The Second Half

A middle-aged lady (or old, depending on perspective) sharing this and that with whomever strays into her digital property. Of course there are cats involved ;)

Author: EmiliyaA

Sleepyhead, lazybones, freelance writer/editor, beer lover, cat slave...just your regular middle-aged female...
Godspeed, tornado girl! — December 21, 2020

Godspeed, tornado girl!

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“Getting old is a gift,” declares Danny DeVito towards the end of Jumanji: The Next Level. Until that point, his cantankerous grandpa character had been railing against senescence while also fuming about the perceived betrayal of Milo, his friend and former business partner.

This is about a friend who was denied the gift of growing old. Mona, whom I once described as a human tornado, passed away on March 16 at the age of 35. “Unfair” doesn’t even begin to describe it – no person I know relished life more than Mona, and she made the most of it, probably because she fought tooth and nail for every day in the past few years.

I once told you that she awed me, and her intensity was scary at times, which made her an acquired taste. On some occasions, it was surreal to be around this petite woman because you felt as if the air around her vibrated. Mona never stood still, and she always had a thousand things on her mind while also being physically engaged in at least two activities at any given moment.

A happy mother-daughter moment


Such a vibrant and inspired person should not be gone at 35! I understand the mechanics of her demise, but it still defies acceptance. The reason I’m paying tribute to my friend months after her passing is my realization that I will never move past the denial stage of grief. Perhaps this is unhealthy from a psychiatric point of view, but I’m certain it will do me greater harm to accept that Mona will never pick up the phone when I call, reply to my messages, or settle herself with a glass of beer for one of our video chats. Yes, I am shutting down reality in this case, but nothing will convince me that embracing the cold, hard truth can do any good.

In reality, Mona lost the battle with a brain tumor after beating breast cancer a couple of years earlier. She spent her final days bed-ridden, her eyesight and speech impaired, barely able to move a limb. A formidable fighter she may have been, but her poor body was ultimately unable to meet her indomitable spirit halfway. What makes it even more heart-breaking is that she couldn’t even get a proper burial because the virus was already raging by the time of her death.

In my mind, however, Mona is busy making plans for the day, cramming as much as possible into every minute. At some point, she will message me to share something funny, outrageous, or bizarre she has read or seen online. In the evening, we’ll probably get together for a video chat, swilling beer, discussing our day, and letting off steam.

Enjoying the rugged beauty of Scotland


You may wonder what I tell myself now that no messages come and the chats have ceased. If you must know, I sustain the delusion by attributing her absence to trips out of town (Mona used to spend almost every weekend with her beloved aunt), an evening out with friends, quality time with her daughter, or a competition at her film trivia club. The point is that I can always make excuses for her not showing up – she was the human embodiment of a busy bee, and her plate was full at all times. It is truly a wonder that she spent so much time with me, albeit virtually, which couldn’t be helped because we lived in different cities.

Regardless of your thoughts on my coping mechanism, I ask you to join me for a moment of silence to honor the life and times of an incredible young woman. Wherever you are, my dear girl, I hope it is a place where you are never without beer, shrimp, and Netflix!

Glum thoughts re: stuffed turkey — December 17, 2019

Glum thoughts re: stuffed turkey

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I suppose turkeycide in the United States has reverted to its usual levels, and Americans are done ‘gramming pictures of the giant birds they consumed during the Thanksgiving feast.

To me, this feels like a slightly weird holiday. There are many things I’m grateful for, but I won’t recite them before a group of people over mammoth stuffed fowl. To each nation its own, I suppose – many of our traditional holidays probably appear beyond weird to foreigners and, frankly, I myself find some of them bordering on the bizarre.

I care not for Thanksgiving because it concerns a nation separated from me by a continent and an ocean. Actually, no one outside the United States cares, but you can’t escape it because of the media. It didn’t make it any less funny (as in weird) to get a Facebook message from a first cousin of mine wishing me “Happy Thanksgiving.”

