Liberal guilt

10/3/99

Good deeds and a clean conscience have their rewards, but they won't put dinner on the table.

In the late '80s, when I was still on the bright side of 35, I remember scampering from our Rountree rental home toward the supermarket, full of big plans, no doubt. I'm sure some mad cooking inspiration was driving me, the dish to die for.

But a horrid sight stopped me short. I'd seen all too many bottles lying smashed against the gutter. But this was worse. Threatening big shards and insidious semivisible ones lay sprawled over the sidewalk before a little house near National Avenue.

Yes, I could walk around, and I wanted to, heaven knows. But a bad upbringing held me back, one fraught with pathological feelings of guilt about actions that had nothing to do with me. Think of the futures hanging on *my* action: Children and pets might slash their tender flesh. The homeowner might be sued. All from my negligence! Aiieeee!

I hate bursting in on strangers, but I had to tell the homeowner what evils might await. My timid knock summoned a nice woman, several decades my senior and rather frail. After I'd explained the situation, she asked: "Would you clean it up for me?" Now this was going a bit far! I'd done my bit! I'd rid myself of potential guilt, hadn't I? "Sure. No problem," I choked out, and she fetched a broom, a dusptan and a wastebasket. Sheesh.

The job took forever, of course. Broken glass always does. There was glass in her lawn, too, and visions of fatal lawn-mower accidents forced me to search those little leaves for the hated shards.

At first, my mood was anything but bright. But as the task neared an end, I cheered up. I'd done the right thing! No, my thoughts hadn't been pure or noble, but I was, in the words of the Wizard of Oz, a phil ... phil -- a good-deed-doer.

Not for long. The object of my kindness smiled at me sweetly, no doubt taking in my scraggly attire, and said: "Here. Take this." She held out three shiny quarters. "Oh, no, please," I gasped, but she insisted. I couldn't ruin *her* feelings of doing a good deed for my own, could I? For shame!

I didn't go to the supermarket or whip up the dish of my career. I was too tired and hungry. I slunk home, 75 cents weighing down my pocket, and vowed never to let good-deed-doing get in the way of dinner.

***************

Speculations on what might have been tend to the ridiculous -- especially when they have to do with me and cooking. What if, on one fateful day, I had proceeded to the store and bought a botulism-bubbling can? What if my creation had burned down our kitchen, and the spouse had left me? Gosh, I can't take all this possible guilt. I'm probably very lucky that I was waylaid from my purpose by a sidewalk full of glass.

The spouse took me out to dinner that night -- to a very inexpensive littl'e Korean place in center city. We'd never been before, and the meal was very nice. Or nice until we noticed that the place took neither checks nor credit cards. Cash? Who carries cash? We scrabbled through our wallets and gathered up enough for the tab, and not much more.

You think I was relieved? Hah! I had before me a disaster, a full plate of both guilt and shame. Our tip wouldn't hit the proper range. I've been a waitress, and I know that servers are taxed on tips whether they get them or not. So there was guilt. And shame, too -- can you imagine walking out of a place when you've had a good and inexpensive meal, and not even leaving a lousy 15 percent? Black depths of horror opened up in front of me.

Then, suddenly, I felt my pocket. Three quarters. Not much, but it saved my sense of self. Good deeds can pay off, in their own perverse fashion.

Now that I have filled you all with uplifting thoughts, it's time to bring them back down to earth. Cauliflower is our subject today. The weather is changing, and I've been having cauliflower cravings.

Don't like cauliflower? That's OK. The spouse blanched when I mentioned my plans, but he helped snarf up the dish. And anyway, what we've got here is a basic gratin. If you want to, gussy up the cauliflower with onions and red peppers and anything else you fancy. Or take different veggies altogether (enough to cover a 9-by-13-inch glass dish), undercook them slightly, and give them the same treatment.

In fact, the source of the recipe -- Springfield resident Royce Cordes, whose fund-raising "The Gardener's Cookbook" was recently featured in this newspaper -- wants you to play around. *You* may hit the culinary jackpot I doubtless missed more than 10 years ago.

SWISS BAKED CAULIFLOWER FLOWERETS

2 small cauliflower

2 teaspoons salt

1 cup shredded Swiss cheese

2/3 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese

1/3 cup seasoned bread crumbs

1/4 cup melted butter

Cut cauliflower into flowerets. Cook, covered, in salted water until barely done, about 10 minutes (or steam about 8 minutes, and salt afterward), then drain. Put in buttered 9-by-13-inch glass dish. Mix cheeses, crumbs and butter in a bowl, and sprinkle over veggies. Bake in a preheated 400-degree oven until crisp on top and bubbly, about 10 to 15 minutes.