Redemption for the Misunderstood Brussels Sprout
By David Martin
Imagine a world where Brussels sprouts don’t physically revolt you. Where you don’t have nightmares about their bumpy, leafy little soggy bulbs taunting you from your dinner plate. A world where you can actually join the Clean Plate Club whenever Brussels sprouts are on the menu.
Am I being too idealistic? Speaking of things that are just simply impossible? Well read on, dear, ignorant reader, and acquire sacred knowledge that is destined to change your life.
Haven’t found love? Use the leafy, dry, cold leaves of a sprout to gently caress a potential partner into the vegetative love of your fever dreams.
Don’t have enough money? Let these leafy, dense, balled greenbacks make you feel rich with flavor, sensuality, texture, and leave your culinary poverty behind.
Brussels sprouts are heinously misunderstood. They’re like the ugly duckling of the vegetable world. You see Brussels sprouts in the grocery store and think, “Nah, I don’t think I’ll be buying a sack of hardened giant boogers today.” Woe to you, dear reader, for ignorance is anguish in this instance.
When approached with a deft, caressing hand and the right cooking elements, you can usher these miniature cabbages out of ugly adolescence and into beautiful, vegetable adulthood.
Start by trimming off the tough, white ends. Nobody needs to chew on a broiled piece of wood. Then, halve the larger sprouts so all elements are a similar size.
Place the sprouts in a bowl and slick up those little suckers up with some olive oil and sea salt.
Chuck them onto a baking pan and threaten a branding under the broiler. The sprouts will cook through, but also singe and burn slightly.
Dear reader, notice an important parallel here. Weren’t we all once sprouts, lumpy, ugly, and green? And aren’t we all now slightly singed and burned by the world, but more textured and flavorful? Who knew a misunderstood plant could broach such robust introspection. I’m emotional, honestly.
Furthermore, just as we often need to cover up our burnt, flaky musk and visage with moisturizer and perfume, baste your newly mature Brussels with honey and balsamic vinegar. Honey for the blemishes and dry exterior, balsamic for aroma, pheromones, and aphrodisia.
Admittedly, this has gotten slightly creepy, but we’re nearing the end of the recipe. Toss your sprouts in a bowl to get an even coating of the honey and balsamic, sprinkle with some more salt, and call yourself a sprout shepherd.
Looking for a drink to accompany this wrinkled fruit of the earth? Try out Manor Hill’s Pilsner. With a subtle profile of sweet malts and floral aromatics, this beer will gently wash away the vestiges of any ignorant distaste towards your Brussels sprouts.
Safe pastures, herdsmen.