I was planning to make pizza the other night, and I’d been hearing about folks making a crust out of cauliflower. Intriguing, right? It sounded like an easy and yummy way to get some more vegetables into the old meal rotation.
Then I thought about the other members of the family. Specifically, Hubs. He’s a man who likes to try new things, but once he’s decided he likes them, he doesn’t want them changed. The meatloaf must always have ketchup on top, the coleslaw must always have the creamy dressing, and the pizza must always be regular onions-peppers-sauce-and-cheese on dough. So when I looked into the fridge and saw there was some roasted cauliflower left from the other night, I decided to give the alternative crust a trial run for my lunch.
I used this recipe, cutting it down to allow for my having only a cup or so of cauliflower. The ingredients were assembled:
It was good. But it wasn’t pizza.
Don’t get me wrong: I liked it. It was cheesy and yummy, and it was no sacrifice to chow down. But even though I liked it, the truth was impossible to deny. If I were to give this to the husband, I would get the same response as I did the time I made a vegetable curry: a poke of the fork, a tentative bite, and then a sad little voice asking if I was mad at him.
Final verdict: I would make this again for myself. But I don’t think the family – at least, not the husband – will be ready for it for a while.