Dave Barry, Miami Herald Columnist
“We kids feared many things in those days - werewolves, dentists, North Koreans, Sunday school - but they all paled in comparison with Brussels Sprouts."
Brussels Sprouts are not Fairy cabbages! No self respecting fairy would come within 10 metres of the poxty gobby little green mites and they're hardly ambrosia for the ethereals . . .
My overly buxom and attentive grandma would try to convince me that the green balls of gloob were good for me after being boiled for far too long in far too much water as she 'choo choo'd' a spoonful of olive green moosh in an effort to tempt me to swallow what can only be described as Knobgobbles for Goblins.
Even my mother who was an absolute health freak and tried to disguise the disgust with crispy bacon and caramelised shallots persisted in serving the little balls of badness because they were 'good for us' and I suspect very inexpensive. Then this was a woman who'd make a meal out of broad beans, bacon and onions or red cabbage with apple and bacon (which actually tasted very delish I might add).
So, whilst the Europeans seem to feel that these little green balls of bollocks are suitable for the Christmas dinner table, no-self respecting Australian will be caught anywhere nearer than the fairies when it comes to Chou de Bruxelles, in fact I rarely even see them in the greengrocer . . they're tucked away in a quiet corner for all those who feel homesick and need the equivalent of vegetable snot to constitute comfort food!
I know I'll cause great division in the ranks here because there's no middle road when it comes to the vegetable introduced to the Flemish (well before they were Flemish of course) and then fled the Gallic climes in favour of watching Rome burn (apologies to Emperor Ropi for deliberate historical inaccuracy) and leaving their blasted Brussels behind . . .
As the photograph suggests, they have nothing to offer other than foul tasting mush and a smelly aftermath. Useful for little more than a 'good road through' as my old man would say and emptying a room with a curtain clinger.