I stopped off at the grocery store on my way home yesterday to pick up lemons and brussels sprouts.
Brussels sprouts are one of the most perfect foods in the world. I like to halve or quarter them, depending on size, and sautee them in butter and olive oil. When they’re nearly done, I remove them from the pan, add a touch more oil, if needed, and toss in some black mustard seeds. After the seeds have popped, I return the sprouts to the pan and coat them in the seeds, then remove the pan from the heat. Splash a little lemon juice onto the sprouts and season with Kosher salt (and pepper, if that’s your kink), and enjoy. Mmmm.
So, anyway, the grocery store I went to, Marsh, keeps the brussels sprouts right across from the baked goods. All the while I was selecting my sprouts, there was a box of Lofthouse cookies–chocolate!–calling to me. I could barely hear the sweet song of the brussels sprouts above the din of the cookies, so I eventually succumbed. Resistance was futile.
The grown-up in me says that cookies and brussels sprouts do not a supper make, but the five-year old in me disagrees. Some days, the five-year old gets to make those sorts of decisions.
red paper boat 