I know that if you’re a liar, liar, you get your pants on fire…but what does it make you when you get your oven on fire?
I typed that, and then I realized the answer is, clearly, a bad baker.
Fortunately, I didn’t actually start a fire in my oven; I just had a mishap that sure made it smell like I did. I mentioned the lemon streusel coffeecake in passing last week, but I didn’t mention the part where I fumbled when pulling the pan out of the oven, spilling some of the almonds and brown sugar bits. I turned the oven off immediately and everything was fine, although some of the streusel melted and hardened into blackened rubble.
Not a big deal — this is not my first rodeo. As I set the wet rag over the spill to soak, I reminded myself not to forget it.
You can probably guess where this is going.
The next evening as I preheated the oven quite hot for the supper I had prepped and ready to go in, I noticed the black smoke billowing out of the vent. I smelled that telltale acrid burn, and immediately remembered what I had forgotten. I’m afraid I bumbled frantically around the kitchen a bit, exclaiming to Benson that “We need Brian! We need Brian!” — although at least I thought to turn the oven off first thing. I grabbed a tongs and tried to pull the cloth off the bottom, but all that came up was a smoldering lump of instantly-hardened fabric lava.
I’m not sure what that rag used to be made out of, but now it was made out of pure ruin. Needless to say, the oven was out of commission that night…and for several days afterwards, as I tried various methods of disaster relief. (None overly effective, although fortunately the trauma has been assuaged enough to render the oven usable again.)
I definitely don’t use the oven every day, but of course once the option was removed, I felt like I needed it. Especially that night for the supper that was all just about to get popped in to cook so easily. We found our workarounds, however, and didn’t even begin to go hungry: Brian was able to throw the lamb ribs on the grill (our first time cooking that cut of meat; Benson said he preferred to call it “dead goat”); the sweet potatoes went in the microwave; the asparagus got thrown into a cast iron skillet. We even got bonus grilled zucchini because the grill was on so why not?
The one thing that I hadn’t intended to roast was a pot of cauliflower cheese grits, so that could actually go as planned. What the plan was, I didn’t know until I was into it…I had been looking at some cajun and creole recipes, the cheesy grits variations kept catching my eye, and I had a cauliflower head in the fridge waiting to be cooked, so my course of action seemed very logical. I’m so glad it could be cooked on the stovetop, because while the rest of supper was nice, that pot of creamy cheesy goodness is what I kept coming back to.
The best part being, there was nothing stuck or burnt onto the pot and no need of overnight soaking, just a quick scrub. Phew.
Cheesy Cauliflowerits
Before you get in a tizzy because these are not actually grits, thereby lacking the subtly sweet flavor or tender chew of cornmeal, give this dish a try. The cauliflower cooks up rich and soft but not mushy, and provides the perfect canvas for the creamy and sharp aspects of the cheese to shine. Amounts are even less precise than my usual in this technique/idea-driven recipe, so just remember that it isn’t finicky and is all to taste. Also I’m sure if you wanted to finish it by topping with some extra cheese and broiling for a few minutes, that would be lovely…assuming your oven is safer than mine was at the tim.
Prep tips: I used sharp white cheddar and fontina, but essentially any white cheese will do the trick; I just like the funkiness of aged. To stretch you even more, I offer the fact that leftovers are amazing cold drizzled with hot honey.
a head of cauliflower, pulsed or chopped into rice-sized or smaller bits
a couple cups of milk
salt and cracked black pepper
a couple tablespoons of cream cheese
a dash of dry mustard powder
a couple ounces of sharp cheese, shredded
Transfer cauliflower to a medium saucepan, and pour in enough milk just to cover. Bring to a simmer, add some salt and pepper, cover, and cook just until cauliflower is tender. Stir in cream cheese, dry mustard, and shredded cheese; let simmer, uncovered, if still soupy, but it will soak up some of the milk as it sits. Season to taste and serve.
