Cauliflower - for Lovers and Haters Alike

Cauliflower has many fans. Also many enemies.

"This is dinner? Is this some kind of cruel, sick joke?" asked a friend who saw my cookbook opened to a cauliflower curry. I had actually planned to substitute some less objectionable vegetables for the cauliflower in deference to his preferences. Hater!

My friend Thom is in the Cauliflower Lover camp. She writes,

Cauliflower is my favorite vegetable!  I like it steamed, roasted, saluted or mashed (but not so much raw.) It is high in potassium and fiber.  A whole entire head of cauliflower is only 150 calories and it will fill you up! 

When you buy the cauliflower, make sure there are no brown spots or black dots on them.  You want the florets to be tightly closed. It's they are loose, the cauliflower has likely been sitting on the shelves for a long time. 

When you cook cauliflower, break it into florets or cut it into smaller pieces, making  sure they are uniform size so they will cook evenly.  Don't throw the stems away! They add texture to the dish. Cut the stem into even smaller pieces, since the stem pieces take longer to cook.

For a simple and tasty recipe, I recommend roasting cauliflower in a pan on a single layer. Crowding the pan will make it harder for the cauliflower to caramelize.  For every 1 head of cauliflower, I would add 2-3 garlic cloves to it. Just smash it and throw them in with the florets.  Drizzle olive oil, salt and pepper for taste and mix well. Put the pan into a 375-400 degree oven for 30-35 minutes, and you are done! 

If you like to walk on the wild side, here are different variations:

a) Before roasting, sprinkle 1 teaspoon of turmeric powder to the fore and mix well. Very healthful!

b) After the cauliflower has been roasting for 20 - 25 minutes (about 10 minutes before it's done), remove the pan and sprinkle a thin layer of Parmesan cheese on the cauliflower. 

Yum! Look how caramelized and snackable these florets look.

For those whose only association with cauliflower is a boiled-to-the-point-of-waterloggged mess method, this recipe can be a revelation.

As a test, I recommended Thom's method to Lol to see if she would try it. Success! Lol said, "Amazingly tolerable! And I think it would even work with frozen cauliflower, since you're eliminating the whole waterlogged part."

One Hater converted, millions to go. Our work is just beginning.

What the heck is that? Donut peaches

Could donut peaches bridge the donut - produce divide?

I am a strong believer in Produce Proselytizing - showing folks how delicious and delightful produce can be. But I know that it's hard to convince people who are accustomed to eating donuts (or other members of the notorious Salt-Sugar-Fat trinity) that they might like some fresh fruit as well. Produce Proselytizing faces a couple of widely acknowledged challenges - access, cost, habit, etc. - and one that isn't discussed as frequently: most junk food has a consistent taste but agricultural products are much more variable in quality.


"I know I can count on an Oreo," a friend's husband told me recently. "An Oreo is always good! Cantaloupe is another story. Sure, I've had some good cantaloupe, but can you guarantee that the next cantaloupe will be just as good? I didn't think so." 


Of course I've had some bad produce. So much, in fact, I've tried to formulate solutions in those circumstances When Bad Produce Happens to Good People. Those experiences haven't broken my stride much, but I do sometimes wish for a consistently wonderful fruit for those a bit more wobbly in their faith.

Enter the donut peach, one of the surest things in the produce world I've experienced thus far.

Donut peaches, aka Saturn peaches, aka Galaxy peaches, aka UFO peaches, aka bagel peaches, are white-flesh peaches with flattened shapes. This unusual profile is said to resemble a donut, the rings of Saturn, a bagel or a UFO. Ya gotta have a gimmick! 

We mean no harm to your Galaxi 

Beyond the amusing names, what I have found intriguing about donut peaches is how consistently great they are. They're very sweet and lower in acid than other peaches. I can't recall ever having a mealy one. 

Donut peaches are a supermarket's dream (flat = stackable) but the variety isn't a recent lab development. They've been grown in China since the 19th century. 

Donut peaches are on the small side (very appealing for kids) and they have a tiny pit that sidesteps one of regular peaches' potentially annoying attributes: the problematic pit. Clingstone peach pits do just what their name implies - cling to the flesh that irritates some people. Freestone pits avoid those separation issues, but sometimes the pit halves separate from each other as well, leaving bits of hard shell amid the peach flesh, or exposing the interstices of the seed and seed debris in a way that repulses some eaters. Donut peaches' pits stay tightly closed but don't cling to the flesh: the best of both worlds.

