death by cauliflower

I have been seduced by Pinterest.

After months of pictures of things you can do with Cauliflower that does not involve elbowing it off your plate and into you brothers lap, I thought, I could do it.

They had cauliflower pizza, bread sticks, casseroles, barbequed, white chocolate breads, nachos, cheese melt sandwiches . . and more.   I was disappointed not to find a candy cauliflower stick like a candy apple only healthier.  Enough caramel can make even liver a possibility.   All of the Pinterest recipes  were clearly much better ways to get people to eat cauliflower than the one dimensional effort of parents to programme your feelings.  You know, “Now Aria, hate is not a word we use, is it?  Besides,  you didn’t actually HATE cauliflower it is just your imagination.  You think you hate cauliflower but you don’t.  Just eat it and you will see.”  I would hold out as long as I could, until they followed that effort with the two dimensional one of hand on butt, with great force.  Repeat.  Often.

I ate my cauliflower, my imagination fully intact, along with my sanity . . . all of us were in agreement … we hated cauliflower.

They tried to pour goopy cheese sauce on it sometimes.  There was not enough cheese in all of the moon to counteract the cauliflower.

But I grew up and I had survived so much.  I was going to do it.  I was going to cook with Cauliflower.  (you could have a band start to play here if anyone in your office is really talented, something dynamic that makes you want to march … encourage people to march … tell them it is healthy for you .. you read it on Pinterest.)

Mostly I was going to cook with cauliflower because lately, whenever I was out at dinner everyone was talking about their “wheat grass and goji berry” this and “kale and quinoa” that.  We had to talk about lactose and gluten and brag about our intolerances.  Well … when I say “we” I am taking liberties with the actual meaning of the word in that they were “we-ing” and I was doing my usual “me-ing” . . . while trying to elbow my steak off my plate and into my purse.  Vegans are so judgemental.   Even if you assure them the cow was completely blind and wanted to end its life and you were just trying to make the death meaningful.

I had nothing to add to the conversation.  Truth is I desperately wanted to talk with the cool kids after years of just sitting at their table, fetching them things.  I thought maybe someone might remember my name then.  Like maybe my own sister?  Even with a name tag she still keeps calling me  “Arielle” or “Karia” or “I’m sorry, who are you again?”

Anyway I read and read … mastered the prep of making the cauliflower stinky “rice” and put it in a jar in the fridge.  I had to keep checking it.  Once you have developed a deep mistrust of a vegetable it is hard to let go.  Besides, I had caramel apples in there and they needed eating while I read up on my recipe.

So I went for jalapeno cheddar muffins.

I made them, no-one died in the process.  They were actually quite good.  Hubby liked them.  I was high fiving myself and my hubby so often he declared anything above the chest as a no-fly zone for hands.  I eventually had to respect his wishes because high fiving a hand that is being hidden down the side of the couch protected by a dude who works out almost daily and is getting cranky does not seem to release the endorphins quite the same way as the real deal.

I had consulted with hubby about doing them in the first place because he has gout and cauliflower is on the list of no-no’s.  I thought perhaps not just boiling the stuff, would produce a different result and as he loves veggies, he was game.  Plus … if you add jalapenos to anything he is pretty much on board to eat it so I thought maybe the jalapenos would cancel the goutiness of cauliflower.  Please do not message me with all kinds of info about the chemistry of cauliflower or cures for gout.  I already have a yard full of goats and closets full of enemas, coconut oil and electrical prods.  NONE of them work … especially the goats.

He really liked them and he ate 1, 2, 3 and 4. Then night time came and we went to bed.  And then the middle of the night came and he was not in bed.  He was up moaning with pain, heading off down the hall, banging around the kitchen and taking all his gout medicine.

Oh and swearing . . . lots of swearing.  Swearing in the dark sounds a lot more serious than swearing with daylight to cushion the words.

It was raging, out of control gout.

THAT fast.

NOTHING has ever worked that fast.  Everything else takes a day or so.  This was clearly super cauliflower.  It was bubonic plague cauliflower.  Toxic kitchen warfare.  He was in so much pain I wondered if death by gout was going to be on his death certificate and I would be sending my regrets that I would not be able to attend the funeral on account of I would be in jail.

I immediately threw out the rest of the muffins.

To hide the evidence of course.

But I did at least check first on Pinterest to see if there were any nifty wall hangings that used old jalapeno cheddar cauliflower muffins.    There weren’t.  Pinterest has really dropped the ball recently.  Imagination is just not as alive as it once was.

I spent 3 days apologizing.  He didn’t mind that he almost died as much as the fact I ruined his golf plans.  I am lucky I am still alive to tell you about this.  Now all the other golfers know about it because it is a rule that if a man has to miss golf because of his wife, that misery has to be shared with everyone.  I will never be sitting at the popular table ever again, and not just because I don’t make crepe suzettes with cauliflower.  Their husbands have forbidden them to speak my name.  My sister always wins.

I would just like to say that Pinterest should be sued or at least have to post a warning regarding the toxic nature of their pretty pictures.  And cauliflower … you still suck.  Here at my little table, alone in the corner, we are a “no cauliflower” zone …