It's Sunday night, and I just got off a plane. Scratch that - I just returned from the airport of horror, LaGuardia. The last thing I want to do, let alone think of, is making dinner. In my imagination, dinner is already ready and waiting for me. Perhaps, for practicality purposes, served by a handful of singing-and-dancing knick knacks? 

OK, so maybe my life doesn't involve any Disney movie magic - which is too bad because how cool would a magic carpet be? Especially in New York, you'd save time and health commuting via magic carpet. I digress - but this blog is pretty magical. Especially when it comes to turning an over-abundance of veggies into the most convenient and delicious dishes your Sunday night has ever seen. 

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My junior year in Tel Aviv was the first time I had a kitchen of my own. Apart from the summer spent in an absorption center in Ashdod while volunteering on ambulances (whose kitchen consisted of a sad hot plate, a sad counter and a sad toaster oven), that was the first time I had a space to cook for myself. And what did I do to inaugurate this life's milestone?

Ate nothing but hummus and cucumbers on toast.

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It might be odd to start a food blog with something that seems so simple. "Rina, I guess cauliflower is fine and all, but what's so special about this?  Where's the pizzazz?" NO. This is not just fine, this is spectacular. I included the term "crack" in the title for a reason. Cauliflower might seem like a weird broccoli ghost, but when it's roasted something magical happens. And that's not hyperbolic. When roasted at high heat, cauliflower becomes this glorious, caramelized being that it is brown and crunchy on the outside and soft on the inside. I hate the word meaty, I really do, but I suppose you could call the interior of roasted cauliflower that. I won't, but you can.

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