Did you know that 95% of America's Brussels sprouts are grown in California? Maybe that's why I'm a fan. That said, I'm not ignorant to most folks mild if not outright disgust for these little cabbage cousins. Having experienced many meals with poorly prepared sprouts, I can understand the revulsion. I found this little poem that sums up the feeling well.
They're bought in job lots every year
To eat them with our wine and beer,.
They look and taste like rotting greens
And smell like tins of cold baked beans!
They even have the same outcome
As wind rumbles around in our tums.
Our usual sunny dispositions
Displeased by a cruel Yule tide tradition.
We ask why on Festive plate we allow
The horrible Brussel, it tastes so foul?
The humble looking little green bud -
We sit there, retching up the cud.
The mini cabbage will make us gag
That's only fit for a black bin bag!
Then more revolt - the veg and spuds
Served up warm for tomorrows' lunch!
That end up in a bubble and squeak,
Those leftovers' fried in oil so deep.
For Veggies' that are bought so seldom,
Why don't we just send them all to Belgium?
And most will end up in the bin -
Better out then in - they're so disgusting!
I know there's some who enjoy a Brussel
With vitamins to build up body and muscle,
While others like their taste and pungency,
But personally - they're really not for me!
For me, Brussels sprouts and the holidays are a good metaphor for life. So much of our own personal happiness is a factor of embracing what we are given then finding and accentuating the positives. Brussels sprouts may not be the top choice on most folk's vegetable list, but with the right preparation they can go from disgusting to delicious, from stomach turning to mouth watering. So in preparation for this Christmas, read the poem below and look forward to this tasty little side at the Christmas table!
Brussels Sprouts
Catharine Savage Brosman
In drag-foot March, and fastening my coat
Catharine Savage Brosman
In drag-foot March, and fastening my coat
against a churlish wind, as I arrive
at the greengrocer's stall I have in mind
Bermuda onions, chard, asparagus,
red peppers, corn-a salad for the eye
and long-stemmed hothouse marvels hastening
the spring in every hue; but daffodils
to mark St. David's Day have frumpy blooms,
carnations wither, and the tulip buds
are February's orphans. As for fruit
and vegetables, the apples look as hard
as wood, and flavorless; my leafy thought
of salads dies. But broccoli is out
in florets, with the kindred cabbages
and Brussels sprouts. Such lowly ancestry
they have, these sprouts, so plain! They could be beads
or dresser knobs, or marbles for a game
with winter, and at thirty-seven pence
a pound are not patrician. Yet their sweet
and minimal design, their modesty,
repeating an idea of round desire
and touched with Cezanne blue, invite conceits
with painted tables, sunshine in the shape
of fruit, a bowl, a porcelain carafe,
or curtains at a window by Matisse
as if in all things green there were a grace
awaiting hand or eye to contemplate
the world transcended in its common ways.
at the greengrocer's stall I have in mind
Bermuda onions, chard, asparagus,
red peppers, corn-a salad for the eye
and long-stemmed hothouse marvels hastening
the spring in every hue; but daffodils
to mark St. David's Day have frumpy blooms,
carnations wither, and the tulip buds
are February's orphans. As for fruit
and vegetables, the apples look as hard
as wood, and flavorless; my leafy thought
of salads dies. But broccoli is out
in florets, with the kindred cabbages
and Brussels sprouts. Such lowly ancestry
they have, these sprouts, so plain! They could be beads
or dresser knobs, or marbles for a game
with winter, and at thirty-seven pence
a pound are not patrician. Yet their sweet
and minimal design, their modesty,
repeating an idea of round desire
and touched with Cezanne blue, invite conceits
with painted tables, sunshine in the shape
of fruit, a bowl, a porcelain carafe,
or curtains at a window by Matisse
as if in all things green there were a grace
awaiting hand or eye to contemplate
the world transcended in its common ways.
3 comments:
Wow I'm glad I'm the one who signed up for the brussel sprouts!
Love those poems. And I'm excited to taste the sprouts! I saw some gorgeous ones at Trader Joe's last month. I bought them although never cooked them because I wasn't sure what to do with them. Now I see they have great potnetial...
My old roommate who is from California LOVES these things. Maybe it's a Cali thing.
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