflower, egg, parsley. Made locally: bread. Somewhere in Victoria: butter)

*Actually, nothing has changed. Click here to check out my cryptic crossword published in Meanjin this month.

Warm Cauliflower Salad

I've never understood why cauliflower and cheese, macaroni and cheese, rice pudding or baked custard are so often referred to as nursery food. My children loathe and detest anything with a creamy sauce; they'd prefer to relinquish the chance of dessert than to have even an exploratory nibble. From time to time I long for a cheesy bubbly dish with a crusty golden layer on top; alas, it is not to be – at least for now.

So this week, with a cauliflower in the box, I had to think of something else. I flipped through my recipe books, and came up with this. Miss Six gave it an 7 out of 10, which meant she ate a large piece without comment; Miss Four, who is passionate about dukkah, gave it a 3 out of 10, which meant she licked the dukkah off and accidentally ate some cauliflower; but, just like Goldilocks with Little Bear's porridge, I ate mine all up and looked for more.

Dukkah is a mixture of ground seeds, nuts and spices. There are many different mixes available. Our favourite is Paddymelon's Wartaka Dukkah, which includes lemon myrtle, aniseed myrtle and other Australian herbs. It has a lovely fresh flavour; however, any dukkah, perhaps one fragrant with cumin, would also work well. You can find out more about dukkah and order it here.

Warm Cauliflower Salad - 1 head cauliflower, broken into large florets - ½ bunch coriander, washed and the leaves taken off the stems - 1 can chickpeas, or some Victorian chickpeas soaked and cooked, optional (why aren't Australian pulses canned?!) - 1 juicy lemon - a good extra virgin olive oil - dukkah Bring a large pot of water to the boil. Drop the cauliflower florets in and simmer with the lid off for 7 or 8 minutes, or until a knife blade slips into the stem easily but before the florets are mush. While it is cooking, warm the chickpeas. Drain the cauliflower and place onto a platter. Spoon the chickpeas around the florets, then drizzle with olive oil and lots of lemon juice. Sprinkle 2 or 3 teaspoons of dukkah over the top – enough so every floret is lightly dusted. Scatter the coriander leaves over the top, and serve at once. Developed from a suggestion by Nigel Slater in The Kitchen Diaries: A Year in the Kitchen. (Local: cauliflower, coriander, lemon, olive oil. Made locally from imported ingredients: dukkah. Imported: chick peas, although you could use Victorian chickpeas.)