A Farewell to Brussel Sprouts

It’s a sunny afternoon, and as I type this, I can hear the gentle lapping of waves on the beach in the background.

…on my TV. Which is playing a looping Caribbean video. Because I live in the Midwest, and this winter is coming close to breaking me. Reality is, the closest I’ll get to the beach this winter is dropping my parents off at the airport so they can go to Florida for a couple weeks. Beautiful. sunny. warm. Florida.

Not that I’m jealous or anything. Ahem.

Onto happier topics! Such as the fact that I am totally giving up on brussel sprouts.

Here they are, looking like innocent green golf balls.

When I was kid, I was not a very adventurous vegetable eater. Carrots, broccoli, peas, celery, lettuce… fine. Cooked spinach, asparagus, and brussel sprouts? No way.

Yes.

As I’ve gotten older, many vegetables that were on my “What is that disgusting smell?” list, now appeal to my taste buds. Like a spinach salad. Who knew spinach could be delicious if it was raw? Genius.

Armed with that knowledge, a couple years ago I was at the grocery store. I saw a bag of frozen brussel sprouts, tossed in some sort of herblicious butter, and thought, “Let’s give brussel sprouts another try.”

My husband, Christian “I will eat anything”, was up for the experience, and we cooked them that night.

And they. were. awful.

No.

So, so bad. In our house, you know something is inedible if even Christian won’t eat it. I liken the texture and flavor to if your garbage disposal had gotten clogged up for a couple days after you’d made a big salad. And you hauled a big ball of who knows what out of the disposal. And heated it up. And ate it.

Now, two years later, I’ve been feeling bad about our brussel sprout experience. Maybe my taste buds had another couple years of maturing to do. Maybe I prepared them wrong. On Pinterest, I was seeing lots of brussel sprouts recipes, and nearly all of them required roasting. So, in my ongoing attempts to be a true grown-up, I decided to give them another try.

At the grocery store, I carefully selected my fresh brussel sprouts, one by one. I lovingly sprinkled them with olive oil, garlic powder, and salt and pepper. I roasted them in the oven, even flipping them over halfway through to ensure a uniformly crispy texture.

Then came the moment of truth. We sat down to dinner, each with a small mound of blackened brussel sprouts in front of us. I took my first hopeful bite, and it was… really not great. Kind of crunchy. And kind of garlicky. With strong hints of garbage disposal flavor and elegantly mushy texture in the middle.

Brown-colored brussel sprouts do not equal delicious.

I soldiered my way through another couple of sprouts, feeling them glaring up at me from the plate.

The feeling is mutual.

And then it was as though a light of epiphany shone all around me.

I realized, “These are horrible. They may be healthy. But horrible. Real grown-ups don’t have to eat brussel sprouts. Real grown-ups are comfortable with what they do and don’t like. I can still be a grown-up and never touch brussel sprouts again.

So, with this blog post, I bid a not-so-fond farewell to brussel sprouts. It’s been real… yucky.