“You deeeep them!” explained my Argentine mother standing behind a cutting board overflowing with seemingly every vegetable known to man. She made a dipping motion with the cauliflower floret in her hand, while trying to keep her piles from avalanching into each other. “Like fondue?” I asked hopefully, visions of chocolate-covered strawberries dancing in my 10-year-old head. “Si, pero tiene mucho mucho ajo!” Lots and lots of garlic.
