I have a, perhaps, unnatural love of brussels sprouts. A whole stalk can easily become my dinner when roasted in olive oil and lightly salted (my husband loves them too, though, so I try to share). And I seriously think many times while eating them, “these are way better than any candy.” Seriously. I do.
Many people hate brussels sprouts. And I used to be one of them.
As a kid, my parents would buy bags of frozen sprouts and steam them, topping the whole lot with butter. My mom, despite being incredibly picky about food, happened to love brussels sprouts. I would eat them, but always quickly and sometimes covered in parmesan cheese (the sawdust from the green can, that is). I could never imagine that there would be day when I would voluntarily eat them, much less look forward to their appearance at the market.
But then, about 7 years ago, for reasons still mysterious, I woke up CRAVING them. Having moved out of my parents’ house nearly five years earlier, I’m not sure I had eaten even one in that time. Nor had I ever thought about them. So I’m not sure why I needed those tiny cabbages so badly that day. Maybe its my Polish blood craving some cabbage-y goodness. I went to the store and purchased the same bag of frozen sprouts my mom had bought so many times. And I ate them all in one sitting. I loved them. I had to have more.
Forsaking frozen for fresh, I now eagerly await the appearance of the mutant stalk at the farmers market. One vendor had them labeled “Wisconsin Palm Trees” a few weeks back and they did look kind of tropical, with their nubby stalk and oversized leaves flopping over the top. I popped them off the stalk and roasted them for 35 minutes. I ate so many I nearly gave myself a stomach ache. I might be the first person to overdose on brussels sprouts.
To join my brussels sprouts appreciation club, cook this from 101Cookbooks and see if you can resist.