An Ode to Brussels Sprouts

I've been on a real cooking spree lately.  The problem with that is that I am quickly tiring of my side dishes.  You can only eat so much broccoli, spinach, or side salad.  I got adventurous this week when I saw some fresh brussels sprouts at the grocery.  Ed said that his mom used to make them when he was growing up and they were one of his favorite veggies.  I was hesitant, mostly because I remember hating them as a child, but also because I've never made them from "scratch" before.  But I figured hey, I'll give it a shot.  Maybe my taste has matured since I last ate them, which was circa 2003, when I moved out of my parent's house.  My mom made us Jones kids suffer at the dinner table about twice a year when she'd serve them.  I hated walking into the kitchen and having that sulfurous smell smack me in the face, knowing it was going to be a long night before I finally got the courage to eat them and be dismissed.  To make matters worse, my mom would make us drink milk for dinner.  Milk + Brussels Sprouts.  Sick!  And then to top it off, the icing on the cake, my mom never made my dad eat his brussels sprouts.  She'd always put them on his plate, but he'd ignore them and she wouldn't say a word.  I couldn't wait til the day I was a grown up and got to choose what I ate!  Luckily, we had a crazy cat growing up that lived for brussels sprouts night.  When mom wasn't looking, we'd "accidentally" drop one on the ground and our cat would run over and go to town with it.  And once she'd gotten the taste of one, she spent the rest of the dinner trying to jump on the table to steal them off our plates.  It was awesome.

After about an hour of online recipe searching, I decided on what looked like the best way to make them.  Every recipe I read emphasized the importance of not over-cooking them because that is what caused the sulfurous smell to be released.  I was encouraged.  Maybe there was hope for this vegetable after all.  I boiled them in 1/2 inch water for 7 minutes (recipe called for 8 minutes), then threw them into some butter and garlic and let them sizzle for a few minutes.  They smelled heavenly.  Ed kept remarking how great the kitchen smelled.  I was genuinely excited.  This was about to be breakthrough.  I had sworn off brussels sprouts from my diet for the last 8 years. 

Alas, they were just as bad as I had remembered.  The outer layers that had gotten soaked in butter and garlic were pretty tasty, but those inner layers were as bitter and nasty as ever.  Ed, being the sweet heart that he is, acted like he was enjoying them for the first few.  He even threw in a "mmmmmm...delicious!" remark.  By the third one, I was almost gagging.  I told him it was ok, he didn't have to lie, and he slowly let his guard down and agreed that they were repulsive.  We then argued on who had to eat the rest of them since we don't like to waste food.  Luckily, Ed suggested putting some hot sauce on them to mask the flavor, and it worked!  They weren't half bad after that.  Thank goodness I served a delicious pot roast and fruit salad along with those brussels sprouts, or else it would have been my worst failure yet as a wife.

Needless to say, I am not going to make my poor husband or kids suffer through a meal with brussels sprouts.  It's inhumane - cat food, I tell you.  Unfortunately, this just leaves me right where I was before - in dire need of new vegetable side dishes.  Please, help a young wife out!  :)

Momentary Escape

It seems rare these days that I have time to sit and do nothing.  I'm not saying that my schedule is busier than the average person, it's just that if I have a few hours off, I usually entertain myself with movies, eating, or friends/family.   It seems about once or twice a year I find myself alone for an extended period of time, bored of watching TV, having already completed chores that need to be done, and I have time to reflect.

Ed is on psychiatry call at the hospital tonight, and I just spent the last 2 hours cleaning our room (yes, it was that messy).  So, what do I do when I finally sit down to relax?...get on Facebook of course.  Instead of reading the latest status updates, or stalking some friends, I decided to look through some of my old photo albums.  You wouldn't think that would be exciting, considering I have all those pictures saved on my computer, and I was the one that posted them in the first place.  But tonight there was no agenda, no hustle or bustle, so I let my mind take a stroll down memory lane.  Before I knew it, my heart started aching.  Literally, I felt an emotional squeezing sensation in my chest.  Then my stomach started getting hyperactive.  Before I knew it, I was tearing up.  Here I am, sitting on my couch in the dark, all alone, with a computer on my lap, crying.

Why, you ask?  I have no idea. Which is why I decided to blog about it.  Maybe putting something down on paper would clear it up.  So from where did the emotions arise?  Are they happy or sad tears?  I think both.

Happy tears because I look back at all the incredible times I had growing into the woman I am today.  All the fun-loving, energetic, smart, talented people that I have come in contact with throughout my adult life.  I got to travel all over the world with my AIA soccer girls.  I was in the best shape of my life, battling my heart out on the field every Friday night and Sunday afternoon.  I was so proud every time I put on my jersey with either Kentucky or Texas A&M on the front.  Joyfully, I remember how I protected my heart and my body, saving it for my husband.  Happy tears pouring out, each symbolizing a different way I have been blessed with my experiences and friendships.

Sad tears for all the regrets.  Heartache for lost opportunities to share my faith with people I was with every day, but was too afraid they would think I was a freak if I showed them who I really was.  So many of the pictures I look back at from my UK undergraduate days, I can see how much I longed to be accepted.  It brings back the memories of always thinking I wasn't as pretty as my friends or as cool as my teammates.  Also, grief for not keeping up with the friends, especially those at A&M.  People that I love just as much today as when I was with them daily 3+ years ago, but don't talk to nearly as much as I know I should.

Most of all, I believe I cry because I know I can't recreate those times again.  As much as I want to go back to College Station and meet up with my best friends and create new memories, it won't be the same as when we were really in the moment.  I'll never be an Aggie soccer babe again.  I'll never have the hard rock abs and killer legs.  I'll never be single and free to do what I want, when I want.  I'll never get to have that first time "ah ha" moment when my faith became real.  I can't help but ponder, did I really take full advantage of that time in my life?

Where does that leave me now?  Tonight.  June 10, 2011.  I'm now very happily married, less than a year from becoming a doctor.  I have a wonderful home, a supporting family living in the same city, my health, and a future that is beautifully uncertain.  I'm filled with hope for how God will use me - as a wife, mother, physician, and friend.  Will I be moving half way around the world to Hawaii this time next year?  Or maybe I'll be going back to God's country, Texas?   Who knows?  But I do know that in a few years from now, I'll look back at my time during medical school and shed tears of joy and sorrow, much like tonight when I long for my undergraduate days.

My heart is full.  :)