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A bowl of white rice on a peach-coloured background
Rice (Image: Archi Banal)

KaiMay 14, 2023

I love you like I love rice

A bowl of white rice on a peach-coloured background
Rice (Image: Archi Banal)

A letter to my children.

It’s 8.20 at night. I’m on my second bowl of rice and Dhandar dahl mindlessly watching Netflix. My carb-heavy meal is soothing amid the noise. An absolute cacophony – of laughter, very loud clapping and screaming – from you kids and your dad makes me want to run away from here into some, any, silence.

Inside, I feel jealousy unravelling her talons. We have our bedtime thank you game and Sunday snuggles where we all sit on the same chair. And I’m proud of being the official nail-cutter. But there’s hardly any silliness. Or much laughter. Not as many photos of us together either.

With me, there’s “Please, just please, finish your food before you go off running.”

There’s, “Well, if you didn’t empty the shampoo bottle on the floor and I didn’t, maybe the giraffe did.”

And, “I’m sorry but you really need to sleep in your own bed.”

You know what this tension between love and need, between being the rule enforcer or the party clown reminds me of? Rice.

I’ve been in a co-dependent, always loving, sometimes frustrating relationship with rice all my life.

Growing up in New Zealand maybe rice doesn’t hold the same meaning for you. But me? I don’t think I’ve gone more than a week of my life without eating rice. The way I haven’t gone more than a week without you guys around.

I eat rice for dinner with my dahl or curry. For lunch, I’ll use up leftover rice in a pulao or rice salad situation. Sometimes I’ll indulge in a rice kheer for dessert. And whenever I invite someone home, I’ll pull out the stops and make a nice biryani.

I don’t feel like I’ve eaten a meal unless I have at least a small heap of rice (ideally doused in ghee). It’s the way most Indian food is meant to be. The way I count down till you’re asleep so I have some quiet but then spend all the quiet time drinking in your tiny but heavy feet resting on Mummy’s squishy tummy.

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It makes me angry though, that we don’t celebrate rice. Like the food I cook for you, the baths I give or the energy it takes to listen to you say “mummy” 478 times a day.

We take rice for granted because it’s just there. Cooked and ready to be eaten in the fridge, a spare pack in the garage if we run out. A staple. Always on the grocery list.

When I get home from work, I cook the rice in the Thermomix on autopilot. And, while I do expect praise for the Dhansak I made for you on Sunday, I’d roll my eyes if you said, “Wow, what amazing rice you’ve cooked”.

It’s not noteworthy. Like me. Sitting silently in the dark on the floor, between both your beds, arms stretched holding two tiny hands while I wonder how many audio stories it will take before you’re asleep.

The only time I’m reminded how much I love rice is when I go without.

Mumma’s fish curry tastes nice with a kachubar (tangy onion salad) but it doesn’t give me the post-curry all-is-right-with-the-world feeling without rice. The same way that no praise from a reader, an editor or my boss fills my heart quite like when you run speedily out the door shouting “my sweetheart” when I come home from work.

Cauliflower rice is a decent enough base for dahl that fills me up. But it’s too vile to eat daily (don’t tell your keto, paleo friends). And nothing brings together boring leftovers that don’t work with one another like a frying pan of fried rice or pulao. In the same way that no one can kiss your invisible scars away like I can.

Rice has been with me through every season of life. When I began eating solids, I started with rice and dahl arancini-esque balls. The first thing I learned to cook was rice. When I sought comfort from being bullied, I drowned my tears in a bowl of rice. And when I was breastfeeding you I ate my weight in rice because I was so, so hungry.

I’ve flirted with red rice. Tried black rice on for size. Brown rice, Arborio, Jasmine. Doesn’t matter what colour or how rice is cooked, I love them all. 

Rice is the foundation of every nice thing I’ve eaten in my life. The way I’ll be yours.

I might be the boring parent. But my aspiration is to be your bowl of rice. The stage on which you shine. The thing you come home to.

Keep going!
Image: Archi Banal
Image: Archi Banal

KaiMay 12, 2023

Ingredient of the week: Cauliflower

Image: Archi Banal
Image: Archi Banal

Think cauliflower is boring? Its bewildering versatility suggests otherwise.

The cauliflower is a Brassica, and comes from the same single ancestral species as broccoli, Brussels sprouts, kohlrabi, kale, and cabbages, known as “the wild cabbage” or Brassica oleracea. 

Truth be told, when I embarked on this Ingredient of the Week I was a little concerned that there wouldn’t be a whole lot to say – after all, cauliflower can be a bit… bland. An hour later I was elbow-deep in various fascinating rabbit holes about genetics and cauliflower diseases, reading academic articles with titles like “The making of cauliflowers: the story of unsuccessful flowers” – so there you go. 

