The Brussels Sprouts Affair

You should know by now that I’m not a big vegetable fan. Sure, I’ll eat cauliflower if there’s some Ranch Dip nearby, or celery if it’s spread with enough cream cheese. And carrots are okay if you sauté them first with brown sugar and butter. Barely. But that’s about the extent of it.

This occasionally causes some problems.

For example, the Nordic Warrior Queen has this weird “Rule of Threes,” meaning every meal must contain three food groups – one protein (meat), one starch (potato), and one vegetable (something green). Three things, get it?

I don’t.

I say if it comes from the ground (potatoes grow in the ground), it has to be a vegetable, so in my opinion a complete meal is a hamburger and fries, or steak and potato, or even roast beef and mashed potatoes.

My way is much simpler, don’t you think? It saves money too, because vegetables are damned expensive these days. Luckily, since I do most of the cooking, she doesn’t have much to say about it.

But sometimes, you’re not always in control of the menu. You know how it is when you’re invited to someone else’s house for dinner. Especially when it’s a relative’s house. You can throw out all those personal food guidelines, because it’s pretty much a given that you have to eat whatever’s offered to you.

So there we were, having dinner at the in-laws a few weeks back, and for some reason that Homeless Woman was there again. Boy, she sure does get invited over a lot. Even more strange, she was cooking dinner again! And I guess she was still sore at me over all the jokes about cardboard recycling, because what does she serve? Brussels sprouts!

After the broccoli-laden 3-Way Lasagna, I should have known she’d try something sneaky.

To me, Brussels sprouts is just a fancy way of saying little cabbages, and the only way I’ll eat cabbage is in Cole Slaw, and then only if it’s really good Cole Slaw, like what they serve at Kentucky Fried Chicken. If there’s one thing the Colonel knows, it’s how to make Cole Slaw.

I tried to be polite. I actually nibbled on one on those nasty spheres, but it tasted like some sort of weird bitter hay. Normally, if you put enough butter and salt on something, you can choke it down no matter what, but not these little green balls of torture.

But it was okay. As it turns out, their dog Lucy is quite fond of Brussels Sprouts, so over the next half hour or so, I surreptitiously slipped them under the table. I fed every one of those little bastards to her. Life was good again.

Yet my scheme backfired. The Homeless Lady must have thought I liked the Brussels sprouts so much that she gave me seconds. And by that time, Lucy had developed a terrible case of gas, and was banished to the backyard.

Sometimes it’s hard to be me. Next time, I’m going to wear cargo pants.