Love of Brussels sprouts a lifelong affair

Brussels sprouts are believed to have been cultivated in Belgium as early as the 16th century. The member of the Brassica genus is rich in vitamins and minerals and contains a fair amount of fiber.
Brussels sprouts are believed to have been cultivated in Belgium as early as the 16th century. The member of the Brassica genus is rich in vitamins and minerals and contains a fair amount of fiber.

I almost wish I hated Brussels sprouts.

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Food styling/KELLY BRANT

Roasted Brussels sprouts with shaved parmesan cheese.

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Food styling/KELLY BRANT

Stir-fried Brussels sprouts and bell peppers served over white rice.

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Food styling/KELLY BRANT

Roasting brings out the natural sweetness and nutty flavor of Brussels sprouts, making them taste drastically different from the bitter, sulfurous mush the vegetables can taste like when boiled.

Because if I did hate Brussels sprouts, maybe I could write a funny little piece about how much I hate them. I could write about how their aroma is somehow monkeyish, and not the scent of a freshly scrubbed, talcum-powdered and showered cute little monkey in a bellboy's outfit either. I could describe their slightly pneumatic texture in unflattering ways; I could say they taste like mean and thwarted adolescent cabbages bitter over their parents' divorce.

In doing so, I would curry favor with those of you who enjoy having your opinions affirmed by someone granted the authority of venue. You might change your mind about me; you might think to yourself, "Hey, he's not so bad! He hates cruciferous vegetables like a normal human person!"

But, alas, this I cannot do.

For I love Brussels sprouts. And as far as I know, I have always loved them. It wasn't until fairly recently I realized that most people don't. That normal people don't. That Brussels sprouts usually occupy the No. 1 spot on those "Most Hated Foods" slideshows you find on the Internet when you're doing research on Brussels sprouts. (But then the Internet is the place people go to brag about their ignorance and dismiss what they don't understand.)

I did not know Brussels sprouts were universally abhorred when I set out to write this piece -- all I knew was that our friendly neighborhood Food editor doesn't like them, and wanted someone who did to write about them. I fell for her trap. You may point and hoot at me now.

I don't care. I like Brussels sprouts better than potatoes, which may be my second favorite vegetable. I like them better than okra (which I also love, especially when it's lightly fried but even when it's seedy and slimy) and way better than beets, which I will eat if they are put in front of me.

I don't know why anyone wouldn't like Brussels sprouts. My wife, Karen, tells me it's probably because they've never had them prepared properly.

Karen takes care of me because she loves me even though I am a Brussels sprouts-loving freak. (She also likes Brussels sprouts, or at least I think she likes them because she eats them, but that may be just because she doesn't want me to feel that different from other people. I am not about to ask her because if she told me that was the case, I don't know that I could handle it.) She does all the grocery shopping and cooking around our house, not because I am some incompetent boob who can't calculate unit price, read a nutrition label or blacken chicken, but because she enjoys it.

("Don't worry your pretty little head about dinner," she tells me when I offer to rustle up a batch of grilled chamoula lamb chops, coq au vin or a quick Gruyere and parmesan cheese souffle. "Just go make yourself a drink and relax. This is like my golf." So I only go to the grocery store to buy tape. And I only venture into the kitchen to get ice or retrieve a wayward dog toy. Or a wayward dog.)

So anyway, Karen tells me the Brussels sprouts renaissance around our house began about a year ago when our local Kroger (the Old Hippie Kroger) started carrying loose fresh Brussels sprouts. Before that, they had only frozen Brussels sprouts, which Karen didn't care for, so we only had Brussels sprouts on those rare occasions when she'd visit the Rich People's Kroger down the road, or Fresh Market or Whole Foods. Apparently she likes to select the tiny heads herself, which may explain why I like Brussels sprouts so much -- maybe she's just

better at choosing them than most people, maybe I just eat a better class of Brussels sprouts than you do. (Or, I guess, than you don't.)

But I don't think this is it, because I don't ever remember hating Brussels sprouts, not even back when I was a kid and it was icky whenever any two members of different food groups came into contact on my dish. I think I ate Brussels sprouts back then, even though they were mushy and relatively tasteless (that is not meant to reflect on my mother's cooking, though I must say that she didn't have the most delicate hand with vegetable dishes -- she made mashed potatoes with Pet Evaporated Milk and Velveeta -- most vegetables were mushy and relatively tasteless in those days). The only food I remember refusing to eat as a child was tomatoes, especially freshly sliced beefsteak tomatoes, which creeped me out with their juicy, squirty, runny red insouciance. Tomatoes are the high-maintenance drama divas of the vegetable world, sprawling across your plate like it's the top of a white grand piano in a '30s screwball comedy. (Go home, tomato, you're drunk.) I eat them now, but still.

Anyway, as the Latins say, de gustibus non est disputandum -- there's no accounting for taste. Food preferences are often as hard to articulate as they are strongly held. I can't really tell you why I love Brussels sprouts other than I like the way they taste, especially roasted, with -- uh -- well, the way Karen makes them. (See below.)

I understand they can taste bitter if they're not picked at the right time, and if you overcook them they can be pungent. It's said the best-tasting sprouts are young and small and preferably harvested after a few frosts. (The cold is said to improve them.) But I'd compare their flavor to single malt Scotch; genuine appreciation may only come after a little effort.

Honestly, I guess it's nice that they're healthy and all -- Brussels sprouts have all kinds of antioxidants and glucosinolate, which helps fight cancer -- but that's not why I eat them. I eat them because they're put in front of me.

And they're good. I don't care what they say on the Internet.

Eating them raw is not advisable. Here are the basics on how to prepare them.

1. Roasted is best. Gather a bunch of like-sized sprouts. Cut off the very tips of the stems, then cut each sprout in half. Toss with a couple tablespoons of olive oil and season with salt and pepper and spread on a rimmed baking sheet. Stick the pan in a 400-degree oven and roast for about 20 minutes. Add other seasonings such as herbs, parmesan cheese or nuts if you want.

2. Stir-fried is nice. You'll need small Brussels sprouts to make this work. Some cooks blanch them in a pot of boiling water for about 15 seconds first, but who wants to do that? Just cut off the stems, halve them, heat some oil in a wok over medium heat, and throw them in. Toss around for a few minutes, add some liquid (chicken broth works fine), bring it to a boil, cover, and leave it alone for a couple more minutes. Add a bunch of seasonings and whatever else you want and serve over steamed rice.

3. Steamed is OK. Add a couple inches of water to the bottom of a steamer and crank up the heat. Lop off the stems and halve or quarter some sprouts. When the water is steaming, place the sprouts in the steamer rack. Cover and wander off for about five minutes. Come back, stick the sprouts in a bowl, and lightly douse them with a dressing or horseradish sauce or whatever.

4. Boiled sprouts, although easy to prepare, can be held accountable for why people don't like them. That's because they're usually overcooked, which produces mushy, ugly veggies and an unattractive scent in your kitchen. Do it right by plopping entire sprouts in boiling water and checking on them every minute or so to see how they're coming along. Once they can be pierced with a fork while still offering a bit of resistance, haul them out of the hot bath, drain, and sprinkle with herbs, seasonings, balsamic vinegar, or whatever else you've got.

Food on 03/04/2015

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