Saffron Cauliflower Rice

Christmas. Back in Portland. Miya is here Christmas morning — the calendar swing. Tamagoyaki, miso soup, rice. The ritual. The ritual that has not changed in ten years, the ritual that will not change, the ritual that is the Christmas I give my daughter: the Japanese Christmas, the morning of rice and egg and soup, the morning that says who we are before the day says who everyone else wants us to be.

Miya opened presents: books (always), a new apron (embroidered with her name — "MIYA" in katakana, a gift from the Saturday school teacher), and the big gift this year: a set of Fumiko's ceramic bowls. Not copies. Not reproductions. The real bowls — three of the five originals, removed from my shelf and given to Miya, because she is eight and she cooks and she has earned the bowls, and the earning is the readiness, and the readiness is the moment when the inheritance shifts from the mother's shelf to the daughter's shelf, and the shifting is the practice continuing, and the continuing is the point.

I kept two bowls — the chipped one (always, the chipped one stays with me until I am done with it, and "done" is a conversation about mortality that Miya and I have already had and will have again) and one other. Miya held the three bowls with the reverence of a person receiving sacred objects, which they are, the most sacred objects in this kitchen, more sacred than the tamagoyaki pan, more sacred than the recipe cards, because the bowls were in Fumiko's hands every day, and the daily touch is the holiest touch, and the bowls carry the touch, and now Miya's hands are on the bowls, and the touch transfers.

She said, "These are really Obaachan's?" I said yes. She said, "What if I break one?" I said, "Then we will have broken it. The breaking is part of the having." She looked at me with the expression of a child who has received an answer that is both reassuring and insufficient, the way all answers about breakage are both reassuring and insufficient. She took the bowls to her room and placed them on her shelf and I heard her, through the wall, say: "Hi, Obaachan." The greeting was to the bowls. The bowls were Fumiko. The greeting was the chain. The chain holds. The chain is held by an eight-year-old saying hi to her great-grandmother through three ceramic bowls on a shelf in Portland.

The rice is always the center of the morning—the quiet anchor that holds the tamagoyaki and the miso in orbit around it. This year, watching Miya carry Fumiko’s bowls to her shelf, I wanted to offer a version of the morning bowl that she could make herself, something in the spirit of the ritual even when the full ritual isn’t possible. This saffron cauliflower rice has that same quality I love in the best simple food: it asks for your attention, it rewards your care, and it looks beautiful in a ceramic bowl—especially one that has been held by hands you love.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 15 minutes | Total Time: 25 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

1 medium head cauliflower, cut into florets
1/4 teaspoon saffron threads
2 tablespoons warm water
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 small yellow onion, finely diced
2 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
1/4 teaspoon ground turmeric
1/4 teaspoon ground black pepper
2 tablespoons fresh flat-leaf parsley, chopped
1 teaspoon lemon zest
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice

Instructions

Bloom the saffron. Combine saffron threads and warm water in a small bowl and let steep for at least 5 minutes. The water should turn a deep golden yellow—this is the color that will carry through the whole dish.
Rice the cauliflower. Working in batches, pulse cauliflower florets in a food processor until they resemble the texture of coarse rice, about 10–12 short pulses. Do not over-process. Set aside.
Sauté the aromatics. Heat olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Add the diced onion and cook, stirring occasionally, until softened and translucent, about 5 minutes. Add the minced garlic and cook 1 minute more until fragrant.
Add the cauliflower. Add the riced cauliflower to the skillet along with the salt, turmeric, and black pepper. Stir to combine everything evenly with the onion and garlic.
Add the saffron water. Pour the bloomed saffron and its liquid over the cauliflower. Stir well to distribute the color throughout. Cook, stirring occasionally, for 6–8 minutes until the cauliflower is tender but not mushy and any excess moisture has cooked off.
Finish and season. Remove from heat. Stir in lemon zest, lemon juice, and chopped parsley. Taste and adjust salt as needed. Serve immediately in your best bowls.

Nutrition (per serving)

Saffron Cauliflower Rice — A Morning Bowl for the Ritual That Holds