He emigrated from Bulgaria to the US a long time ago, and I guess he has become Americanized. Still, his message made me go, “Huh?!” I noted in my reply that people here have no such holiday, not to mention that they rarely eat turkey unless it’s sandwich slices. It’s mostly a matter of cost – what the average family would pay for a whole bird can cover several days’ worth of grocery shopping.

Anyway, I don’t intend to discuss the standard of life here. Suffice it to say ours is a poor country where the majority of people can’t readily afford turkey unless it is some plastic-packaged processed shit. But while Thanksgiving means nothing to me, I still found it interesting to read some statistics in a report that popped up in one of the newsletters I receive.

Mind you, these are projections published shortly before the holiday, so the definitive data may be some time away and possibly a bit different (if anyone bothers to follow up on the issue). Now, according to OilPrice.com:

  • Americans likely gobbled up an impressive 46 million turkeys for Thanksgiving 2019;
  • The birds have been getting bigger over the years: the average turkey weighed 13 pounds in the 1930s but now tips the scales at 30 pounds!
  • Cooking the increasingly heavier fowl comes at a cost in terms of electricity: as the publication notes, preparing turkeys for the holiday “will suck up 350 gigawatts of electricity – equivalent to the entire world’s nuclear power capacity in 2012.”

But it also turns out that visiting family and relatives for the holiday significantly reduces the nation’s overall power consumption. “Estimates are that energy usage typically drops 5-10% on Thanksgiving Day compared to the November average, all thanks to that delicious turkey. And the estimated savings of that energy could amount to more than $2 billion in energy bills,” the article says.

I would have lived through another year without sparing a thought for Thanksgiving were it not for that message from my cousin. It prompted me to research the price of turkey in Bulgaria and to click on that report link. I can afford turkey whenever, but I can’t be bothered to buy any because I’m not too fond of cooking. As I’ve said before, I am a good cook but don’t really enjoy this activity – it’s just part of life, and I try to keep it to the bare minimum, which is not much of a challenge since I currently live alone.

I suppose Thanksgiving feels even weirder now because I can’t really see this person I grew up with surrounded by all the trappings of a fiercely American holiday, carving a massive bird for his gaggle of guests, and perhaps giving thanks for the new life he and his family have built in Arizona. I hope they are happy and never have cause for regretting their decision to leave home, but the latest exchange with my cousin made me sad. It was yet another reminder that I have lost many relatives and close friends to the immigrant life because we were born in a country where something like buying a stupid turkey qualifies as discretionary spending.

A shoutout to all the clichés out there — November 21, 2019

A shoutout to all the clichés out there

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What a shitty blog owner I have been, right? My last post is dated March 2018 – who the heck neglects their blog in such a shameful manner?? Is it any excuse that my freelance practice took off, and I got far too busy to sit at my desk and stare through the window? A bit flimsy as excuses go, but I don’t have a better one.

My birthday is coming up, but that’s not the topic I have in mind. What I’ve been pondering lately is this: am I a cliché and, more importantly, do I care if so?

For those unfamiliar with the name Ali Wong, she is a stand-up comedian and one of my absolute favorites. I had no idea stand-up was such excellent entertainment – I only discovered it when I got Netflix. Anyway, in her second special for the streamer, Ali talked about mothers being attracted to glittery things, craving the sparkle “to compensate for the light inside that has died.” You know, the hardships and sacrifices that accompany motherhood and all that.

I’ve never shined brightly or dared to, but this seems to be somewhat applicable in my case. Only I crave color: my hair is pink, lilac, or turquoise these days (green and lemon yellow to be tried next), and I’m buying brightly or multi-colored clothes, shoes, and bags as if my life depended on it.

To an outside observer, this probably appears to be some sort of a mid-life crisis, which it very well may be, but it might be another thing. You see, I was quite pretty as a young woman and never lacked for attention or opportunities, but confidence and self-esteem were not really in the picture.

These days, I don’t care who thinks what (one of the perks of growing older), on top of which I’m enjoying a comfortable life. Don’t believe those telling you that money doesn’t matter – it freaking does! Not losing sleep over bills and being able to buy stupid things on a whim are empowering! These are also relatively new developments for me, so I do what the average person does when they get financially comfortable – I buy tons of stuff I don’t really need.