Little donut peach pits vs. big peach pit

After buying several donut peaches at the farmers' market (and then going back and buying more), I did a bit of research and discovered that donut peaches are wonderful to grow, too.  Mother Earth News noted that donut peaches are easier to grow than many varieties (highly pest resistant and producers of unusually abundant harvests) and have particularly beautiful blossoms.  This seed catalog describes "small, fast-growing trees so attractive they'd be valuable even without the fruit." 

Hmmm, sounds like an opportunity for some garden proselytizing...

The Perfect Summer Snack

Lychees aren't my favorite summer fruit, but they might just be my favorite summer travel snack.

A bag of lychees is a virtual cure-all for many summer travel grumbles. 

• I'm hungry! (They're food, and will slake your hunger.)

• I'm thirsty and I don't have water! (Lychees are virtually bags of fruity water, and are so refreshing.)

• My beautiful peaches/plums/name your fragile fruit got bruised and now are disgusting! (It's hard to damage lychees; they're in the junior division of [link]armored fruit)

• I want some refreshing fruit but I don't have access to a refrigerator! (No problem. Lychees don't need refrigeration for a good long while.)

• I'm bored! (The process of peeling them, popping them in your mouth and spitting out the seed is better-than-middling entertainment.)

• Are we there yet? Are we there yet? (Ah, you got me on this one.) 

I have long enjoyed lychees' cousins, rambutans and longans. Lychees are generally more widely available. I remember when you would need to go to Chinatown to buy lychees (as you still need to do for longans and rambutans), but lychees have made it as crossover hits. Not only can you buy lychee flavored liqueurs, coconut water and frozen yogurts, you can buy fresh lychees from non-Chinese vendors.

Some vendors emphasize the jungly look.




What hides beneath lychees' armor? A pearly white fruit with a shiny dark pit. To discover it, just use your fingernail to make a hole in the thin shell at its stem end, then peel off the shell entirely.  

Typically my lychees end up as a bag of shells and pits, but they're versatile fruits and they dress up well. No reason not to invite them to the party! Here they are in good company (pineapple, grapes, melon, plums and berries) on a summer fruit platter.

Without their shells, lychees are excellent homebodies - and just as refreshing at home as they are on the road.

Fuyu for You

I wait all year for this fruit

About fifteen years ago I was a regular shopper at a Korean grocery in the East Village of Manhattan that has since closed. The owner had an unbelievably cute grandson who would visit twice a year from Seoul and fascinating stories to share about her attempts to connect with relatives in North Korea. She also had a lot of information about the produce she sold.

"Try this! It's good!" she told me one day, pointing at her persimmons display. "No thanks," I replied hastily. "Last time I tried a persimmons it nearly took out my mouth!" I made a face. Eating a persimmon had all the appeal of chewing on some aspirin - and a pretty similar taste.

"Oh, that is Hachiya," she said knowingly. "That needs to be soft, like pudding. This is different. Fuyu. It's okay if it's hard like an apple. It's still sweet."

Mrs. Kim was a nice lady and the persimmons were two for a dollar. I could be a sport.

I tried the fuyu. I was hooked. In retrospect, Mrs. Kim's recommendation was probably the single most important bit of Produce Proselytizing in my life. I needed to pay it forward, and I have.

I approach strangers looking at the strange fruit - fruit that has gotten a little less strange of late, since fuyu seem to have crossed over into the mainstream - and encourage them to try one. "It tastes kind of like pumpkin pie," I tell them. "You can eat them when they're still hard," I tell others. "They're not like the persimmon you might be thinking of. They're different. Better."

I slip them into fruit platters and I offer colleagues a slice or two when they see me snacking. Often they graduate to acceptance of a whole fruit or two.

Fortunately, I don't need to go to Chinatown or particular Asian markets to get fuyus anymore. Turkish and Bengali vendors are happy to stock them. Amazingly, the fuyus sometimes sport supermarket code labels, demonstrating even at humble fruit stands that they're ready to be rung up after the milk and toilet paper.

Fuyus hitting the big time - with the  supermarket produce stickers to prove it. 

