B-Sprout conversions

I have very recently been converted from hating to loving brussel sprouts. By BE. I was super skeptical but then I had one and it was a revelation.

What he does is:
"Cut brussel sprouts in half. drizzle on olive oil and get all liberal with some salt and pepper and garlic powder. bake @ 375 for 35 minutes. amaaaazzzzing."

They pop and sizzle in the oven. And when they get brownish/blackish, when they are super tender, they lose that horrible brussel sprout aftertaste that everyone is always trying to drown out with lemon or vinegar. With enough cooking they mellow out and are tender and a little bit sweet.

And now I am obsessed with them. They have replaced broccoli as my go-to vegetable.

This also works in a stir fry context. You slice them each into 3 or 4 rounds, throw them in a pan with a good amount of olive oil, throw plenty of salt, pepper and garlic powder on them and then cook them until there's a browning / slight blackening.

Today I baked some until they were mushy soft, put them on a nice piece of wheat bread and chowed down. Delightful.

Who you are / What you do

The things that you do every day shape the person that you are. And I find of late that I am on my way to becoming "nervous double/triple check that" girl. Lovable, no?

An echo in the chambers of the heart

I knocked over an empty wine bottle at the trailing tail end of brunch. Crashed to the ground, pieces everywhere. Three of us in the kitchen. None of us in shoes. All of us trying to pick up the pieces.

And I had a memory of knocking over a glass in the kitchen. Crashed to the ground, pieces everywhere. Me in the kitchen. Not in my shoes. Trying to pick up the pieces.

You wouldn't let me. You reached your arms around my waist and lifted me out of the kitchen. Went back in a cleaned it up.

Our relationship had pretty much gone south by this time. I was not happy. It didn't seem like you were either. I wondered why you stayed. Whether you cared at all. In the midst of this, you lifted me out of harms way.

It said something. More than I heard. But it didn't say everything. Or perhaps not enough. We went back to our mutual misery shortly thereafter.

I am not sure why it came to mind. Or why today, years later, I hear it so much more clearly.

The latest love of my life

" ... art proves its value by still mattering to people who have been deprived of every other freedom: indeed instead of mattering less, it matters more." - Clive James

On the recommendation of my journalism professor I picked up "Cultural Amnesia" by Clive James. The damn thing is, like 800+ pages. And I am looking forward to reading them.

I hope that he and his publisher will forgive the liberal quoting that I am likely to be doing while he and I keep company. I was bowled over by this line in the introduction:

"Several times, in my early days, I had to sell my best books to buy food, so I never underlined anything."

and I have no doubt that I will continue to be knocked out by what I find between these covers.

*happy dance*