Back to the colors. Yes, I’m obviously compensating for the lack of self-esteem and financial stability in my younger days. I can go out now decked in all colors of the rainbow, giving no hoot about what anyone has to say as regards age-appropriate attire. OK, let me make something clear: I don’t prance around in skimpy skirts, bum-baring shorts, or crop tops. There are certain boundaries I’ll never be confident enough to cross, which is fine with me and good for the general public, I assume. The point is that I have no problem now with being bright and conspicuous.

Also, the number of my cats has grown to four, so what that picture up there suggests is a ship long sailed. This brings me back to the cliché part. I’m a middle-aged lady who lives alone with a bunch of cats. Cliché? Seems so. Does it matter? Not to me, it doesn’t. I am healthy (well, relatively, nothing unusual for a person in their 50s), family members are fine, financial worries are out of the picture, and my few friends have stuck with me through the years. Why concern myself with inconsequential perceptions?

So, I’m turning 53 next week. Wisdom is not something I pretend to have acquired, so I won’t be offering any lessons to the young people out there (not that they would listen anyway). What I can say at this juncture in my life is that being a cliché is fine if it doesn’t bother you. When you are content and appreciated, you get to own that shit.

Time to go harass my cats now – these critters owe mommy some lurve because she spends crazy money on them. Here are a couple of pictures of the latest arrival:

MVIMG_20190917_195716

MVIMG_20191117_163407

By the way, his name is Loki. Yep, he is named after the Marvel character, specifically as portrayed by Tom Hiddleston.

To wrap this up, I can’t promise I’ll suddenly get my shit together and behave as a responsible blog owner should. However, I will certainly try to pop up at least once or twice a month. Maybe I’ll introduce you properly to Loki next time or divulge some shameful secret. You stay positive, a’right?

Take it back, kid, or else! — March 22, 2018

Take it back, kid, or else!

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It looks as if the universe is doing its damnedest best to drum it into my noggin that I’m old. (Which I’m not, by the way.)

First, there was the recent winter episode, which I’m now convinced is the product of unwelcome cosmic intervention into my daily comings and goings. And I suspect this planting of thoughts has been going on for some time.

Then there was some nitwit trying to manoeuver his car in front of a neighboring building as I was walking by, his frustration spilling over in “Move it, granny!” shouted in my direction. What the…?! I’m 51, you twerp! I neither look nor feel like a senior (bless their souls).

But it would appear said universe has made up its feeble mind. Its latest attempt to instill a granny mentality in me materialized a few days ago, and the agent of this misguided campaign was a kid.

On my trips to the supermarket, I pass by a playground, which is a relatively recent addition to the neighborhood and still a very bright, clean, and pleasing fixture. It’s got this deep blue fence with doors on opposing sides. They are mostly decorative, not meant to keep anyone out, and are usually open, with people often taking a shortcut through the playground.

So, there I was, striding along and flipping through my mental list of daily groceries. (Side note: I do the shopping every day or every other day, mostly because I need the exercise – working at a computer gets you all crampy and you need some leg-stretching.) On that day, I decided to take the shortcut through the playground. On approaching it, I saw the doors were open and a kid – a girl of about five – was romping about. Her mother sat on a bench, reading or something. The girl saw me draw near and made a dash for the door, shutting it under my nose.

Now, I’m not the type who turns to goo at the sight of babies or chuckles indulgently at the boisterous shenanigans of toddlers. So, I gave this kid a contemptuous look, opened the door and headed for the one at the other end, which the pesky girl had also shut in the meantime. I exited the premises and was about to resume my walk to the supermarket when I heard the child let rip an indignant scream, then run after me, slam the door in my back and squeal reproachfully, “Hey you, granny!” I hope it’s clear that her tone absolutely implied “bad, mean granny.”

I admit it: I was so shocked I froze in my tracks. Really?! OK, I get it, I’m no spring chicken. I qualify for “auntie” but “granny”??! It took me a few seconds to unfreeze and then, of course, I stooped to her level by responding, “You’re an ill-bred little shit, aren’t you?” Then I turned around and walked away.

