An Emotional Roller Coaster

No, this entire post is not about Brussels sprouts.

That's a lie.  Have no expectation of emotion beyond the turmoil I am about to experience over Brussels sprouts.  Are you hooked?  Can you not bear to tear your eyes away?

At work the other day, we started talking about how excited we were that Brussels sprout season was upon us.  I just discovered last year that Brussels sprouts are incredibly delicious if you cook them correctly, so if there is one good thing that comes with cold weather, it's these sweet delicious treats, and I couldn't wait to spend all winter eating them.  Just rolling around in a bathtub full of Brussels sprouts.   

We all discussed different methods and recipes for cooking, roasting, sauteeing, and caramelizing them, so by the time I left work, I was drooling and would potentially get involved in a low level drug cartel to get my hands on them.

Like a rabid Brussels sprout werewolf, I flew through the night on my bike, snarling and growling through the cold to the grocery store.  I knew I needed other things but didn't care to grab a handheld basket let alone go anywhere except straight to the produce section.  I practically ran.

My craving was so strong that if there were not Brussels sprouts present (I hadn't seen them yet all year), I was going to flip my lid and start throwing eggplants and potatoes in a furious rage.  I searched, I looked, passed the zucchinis and peppers and onions, over near the fennel and cabbage where they stocked them last year. WHAT? WHAAAT?  No Brussels sprouts??  

I started spinning in a spiral downwards with my hands in the air to yell "Nooooo" but then as I spun around, I saw...on the shelf across the way...this one lone gleaming bag.  

Isn't that beautiful?  Aren't I the luckiest girl in the world?  It was a glorious moment, and my devastation immediately transformed into elation, with bright lights and singing and glitter falling from the ceiling.  The song Dream Weaver came on as I darted across the produce area lovingly towards the rare and precious bag.  As I was taking a picture with my iPhone to capture my incredible luck, someone started walking around the corner, so I reached out and snatched the bag like a crazy person, lest my joy be stolen from me.

Really, though, I looked crazy.  I snatched that bag so fast.

Now comes the turmoil, the horror.  After such expectation and longing, such searching and finding, almost losing and then recapturing what was desired...I accidentally overcooked them while trying to get the edges crispy, and it was the worst thing I've made in years.  Or maybe ever.  Usually things just come out good.  I don't even think I've ever made anything that didn't taste good.  I'll repeat that for the single fellas, I don't think I've ever made anything that didn't taste good.  And these just didn't.  Such highs, such lows.  It's just a part of living abroad.  

It has nothing to do with living abroad.

To quote some website:

The secret to good Brussels sprouts is to not overcook them. Overcooked Brussels sprouts have a pungent, sulfurous odour.   

Sulfurous!! I refuse to believe it could be a cooking error on my part.  The sprouts themselves must have been bad.  It's the ONLY feasible option because I'm perfect.  

They were so bad, they squandered my craving for weeks.  Now I have a new bag waiting, and I'm scared of them, so if you have a good recipe or method, please feel free to share in order to boost my hopes.

Thanks for letting me get that off my chest, it was a hard day.