Brussels sprouts

I've been trying to fall in love all day.  And therein lies the problem.  I've been trying to fall in love.  Everybody knows it doesn't happen that way.  When I fell in love with Brussels sprouts, I certainly wasn't trying to.  It just happened one December night in Vermont.  I never saw it coming.

In the list of mostly canned but occasionally frozen vegetables that I was forced to eat as a kid growing up in the 50s, Brussels sprouts would have to be #1 of the Most Hated.  Mutant Cabbage Heads with a smell akin to gas that has been passed.  In the melodramatic displays I was prone to then, I would feign regurgitation, a surefire way to get myself removed from the table and sent to my room.  Reading a Nancy Drew was a far better option than chewing on those bitter balls of fart.

Somehow, years later, I made the mistake of letting my mother-in-law know how much I disliked Brussels sprouts.  So, of course, she made sure to have them on the table at every dinner I ever shared with my husband's family.  Overcooked and heavily salted, they would be passed my way with an accompanying smile.  Eventually, I became brave enough to pass the bowl without feeling obligated to take some, but it took me years.  Before then, I became a master at controlling my gag reflex.

Fast forward to one December when my husband and I were enjoying a getaway weekend in Vermont.  The Arlington Inn was a beautiful place, complete with a dining room.  I remember ordering lamb chops, a splurge.  (Note: this was many years before I became a vegetarian.)  There were assorted vegetables on my plate, including a handful of very small Brussels sprouts.  As the meal was quite expensive, I was determined to eat everything on my plate, including the Brussels sprouts.

Wait a minute!  These are so good, I cannot believe it!  I was so overwhelmed with the deliciousness of these tiny orbs, I had to ask the waiter about them.  "Oh, yes," he casually stated, "the cook just picked them in the garden this morning."

The garden?  This morning?  But it's December!  In Vermont, land of snow and ice!

I later learned, from a gardening friend, that the secret to Brussels sprouts is to let them get hit with a few frosts.  It sweetens them.  So we began to grow them in our New Jersey garden.  We never harvested them until November or December.  They were always a staple at our Thanksgiving dinners.  Even my kids love Brussels sprouts and expect them to be a part of a holiday dinner.

I don't have any Brussels sprouts in my larder tonight.  But that does not mean that I cannot fall in love with them all over again.  Isn't that a component of love?  To yearn for something/someone that you cannot have near you at the moment?  Doesn't that very longing enhance love?  Check in with me in November, after I have harvested the Brussels sprouts in my garden, and I will tell you that the longing and the wait were worth it.  I will tell you about love fulfilled.