I have a pretty good idea what most of you would say. It would be either “Shame on you!” or “Give it a rest, woman, it’s just a dumb kid and every adult looks old to them.” In fact, I don’t blame the kid; I blame the universe, which was obviously using the little oaf as its mouthpiece. Well, the universe has really gone and screwed the pooch this time, and I’ll be exacting my vengeance forthwith.

Here’s how things will unfold: since I’ve apparently been chucked into granny territory, I plan to enjoy the special privileges that go with it. So, from now on, I’ll be taking every opportunity to lecture any person under 30 who crosses my path. I’ll be harping on about manners, respect for seniors, wrong life choices, and whatever promises to annoy the most.

And you know what, my dear readers? I’ll be laughing hysterically on the inside because I’m in no way, shape or form qualified to lecture on any of those things. I’m civil enough, but I certainly can’t claim to have impeccable manners. While I respect my seniors, I’m not willing to let them always have their way or rub their perceived wisdom in my face. Wrong life choices? Heck, I could write a book about mine!

And I won’t stop at lectures – no, siree! I’ll demand a seat on the bus (dang, I’ll have to start using public transport!) and the right to jump lines. I’ll begin all conversations by detailing the havoc that the weather is wreaking on my old bones and will scrupulously list all my pains and aches.

I think I’ll start with the neighborhood kiddies to get a bit of practice, and then I’ll upgrade to annoying teenagers and smug young parents. Maybe I should join some silver surfers’ forum to prep for sermonizing…Good luck to me!

Of winter and old farts — March 5, 2018

Of winter and old farts

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Can winter make you realize you’ve grown into an old, crotchety fart? Quite so, I assure you.

See that above? It’s what the landscape around these parts has looked like in the past few days. When I woke up on the morning after the first heavy snowfall, I glanced out of the window and my first reaction was, “Holy cow, this is marvelous! So white, peaceful, and clean!”

And a few seconds later: “Bloody hell, how am I supposed to wade through this to go get beer??!”

Yeah…

When I was a kid, the first heavy snowfall brought jubilation, with squeals of delight echoing around the neighborhood all through the day. We were outside till dark – sleighing, staging snowball fights, making snow figures, or just wallowing around in the white fluff, then rushing home to change into dry clothes and dart back outside for more fun and games.

Now, in my early 50s, I look out of the window on such days and the first few seconds of wonder are quickly replaced by thoughts such as, “Huge electricity bills again…I probably need to buy new boots, the old ones seem to be giving up the ghost…Will trains run on time?…Eff it, I’ll have to do without beer today cuz I’m not going out in this!”

I catch myself thinking these thoughts and I feel sad. When did I get so old, in spirit, that is? Why doesn’t the sight of this sparkling white canopy compel me to bolt out and make snow angels or engage in some other frivolous activity? Ah, never mind, I’m sure learned people have produced countless volumes to answer such questions.

But I’m not totally depressed. You know why? I can still remember how it felt and the longing lurks in there, so maybe one of these winters I’ll throw decorum to the wind, sprint out, and act in a completely age-inappropriate way.

 

 

I renounce thee, Amazon! — January 29, 2018

I renounce thee, Amazon!

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Do you have those moments when you slump into your chair and start howling something along the lines of “Ay, ay, I’m the lowest of the low, a spineless entity with the IQ of a really, really dumb fruit fly!”

C’mon, you must have hated on yourself now and then. I don’t mean for real – gosh, no, I hope you all love and treat your good selves right. But once in a while, we disappoint ourselves in some not-quite-significant ways, like doing something common sense screams at us not to. Or maybe we act in a manner that reveals we’re not the rather splendiferous characters we like to think we are. I recently had such a chair-slumping, howl-inducing moment and the trigger was Amazon.

Let me make it clear right away: I am not a fan of Amazon! Any company that seems intent on devouring the world is a villain in my book. Yeah, all right, hats off to Jeff Bezos for building an empire, but let it go already, for Pete’s sake!