The cauliflower head, often known as “curds” for its supposed likeness to cheese curds, is full of mysteries. Whereas with broccoli you’re eating flower buds (cute and romantic), with cauliflower you’re eating its inflorescence meristem, or unsuccessful flower buds. 

Cauliflowers produce these curds due to a number of recessive and mutant genes, one called the cauliflower (cal) gene. The combination of these genes causes the plant’s “inflorescence meristem” to generate copies of itself repeatedly, rather than developing into flower buds. In the words of someone who understands genetics: “The cauliflower inflorescence (the flower bearing shoot) takes a curd shape because each emerging flower primordia never fully reaches the floral stage, and repeatedly generates a novel curd-shaped inflorescence instead.”

Plates of cauliflower tacos with lime wedges and pickled red onions on a grey tablecloth.
Cauliflower tacos. (Image: Wyoming Paul)

If left long enough, cauliflowers do eventually bolt into tall stems, then produce flowers and seed pods. However, you need to leave a cauliflower head in the soil for another whole growing season before its genes remember that as well as making lovely dense curds, it also needs to reproduce. 

All this made me wonder if cauliflower has a bit of an identity problem. Who is cauliflower, really? Not only are they called “cauliflower” while being stunted in their production of flowers, but due to their natural characteristics (low-calorie, gluten-free, densely textured, bland in flavour), they’re used as a substitute for rice, mashed potatoes, pizza bases, even chicken wings and steak. 

In fact, cauliflower’s ability to take the place of other foods saw its US sales increase 71% between 2017 and 2018 alone, as more people steered away from gluten, meat, and carbs. It’s enough to make any veg doubt its sense of self. 

Note: there’s nothing (very) wrong with anthropomorphising your vegetables.

Secondary note: if you want to blow your mind, look up images of Romanesco broccoli – cauliflower’s cousin.  

Where to find cauliflower

Now, from the sublime to the ridiculous (or perhaps more accurately, the ridiculous to the rather grim): let’s look at cauliflower prices at our supermarkets. Cauliflower is in season, so they’ve certainly become more affordable recently. 

At New World, a whole cauliflower is $5.49, or $3.49 for half. Countdown cauliflowers are $4.20 each, or $3.75 for a half, and at Supie, a whole cauliflower is $4.50, or you can buy organic for $8. Happily, a Pak’nSave cauliflower is just $3.99 each or $1.99 for a half – and it’s nice to see half of something actually priced as half of something.

How to make cauliflower terrible

Mushy, waterlogged, soggy, tasteless: to avoid these words being applied to your cauliflower, only boil or steam your cauli until tender, and salt your cooking water well before boiling. Even better, try something new – there are plenty of more interesting ways to prepare a cauliflower. 

If you’re thinking of growing your own, know that cauliflowers are fussy vegetables, and difficult to grow. In a delightful if ad-infested article called “9 Cauliflower Head Disorders and How to Avoid Them”, I read a horrendous array of illnesses that can befall the “temperamental” cauliflower, including blindness, buttoning, head splitting, leaf tipburn, leafy curds, ricing and whiptail. 

An equally amusing and distressing list, I think, as many of these diseases could apply to a human, whereas others – leafy curds, whiptail, buttoning – sound like illnesses made up by Beatrix Potter. 

A bowl of roasted cauliflower pasta with flecks of fresh red chilli. The bowl is atop a blue tablecloth.
Roasted cauliflower pasta. (Image: Wyoming Paul)

How to make cauliflower amazing

If you’re ready to step away from the steamer, you’re in luck: there’s a plethora of more exciting ways to cook and eat the non flowering veg. Pickled, deep fried, grilled, and even raw; there’s aloo gobi (Indian cauli and potato curry), creamy cauliflower soup, Buffalo cauliflower “wings”, cauliflower pizza bases, and cauliflower tempura.  

Roasted cauliflower is probably my favourite method, as it lightly caramelises, sweetens and chars the vegetable to give it real depth of flavour. There are plenty of meals that use roasted cauliflower, but my absolute favourite dish, both because it’s delicious and because it’s extremely easy, is roasted cauliflower pasta with garlic, lemon zest, and chilli. 

Another classic cauli dish, particularly popular among parents whose children don’t love vegetables, is cauliflower cheese. That doesn’t mean it’s only for children, though – anyone who loves cheese (everyone) and is wanting a warming, satisfying meal can use this as a go to. Panko breadcrumbs and a hint of mustard powder can also make it feel a touch more sophisticated!

My final recommendation is crispy breadcrumbed and spiced cauliflower tacos. These ones are paired with spiced yoghurt, pickled red onion, slaw, and coriander. Not exactly authentic, but very delicious.

Wyoming Paul is the co-founder of Grossr, and runs a weekly meal plan that connects to online supermarket shopping.

Read all the previous Ingredients of the Week here.