Cauliflower Pie, Oh My!

This is not a food blog, but that doesn't mean I don't love food. For the past two days I've been stuffing my face feeding my family with the best food ever. I've made two batches. Yeah, it's that good. You could call it cauliflower pie or, as we like to, The Last Way You Will Ever Eat Cauliflower (pie).

After bringing shame to the family name with grilled artichokes, this definitely reinstated me as the 'silver child'. (Despite only having two children, my parents did not end up with a golden child... I blame genetics.)

I tried to snap a picture of the pie, but it was too late.

So without further fuss...

Cauliflower Pie

• 1 head of cauliflower
• Sea salt
• Pepper
• Olive oil
• 2 TBS sour cream
  
• 1/2-1 of a tomato
• 1/4-1/2 of a purple onion
• 1/2-1 of any color bell pepper
• Red pepper, Spike seasoning, and garlie powder to taste.
• Mozzarella

First, you want to cut up your head of cauliflower into reasonable sized florets and toss them with sea salt, pepper, and olive oil. No specific units on these; just make sure you have enough seasoning and olive oil for each piece. DON'T DROWN YOUR CAULIFLOWER. Just a little!
Then roast those puppies in a 400 degree oven for thirty minutes, stirring them twice. That's 400 in Fahrenheit, not Celsius. I don't know the conversion either because I'm American.
After that, you can stop and eat with ketchup. Or..
Scrape out all the cauliflower, even the burnt super crispy pieces, into a bowl. Mix together with sour cream and seasonings with a hand mixer. It won't be smooth or creamy or look too appetizing, but trust me.
Dice the other veggies. Mix more. Stir in a little mozzarella. Stick it in a pan. Sprinkle more mozzarella, cause you can. Stick it back into the oven for 10-15 minutes at 400 degrees.
Whabam.
This is what your pie will look like before you bake it.


And this is what your pie will look like right after you take it out..

Did I mention it goes REALLY fast?
Yeah.
You're welcome.

-- girl

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Move over, HGTV!

I wish there was a show like House Hunters about equestrians.

You could have first-time buyers and the international version. Fixer-uppers and warmbloods that come with personal chefs and maintenance crews. There'd be the pushy sellers, claiming that this horse was the epitome of equine perfection, and the lookers, spending the entire episode with no intention of ever buying.

You could cringe with the impulse buys. ("Well, there's no way that is ever going to turn out..")

You could envy the luxury models. ("If I had $500,000, I'd buy myself a Grand Prix schoolmaster for training level too!")

You could applaud the good decisions. ("What a perfect pony! She's going to have so much fun with him.")

And best of all, you could do it without spending a dime of our own money.

Here's the thing; horsepeople are crazy. (Which makes for great television....) Also, it means that we are really prone to collecting ponies. Whether in our mind or in real life... The only difference is if we have the pasture space.

Think I'm wrong?

How many hours have you spent trolling the online sale horse ads? Ever spend time looking at the pony classifieds in the newspaper? Drool over your friend's latest pony purchase?

Yeah. That's what I thought.

It's okay, fellow horsepeople. I used to spend hours with our newspaper, circling ads and writing out what type of home I though they'd do best in. I'm not proud. B.H.*, I collected so many plastic ponies that Hoarders almost came to visit.

(Many of them still remain in my closet. I justify keeping them because I use them to teach horse colors an hour once a year. This does not explain the pink one.)

If you didn't collect them in plastic form, maybe you have an extensive library. One in which the Dutch Warmblood is circled with a shaky hand and the fat Welsh pony has been check marked.

Now, imagine the joy of getting your first pony or your last pony. Bet you leaned over the fence with some treat in your palm, gazed into those big eyes and wondered what sort of adventures you two would have. You probably pictured all the memories you'd make.

And you definitely bought a new saddle pad in his colors.

Because who ever likes the drapes it comes with?

House Hunters? No. But Horse Hunters?

I'd DVR ever episode.

--girl

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SUMMER.

Finals are done! All my stuff is moved back in! Summer has begun!

I wanted to take a week off in between school and working, so I apologize for the time gap. I have been riding and sweating and signing myself for "responsible adult-like" things. This blog will be updated every Monday after this post, including such topics as "Practical Impractical Ponies", "Ten Things I Hate About Chickens", and "He's Just Not That Into You (... And the treats to change his mind)".

The Backyard Barn has grown big enough to have a waiting list, so I am going to be super busy.
----------------------
The only ones more excited than me were... You guessed it. My Littles flung themselves on me while the new Littles I've yet to teach gazed on with unconvinced faces. "When are we going to sleep in the barn?!"

Uh. What?

In my first week home, we fixed up an old room so I didn't have to sleep in the camper.. I took a breath, getting ready to explain this, when one of them gazed up with pleading eyes. "The Queen said we could have a sleepover in the barn when you came home."

"Oh, did she?"

The Queen is the owner of the barn. And also a real estate agent. And also a geology professor. And also a Dressage junkie. And also a wife and mother of two kids, one who plays the stock market and one who... You guessed it again. Is me.

Now, when we first built the Backyard Barn, the Queen hauled me out there before the stalls were finished. We laid a tarp over the hay and excitedly waited to fall asleep in our brand-new barn.

But we never did.

Hamlet stall-walked the whole night, and when the sound of him stirring shavings and shit had become mildly soothing, the train went by. Our dog spent the night exploring the barn and crawling in and out of bed, and the Queen, who had lost the youthful ability to sleep anywhere, tossed and turned. Needless to say, she was not looking very stately the next morning.

She also was in a very "Queen of Hearts" mood.. Luckily, I was wise enough not to comment, though I'm taking my life into my hands by mentioning it here.

We have never slept in the barn again, with the exception of Horse's birth.

See why she wasn't jumping at the opportunity to spend the night in a barn with 7 to 15 years old girls? (Oh, yeah. There's that too.)

But I am a sucker. One look did it; I committed to a night at the barn with a bunch of kids and a couple teenagers. They squealed with delight as I tried to figure out how to incorporate some form of horse management.

Later, the Queen and I ate dinner. "So, I'm spending the night in the barn."
"Oh," she said, sounding unsurprised with a smile. "We have cots!"

....... Yay?

-- Girl

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