Anyway, I had long resisted even browsing their site, let alone buying anything. Why would I do it? It’s a foreign company, and I’d have to pay a crapload of money to get my stuff delivered. I could get the object of my desire from a local online store, and it wouldn’t be more expensive when you factor in exchange rates and delivery costs.

So, I knew all that, common sense told me so, my aversion to Amazon told me so. And what did I do? Having listened to my friend Mona sing Amazon’s praises for quite a while, I caved in and made an account. I did the same thing with Titanic and Avatar: I’d sworn not to watch them and then they came on TV, and I was just too bloody lazy to change the channel. I quite enjoyed Avatar, truth be told, Titanic not so much, but that’s beside the point. I’m an oath breaker – an amoeba would have more willpower!

And Amazon is dangerous for me!!! You see, I have this maniacal desire to buy stationery, mostly pretty notebooks, preferably in bright colors. It’s probably a medical condition – these beauties never get used, I stack them up in a bookcase, go admire them from time to time, and that’s it. Con-di-tion, OK? No need to roll your eyes. And yep, it’s what I bought on Amazon.

a1
Ah, the excitement!

a2
Even Poofie got excited!

a3
And the anti-climactic revelation…

They cost me a LOT and the delivery charge was hair-raising (I ordered via the UK site). I mean, it’s not money I can easily afford and besides, my English friend Lee said they were indeed expensive, so it’s not as if I’m looking at it from the perspective of an impoverished person.

What can I tell you? I’m not exactly displeased with my purchase. The notebooks are of excellent quality. That said, I expected five different colors, and I got a green duplicate, so four colors. Moreover, I was looking forward to a red notebook, and it turned out to be orange. Of course, I was a newbie and it didn’t occur to me to browse the comments section: I would have found out that many other people also got duplicates of one of the colors. Frankly, I doubt I would have parted with my money had I known such a risk existed.

The thing is that I must grow a spine and really steer clear of Amazon. On top of my dislike for the company in principle, it’s a hazard for people with an obsession like mine. So many notebooks, in all sizes and colors, sitting there, taunting me, reaching out to strip me of my hard-earned cash…Brrr!

So, here is my resolution: I won’t go on Amazon again until they set up shop in my country. That, however, is something I fervently hope to never see in my lifetime! Hey, I’m not calling for a boycott or something. I’m sure it’s a great option for many people otherwise Bezos wouldn’t have the money to do his imperialistic thing. But for this lady in Bulgaria, no number of devastatingly gorgeous notebooks will be temptation enough to return there. I’ve spoken!

Broccoli demon gets kicked out of cauliflower heaven: Day 4 — November 17, 2017

Broccoli demon gets kicked out of cauliflower heaven: Day 4

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Alas, all good things must come to an end and this was one good head of cauliflower indeed! My grief is tempered by the gratitude I feel for the four excellent meals I squeezed out of it.

So, my esteemed readers, our cauliflower journey has come to its conclusion. In parting, I’d like to give you the recipe for one of my most favorite salads ever. In fact, this is what I usually end up making when I have cauliflower around. It will only set you back by a few minutes (when you exclude the time for steaming) and is a fantastic crunchy, creamy mixture I can never get enough of 🙂

Without further ado, here’s what you need besides the steamed cauliflower:

  • A cucumber
  • 2 or 3 tomatoes
  • Boiled eggs (I used three)
  • Parsley
  • Mayonnaise
  • Mustard

So, roll up your sleeves and cut the cucumber and tomatoes. The shape matters not as long as the pieces aren’t too chunky – just common sense really, you don’t want to use force to stuff them in your mouth. Then chop up the boiled eggs and add everything to the cauliflower, sprinkling with the parsley.

The dressing is the same we used on day three – mayo mixed with some mustard. You may have noticed that I rarely mention salt. I leave it up to you to decide if or how much you want.

And there you have it, the culmination of this cooking adventure. Granted, it didn’t require much in the way of utensil-wielding and pan-tossing skills, but that’s how I roll – minimum effort for maximum enjoyment 🙂

Thank you for accompanying me on this journey! I hope you gave some of these recipes a shot or at least enjoyed reading.

