Rest assured.... I have not forgotten...duties of life call...and I shall be writing again very soon...

Monsieur Sprout...

My relationship with Monsieur Sprout began when I was very young.  We have had many years together and the bittersweet trials of a love/hate relationship.  Monsieur Sprout would usually be a dinner guest once if not twice a week in my family home and to be perfectly frank, the only one who ever really wanted him there was my mother.  Now if you are ever fortunate enough to dine at my mother’s table you better come prepared for a delicious meal that consists of at LEAST three vegetables. Growing up my family never seemed to miss an evening meal together and like stated already... never did a week go by where the oh so dreaded Brussels Sprout showed its ugly green leafy head.  

Reasons for this nemesis always being welcomed back can be blamed on the strong British influence of my mother’s homeland or the simple fondness she had of this veggie. I blame the strictness of my families table manners.  Propriety while dining has always been upheld to the nth degree.  With that being said... it was required that at least one Brussels be consumed before we could leave the table.  

It should be noted that my brothers and I made many diligent attempts to avoid this terror of all vegetables.  Claiming to have already eaten the one, although my parents seemed to have a radar for knowing this fib. Dousing them in gravy, salt, pepper, creamed corn… just anything else on your plate to avoid the terrible taste.  Countless endeavors were made to slyly pass it on to the eager dog waiting for a handout under the table, but even they seemed to know that this item was not something worth begging for. 

My favorite attempt would have to be the cleverness my brother Andrew made in taking an extra helping of mashed potatoes in order to bury the sprout.  In fact I do believe this was the only successful evasion ever accomplished of a Brussels.  It did not take too long for my father to catch on.  Inspections of potatoes soon followed.  

It  takes a bit of maturing of one’s mind and one's palate to realize there is truth to "mother knows best".  Until recently my relationship with Monsieur Sprout has taken a turn.  I have learned to actually really like these little cabbages.  I find them better when they are small, cut in half, steamed to perfection, and with the aid of a little butter and salt & pepper they are delightful.  So go ahead… give them another try.