Ode to Brussel Sprouts

It is the same every time Meaggie comes with me to the market. We roll through the fruit and vegetables, glide across the milk section and pick up flour in the baking department. But as we approach the frozen foods, the lobbying begins; in a kind of desperate begging she throws her body across the glass door (as if I were going to look there in the first place!) and begins her plea: "No... don't look over here... keep going... not here...turn back before it's too late...not brussel sprouts... not the tiny heads of lettuce...I'm begging you!"

The intensity is so great that I begin to laugh. None today, my little peach. You can rest your mind. But she never relinquishes her hold on the great glass door until I am well off the road to temptation and into the meat section.

But... last week the Russian came with me to do the marketing. We hadn't even gotten as far as the fruit when he picked up a green net bag, "How about brussel sprouts for lunch?" Seeing as how he rarely asks for anything, I immediately agreed. Sounds good! I thought ahead to my little defender... it was going to be quite a shock!

Yesterday did eventually come, and the sprouts were still in the fridge waiting for me. I cooked them, and then secured the fortress.

Little feet came in from school happy as could be. She set the table, talked about her class and then snooped in the pots (as is her custom). Her expression alone would make a post. How could this happen? How could an entire bag of brussel sprouts slip through her ranks? When? Who? It's anarchy ... it's betrayal!

It was also very good!

With a satisfied expression of gratitude from my two men, everyone else choked them down with relative grace, to my surprise. "Let's have these once a week," he said....

and the war rages on. :)