As I draw you close your aroma makes me dizzy with desire. I feel your warmth as my lips brush against your flesh. My tongue travels over you, exploring your hidden recesses and folds and experiencing your taste, sometimes bitter, sometimes smooth and rich. I savor your sweet juices as they spread throughout my mouth, making me crave you more. I slowly bring my teeth together and feel you give yourself up to the experience. Though many will never understand my passion, I can not bring myself to let you go. And so I write this letter to you my tantalizing friend, my taboo love…
My dearest Brussels Sprout
Growing up I only ever heard horror stories about brussels sprouts. My grandmother tells a yarn about how my grandfather always begged to have brussels sprouts, a vegetable that she despised. After years of whining she finally gave in and made them, but instead of eating them he hid them behind some of the other food on his plate. On both the big and small screens, children (and adults) bemoan the horrible torture of being served the dreaded sprouts. The very mention of brussels sprouts is enough to send dinner guest fleeing for the hills. So, naturally, I HATED brussels sprouts for many a year, despite never having eaten one.
But a few years ago, the wise and beautiful Wifey made them and insisted that I try them. As I eyed the plate I could feel my stomach turn at the very thought of the supposed taste. Why would she have prepared these little balls of evil? Didn’t she know that they were the WORST food in the entire world? Everyone despises them. E-V-E-R-Y-O-N-E. I didn’t want to offend her after she worked hard preparing a meal for our family but I was also terrified that the result of putting that stinky green ball into my mouth would be immediate projectile vomiting.
I decided I had to risk it. I speared the brussels sprout on my fork, brought it to my mouth, forced my jaws apart, and popped it in.
It was love at first taste. I ate another. And another. I may have stuck my face into the serving bowl to lick the remains. And from that time on, they have become a staple on our dinner table.
What may be even more unbelievable than my love for these little bulbous miracles is the fact that my CHILDREN love them. They actually cheer when we have them and we end up fighting for seconds. Peanut will completely ignore any other food on her plate, demanding more and more and more. The kids are silly for sprouts!