I have figured out that I've been mispronouncing "Brussels Sprouts" my entire life. I was calling them "Brussel Sprouts". Somehow you loose one of the "s" sounds when they are back to back like that.
I am a rare bird, I know, because I like Brussels Sprouts. I like 'em with salt, pepper and butter sauce. Mmm. I planted some in my garden, with NO clue what happens when they grow. I've been watching for signs of the fruit, and nothing is showing up. Last night, I once again resorted to Google and YouTube and researched the "life cycle of Brussels Sprouts" (this is also how I figured out I was pronouncing it wrong. When I typed "Brussel", Google kindly asked me did I mean "Brussels".).
Let me tell you, they are weird looking. They look like those homemade pine cone Christmas Trees, except green. As it turns out, the sprouts grow right off the main stem. I am not sure about harvesting a few at a time, or I have to take out a whole plant. I suspect only MightyMo and I will eat them, so a few at a time would be best, but if a bunch come at once, I can freeze them. I could share with friends and neighbors, but now that someone has suggested that my garden might be arsenic laced from my aged railroad ties, I am a little wary of being blamed if someone happened to get sick, or was knocked off. Who knew there was enough drama in gardening to for it to be the basis of a murder mystery? Or better yet, an opera!
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| Not MY Brussels Sprouts |
And now, for your enjoyment, I bring you an excerpt from the aria: Cavoletti di Bruxelles, composto da Tishmeister. (Sheet music available soon. Until then, use your imagination. )
Il mio vero amore, mangiare questi cavoletti di Bruxelles, mangiare quattro hudred di loro tutti i giorni.
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