The American dream is built on the notion that anyone from any background can be anything if they put enough blood, sweat and tears into their pursuit of passion. The American dream is also built upon the foundation of crippling poverty that most of us recall as “the college years.” I, for one, was Sally-Struthers-telethon-necessitating broke through college and that was reflected in my abominable diet. An example: roughly six months after my Grandparents passed away I took residence in their old house. One night, about five months after I’d moved in (I’ll let you do the math here), I went scrounging for something — ANYTHING — to eat since I was between paychecks, and to say I was living paycheck-to-paycheck is a gross understatement. After rummaging through every cranny of the kitchen, I came across a boil-and-eat bean soup bag found tucked away in the far recesses of my Grandparents’ cupboards, which was directly adjacent to the odorous rotting bag of potatoes that housed what can only be described as the biggest spider to ever jump out at me from a odorous rotting bag of potatoes. In hindsight, it’s probable that it may have actually been the chupacabra.
Maybe you remember a few months ago when I cooked up my first batch of fresh, live oysters and how I was trying to reconcile my desire for oyster flesh against my aversion to ending their goobery little lives? Now we’ve moved onto bigger specimen. Meet Subject 32.
I named him Subject 32 as a feeble attempt to squelch my tendency to anthropomorphize, well, everything. Spoiler alert: it didn’t work. 32 stands for the number of people I assume he’s killed in his life.
Brussels sprouts have always gotten a bad rap, and unfairly so. They’re the cruciferous renegades of the vegetable world for whom few hold in pleasant regard. You may recognize them from such adjectives such as “disgusting”, “bitter”, and “get that away from me”, but these are spoken from the lips of ugly sprout haters. The fact that they smell faintly of pork shit when cooked does them no real favor, either. But I’m here to clear Brussels sprouts of these unjust accusations and prove that they can be delicious with the right preparation.