Cauliflower Rice
HOLD THE RICE Growing up in a Chinese household, we ate rice. In fact, a ton of rice. It was served with most meals that Ma Ma freshly prepared at home. And any takeout that Ba Ba cooked at the restaurant for us four kids had a least one white quart-sized container included in the brown paper sack. Like I said, we ate a ton of rice. Black bean riblets I remember as a child that I was not fond of rice. It was bland and boring. A white mound beside the glistening, black bean riblets that had so much flavor. It was not unusual that I was left alone at the dinner table staring at that small, scoop of untouched rice and not uncommon for me to hear: You need to finish your rice before you can leave the table. Every kernel of rice you leave on your plate will be a blemish on your future husband's face . I got smart after awhile. When the coast was clear, I would scrape the rice off my plate into the trash. A crumpled napkin would go on top. Dr. Jason's face