I’m off now to indulge in some mindless entertainment. Have yourselves a glorious weekend!

Broccoli demon outstays welcome in cauliflower heaven: Day 3 — November 16, 2017

Broccoli demon outstays welcome in cauliflower heaven: Day 3

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Sorry, sorry, sooorryyyy! This series was meant to take a few days and be done with. Eyes will probably start rolling now, but I swear this is the truth: I got swamped with work, then went out of town for a couple of days and time just passed. In fact, I’m using a lull in the daily workflow to get this one finished and dispatched. Yep, I feel guilty, please don’t hate me!

So, let’s proceed. On day three of this cauliflower journey, there will be no cooking, just mixing stuff together. Well, apart from where you spend a couple of minutes to throw the cauliflower and carrots into the veggie steamer.

Here’s an interesting fact: for most of my life, I had no idea what tuna fish tasted like. I won’t start reminiscing about my childhood and adolescence, which were spent under an authoritarian communist regime. What I want to say is that many things were unknown in these parts, tuna included. Sure, we had fresh and canned fish, but no tuna graced supermarket shelves. At least the masses didn’t have it, the bastard commie elite may have gorged themselves on it.

The point of telling you this is to make it known that I have become a huge fan of tuna in recent years. No, I don’t start salivating profusely and acting strangely at the sight of it, but I do love it. Ergo, today you’re getting a recipe that features tuna. We’ll be having a salad of sorts, for which you need your cauliflower and carrot mixture plus the following:

  • Some canned tuna
  • Sweet corn
  • A cucumber
  • A few radishes (A spur-of-the-moment thing, saw them in the supermarket and thought it would be a good idea to throw some into the mix. My taste buds thought so.)
  • Mayonnaise
  • Mustard

Do you even need me to tell you what to do?! Just in case you do, here’s the procedure: chop up the cucumber and radishes, add to the cauliflower, and then throw in the corn and the tuna. In another bowl, scoop up some mayo and mix with a bit of mustard. The quantities will depend on how much dressing you want and how mustardy you prefer it.

And here’s what you get for your efforts:

IMG_20171103_194135

Incidentally, I’m having another tuna-based salad for dinner today. Don’t worry, I won’t be forcing that recipe on you as well. In fact, my cauliflower head proved enough for four meals, so the next post will be the final in this series. Then I really need a change of theme or people might think they’ve stumbled across a cooking blog. Which they have not, I must point out.

Broccoli demon lingers in cauliflower heaven: Day 2 — November 6, 2017

Broccoli demon lingers in cauliflower heaven: Day 2

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So, the Earth did its rotation thingy and a new day dawned on my cauliflower project. After the euphoria of day one, I felt like something creamy for the next round. My thoughts strayed to the two options I typically debate in my head: mayonnaise with mustard or blue cheese sauce?

Frankly, I stick with those because they are easy to make, especially the first one. I mean, you just mix mayo with mustard and you’re done! Sometimes I add a spoonful or two of yogurt, depending on what else is in the dish to keep it from getting too rich.

I decided to go with blue cheese sauce. Since that’s quite the extravaganza in my book, I thought, “What the hell, let’s go wild and throw in some mushrooms!” And that’s what I ended up with: cauliflower with mushrooms and blue cheese sauce.

Cauliflower in blue 🙂

All right then, you have your steamed mixture of cauliflower and carrots. You’ll also need the following:

  • A few mushrooms (I had five mid-sized ones)
  • A little butter
  • Parsley
  • Ground black pepper

And these for the sauce:

  • 100ml of cooking cream (mine came in one of those small cartons)
  • 50g of blue cheese
  • 50ml of milk

And…action!

Cut the mushroom up however you want and throw them in the pan, where the melted butter is sizzling and beckoning. My two cents: use as little butter as possible because there’s plenty of fat in the sauce. Of course, if your attitude to butter and similar fats is summed up by “the more, the better,” don’t let me stop you.

Once the mushrooms are cooked, turn off the heat, sprinkle with black pepper and chopped parsley and give the mixture a few good final stirs. Then remove the pan, take a deep breath and proceed with the sauce.

