Yesterday, deep into my daily time-waster—scrolling through Facebook—I saw something that hit me like a fish across the face.
Cauliflower ice cream. CAULIFLOWER ICE CREAM.
This is getting out of hand. What’s next, broccoli fudge?
If you’re interested: Cut cauliflower into florets and cook until tender, drain. Combine cauliflower, cashews, coconut milk, scraped vanilla bean, coconut oil, salt, brown rice syrup, maple syrup, vanilla and almond extracts, throw into into a high-speed blender and whirl until smooth. Stir in pistachios and freeze overnight.
They left out the last step: Give it to the dog. He won’t eat it either. (Years ago, I tried a new kind of veggie burger that was so bad, I spit out the first mouthful. Figuring waste not, want not, I gave the burger to Elvis, the mighty pit bull. He sniffed it, licked it, gave me a deadly look and stalked off. Ignored me for hours.)
I don’t care how hardcore paleo or keto you’re trying to be, cauliflower ice cream is an abomination. (Also, 11 ingredients is ridiculous. I bake black bean brownies—no flour, sugar or dairy--that’ll make you slap the teeth out of Grandma’s mouth, and it only has eight ingredients.)
Remember last month, when a barber and a customer exchanged gunshots at a Forest Acres barber shop? I don’t think it was a bad haircut situation—I think one of them was bragging about his homemade cauliflower ice cream, and the other one snapped. The customer ran to his truck and got his gun, the barber pulled out his piece and it was on. Cauliflower ice cream, I’m telling you. (Nobody was hit, otherwise it wouldn’t be hilarious.)
I get the concept behind fake ice cream: We’re all trying to cut carbs and calories. Last week I tried making gelato with cream cheese, monkfruit sweetener, peanut butter and coconut milk. It was terrible. In fact, there’s still a parfait glass of lumpy tan glop somewhere in the fridge.
Here’s a tip: If you don’t want to be tempted by ice cream, don’t keep it in the house. This foolproof method works for me every time I wake up at 3 a.m. jonesing for some Ben & Jerry’s. (Not once have I thought, “Say, I should get up and turn cauliflower into a frozen dessert.”)
I’d be into paleo, but I cut out meat 12 years ago. This isn’t a soapbox to preach the evils of eating beef, pork or lamb, but I’ve seen the documentaries: The animals know death is imminent. They tremble, they shriek, they try to flee. Death by bolt-gun is instantaneous, but the suffering before death turned the tide for me.
If you eat meat, have at it. My husband is a voracious carnivore, and I don’t love him any less. He, in turn, doesn’t nag me about not eating burgers or his beloved barbecue. He follows his conscience, and I follow mine.
Just so you know, I’ve tried to quit chicken and failed miserably. I love baked chicken, roasted chicken, fried chicken, stewed chicken, poached chicken, grilled chicken, chicken and pastry, chicken satay, chicken fingers, chicken anything. Until I find more willpower chickens will, regrettably, continue to die for me.
I have zero problem with killing and eating venison. I don’t like the taste but if I did, bring it on. A wild deer is eating berries and BANG! The lights go out. That’s about as humane as it gets.
You know what’s inhumane? Cauliflower ice cream.
Julie R. Smith, who might be willing to try grits ice cream, can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org.