Simon Pearson - minor9th.com

Dreaming of a Green Christmas

posted in Food, Life

Comment

Each year, my dear mother makes ever-more-inventive attempts to force me into eating a fistful of brussels sprouts as part of the Christmas day festivities. I don’t know about you, but I’m not a fussy eater. I’ve no qualms about devouring oysters, and I’ll happily quaff a kumquat mojito, but the prospect of munching soggy, fart-flavoured balls does not light up my tree.

This year, presumably to save me from tears, she’s upped the ante by chopping them up and hiding them amongst walnuts and bacon butter (care of Asda). I don’t care whether they’re smothered in honey, wrapped in tinsel or crushed up in jam - they still look like tiny alien brains and I do not want them on my plate.

If their appearance and taste weren’t bad enough, we know all too well the lethal effect they have on the sensitive bowels of the older generation. The average age of Christmas diners in our house this year is nearly 50. People of Wrexham take note - it’s going to be a breezy evening.

If you share my pain, you’d do well to do some sprout smashing. Vegetable therapy at its best.