Did you notice how I gave you exact measures for the sauce ingredients? People who have read my recipes know that I have quite the disdain for precise quantities, but I’ve come to realize that sometimes you just have to do what you’re told. This sauce is a case in point. The first time I made it, my passion for blue cheese got the better of me and I plonked in the entire piece, which was 100g. I tell you, it was a massive waste of material as the sauce turned out too salty. I may or may not have cried in anger and despair.

Anyway, here’s how you make the sauce. Pour the cream into a pan and bring to boil while stirring. Add the milk and the mashed blue cheese and keep stirring until the cheese fully melts.

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That’s it! All you have to do now is mix everything together, give it a few minutes to settle and proceed to devour with gusto. I think I gave my cats a scare because I was practically growling while I ate. I probably sound disgusting…Maybe I should just keep some things to myself.

See ya soon!

Broccoli demon goes to cauliflower heaven: Day 1 — November 1, 2017

Broccoli demon goes to cauliflower heaven: Day 1

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Those who’ve read my article on fruit and veggies know that I turn into a demon at the sight of broccoli, a fiend losing all regard for familial ties, any sense of propriety and basic human decency. Must-have-all-broccoli-no-touch-you-die…..that kind of thing.

While not as demented, my reaction to cauliflower may also seem unhinged. Domestic peace has endured due to the exceptionally fortunate fact that my son doesn’t much care for either broccoli or cauliflower.

What I’m going to do over the next few days is share with you how I consumed a massive head of cauliflower (not all at once, of course, I split it into several portions). These are concoctions I felt like trying out, but I won’t claim originality – it may very well be that some ideas have stuck during my frequent browsing of recipe sites. I don’t even know what to call them: some are neither properly cooked meals nor salads. What I can tell you for certain is that I found every single bite orgiastic!

To spare myself some keyboard clacking and your good selves reading time, here is something that unites all recipes: the cauliflower is steamed together with some sliced carrots and this is later mixed with the cooked portion of the meal. OK? So every recipe has this as its foundation. Quantities are entirely up to you.

Some of these combinations probably violate a rule or two or a dozen of proper cooking. I kindly ask you to note that I’m clueless as to said rules and I’m solely guided by my taste buds and intuition.

Now, let’s see what came out of my kitchen on day one.

Broccoli meets cauliflower in epic merger of near-equals 🙂

In addition to the steamed cauliflower-cum-carrots mixture, you’ll also need:

  • Some broccoli (I got the frozen variety because my store had no fresh broccoli right then and I couldn’t wait)
  • A cucumber
  • A couple of tomatoes
  • Chili pepper flakes
  • Cooking oil
  • Soy sauce
  • Salt (perhaps)

As I noted above, this is a hybrid of sorts. I may like veggies, but I’m not too keen on steamed ones; they are depressingly bland. But combine them with some stir-fried goodies and you bring a good thing into this world.

All you need to do is stir-fry the broccoli, adding the chili pepper flakes near the end. I love spicy dishes, but if you don’t, you can just use sweet pepper flakes. Mind the salt because the soy sauce has plenty of it.

 

broccoli flakes
Phase 1: broccoli done

 

And that’s all the cooking, I kid you not! I mean, involving heat and some stirring. Remove the pan, add the cauliflower and carrots and mix well. I suggest leaving this to cool before proceeding to the next step.

 

mixture
Phase 2: broccoli mixed with steamed veggies

 

Once the mixture has cooled down, grab that cucumber and the tomatoes and chop them up, in as small or as large pieces as you want, in whatever shape pleases you. Add them to the pan and mix carefully so as not to squish the tomatoes.

 

final
Phase 3: all done

 

What next? Just scoop some of it onto a plate, drizzle with soy sauce and tuck in!

I realize I’m excessively biased in this case, but I have to tell you I was stuffing my face to the sound of heavenly trumpets and angel choirs. It was all in my head, of course, and I plan to seek professional help. That said, I hope somebody is intrigued enough to give this a try and get back to me with a comment. Happy cooking, fellow broccolites and/or cauliphiles!

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