Some basic shopping hints:
1) Look for very firm fruit with as deep a color as possible
2) Store in the refrigerator
3) Regard the peel as your friend. A recent New York Times article about persimmons (another piece of evidence that fuyus are crossing over into the Big Time) claimed peeling "made a world of difference" but I find that advice utterly baffling. 

Serving hints:

You can slice the fuyu, cut it in sections or even eat it with a spoon (more on that later). I like them plain, but if you want to decorate, you could drizzle with honey, any kind of fruit syrup, chocolate sauce or balsamic vinegar.

A slice is nice

You could share this fuyu with seven fuyu newbies and still have a segment for yourself!

This fuyu is going undercover as a hachiya

An overripe fuyu like the one above essentially tastes the same is a "ripe" (i.e., overripe) hachiya. Hachiyas, I should add, are also crossing over into the mainstream. The guys below also feature this season's must-have accessory, the supermarket fruit label. No offense, guys, but I see no reason to buy you. If folks like the custardy consistency, they can just buy the fuyus and forget about them until it's nearly too late. But if they eat the fuyu a little sooner than planned, they won't have to scour their mouths.

Hachiya persimmons. They don't know that I am insulting them.

One final note. The end of fuyu season is often marked by the appearance of a Sharon or Carmel fruit, which looks a lot like a fuyu but with a greenish undertone and generally a less rounded appearance. Sharon fruits do not taste as good as fuyus. Personally I regard them as impostors and give them the stink-eye whenever I see them. Sometimes they have the decency to be labeled "Sharon Fruit" or "Carmel Fruit" but they could easily be mistaken for a fuyu that undermines your love for the species.

Large fuyus from Brazil sometimes show up in Spring, aka Brazil's Fall. I don't know the history of this crop in South America, but I assume it caters to Brazil's not-inconsiderable Japanese community. I find these fuyus less flavorful and generally ignore them.

Two days ago I went fuyu shopping in Chinatown and came back empty handed. This morning on the way to work I saw a fruit stand with Sharon fruit. No point being in denial. The season is over.

But there's always next year.

Make It Pretty!

My friend Lizzie used to work in a nightclub that was in the nether bits of a restaurant. Many people addressed the 2 drink minimum by ordering food (in addition to getting sloshed), and whenever I attended a show I was always struck by the attractiveness of the food making its way in the dimly lit, atmospheric club. I asked Lizzie, "What's up with those beautifully composed plates? I can barely see them in this den of iniquity." She replied, "It's a point of pride for our burly, macho chef. Before anything leaves the kitchen, he shouts, 'Make it pretty! Make it pretty!'" And they do.
In that spirit, I like to take an extra few moments to make my fruit platters attractive. If a hairy-fingered guy in a dark club can care, so can you.
Getting the hang of it might take some fiddling, as I did with these two platters. I thought the bold color of the blackberries really needed to go dead center, so I moved them around.

Something's a little off...

Ah, that's better!

My foremost goal is to have a tasty arrangement, but I must admit that sometimes (say, in December, when this platter was created), I might be willing to allow some flavor duds to enter the picture for some color. Green kiwi, I'm looking at you.

Besides the kiwi, everything on this platter was pretty flavorful. Oranges and grapefruits are generally good winter choices; here I cut off the peel then sliced the grapefruit. I'm sure I will be writing plenty about my beloved fuyu persimmon on another occasion. Here it provides a sunny jolt of color and a luscious tropical taste that balances out the more astringent citrus. The potentially dubious out-of-season cantaloupe was surprisingly sweet.

Some basic guidelines: Keep all fruit selections reasonably bite-sized; provide a mix of fruit; avoid fruit like apples and pears that get brown or mushy with air exposure; and let your platter size convey a sense of bounty.

Here's another platter I created, this time in late summer. I had scored some fantastic mangos and golden kiwis, but their colors needed some jazzing up.

This time the kiwis are green and golden. But the star might just be the mango.

Again, a sense of abundance is key. I like to prep my fruit and dump it in a bowl in advance. Here they are, waiting for their moment.

I feel so pale without my peel.

Prepping in advance means that I feel ready even if company comes early.  I've already taken care of the messy work like peeling and slicing the mango (and gnawing on the pit).  


Sometimes folks  need to be sold a bit on produce. Enticing fruit displays are my way of proselytizing.