Certain foods scream at me: “You’ll love me, you’ll love me!” And I make them, and they taste great and I am convinced they are right. Then, next thing I know, it is six months later and I have not spent another second thinking about said food. Take this beauty:
Looks fantastic, tasted good (how could it not, with caramelized apples nestled on a sweet, buttery cake base?). I saw a major challenge coming, endeavoring not to bake three a week and eating them all by myself, too greedy to share. But no. I photographed this over a year ago and have not even been tempted to try and remember which recipe I used. Surprising. Very surprising.
And then there were these oven-baked Brussels sprouts (yes, yes, there is mighty tasty pasta there as well, but try not to get distracted, mmmkay?):
I came across them at SimplyRecipes and figured it was time for the yearly mid-winter sprout ritual. Eat them once, for health, and quickly forget about them until next year. Sure, they sound appetizing enough, with lemon zest, lots of garlic and plenty of salt. And I try to be open-minded about vegetables, a vegetal hippy, a love-and-love-‘m-some-more kinda girl. But Brussels sprouts? That’s like asking me to love plucking my brows because I look so much better after I do.
Imagine my astonishment, then, when I was compelled to make another batch today- only a week after I first tried them. I wanted more of their cheering, green-yellow color, their vegetable-y smell and of their firm but yielding texture between my teeth. Most of all, I wanted more of their garlicky, lemon-scented, nutty taste.
They are also a cinch to make, quick enough even for those nights when I don’t get home until after the hunger pangs have convinced me it is quite possible I’ll die if I don’t Get Food Now. Here’s what to do: Turn on the oven, then tear any ugly-looking leaves from the sprouts before slicing off the hard bit on their bottoms. Cut big ones in half (leave small ones whole) and toss them with a few tablespoons of oil, grated lemon zest, plenty of salt (don’t be shy, these babies thrive on heavy-handed salt sprinkling) and a few pressed cloves of garlic. Into the hot oven they go and twenty minutes later it is time to dig in and be convinced those hippies had a fair point.
It appears I have found Brussels sprouts crack. Care to make some and join me in BSA*?
*Brussels Sproutsics Anonymous, for the uninitiated.