addictively crispy brussel sprouts

“Brussels Sprouts? Are you serious?”

Well, yes. I’m sorry if you were hoping for cake.

But, in my defence, these aren’t your average brussels sprouts. They aren’t mushy, or slimy or faintly smelling of fart. They don’t require the addition of bacon or duck fat or some other meaty product in order to make them palatable.

Oh no.

These are the brussels sprouts.

The ones that have your flatmates poking their noses out of their rooms and into the kitchen in hope of snaffling a few stray mouthfuls. The ones that you will somehow feel compelled to make three or four times a week. The ones that you will finish off, whilst leaving perfectly succulent roast chicken behind.

I’m not saying it’s the only way to cook them, but after over twenty batches eaten just in the Winter of 2013, I’m going to put it out there and say that once you’ve made them this way, it’s very hard to go back.

It all started with that meal at Glebe Point Diner, months and months ago, where, under a mound of tender Berkshire Pork, I encountered a brussels sprout unlike any other.

Shatteringly crisp with a tender, yet bitey, center. Salty and charred and more-ish.

I tried all manner of ways to replicate them, until research (and discussion) led me to conclude that they’d probably been deep fried and that I shouldn’t try any further.

But I did.

Because I’m stubborn like that.

Out came the knife and on went the oven.

On went the spices… and then off they came again, because really. If you’re making sprouts you want to taste sprouts. Right?

On went the olive oil and salt and pepper and into my mouth they went.

Over and over and over again.

We’d hardly go two days without them.

“I don’t know why you’d cook brussels sprouts any other way.” said my dad, after (yet another) roast chicken dinner.

“I don’t know why you’d cook them any other way.” said Lou, after eating a bowl of not much other than the green stuff (supplemented with the most meagre spoonful of beef cheek).

“Why would you bother making them any other way?” asked Anna-May’s Irish guest, after declaring his love of cabbage and ‘taters. (High praise indeed!)

And each time, I shrugged, not having made them any other way since the beginning of Winter, and not being likely to do so.

I’ve eaten them alongside slow cooked beef cheeks. Next to roast chicken breast. Alongside sausages and tossed into roast vegetables.

I’ve eaten leftovers between chunks of bread with little more than a spicy mustard to moisten the loaf. In amongst bits of spaghetti tossed in butter.

And I’m not sure when I’ll stop – they’re just too easy to have around.

And if you needed further convincing, they’re good for you. Healthy even. Dark leafy greens that have been oven roasted and not fried. They’re cheap and simple. It’s a matter of chop, toss, bake. (With an optional toss in between times.)

But most of all (yes, most of all), they’re addictive. Not quite dried out and dehydrated like the kale chips that threaten to overtake even the most sensible of food blogs – but still, addictively crispy. With charred, smoky edges and bitey cores. With the clear bitter-sweetness of cruciferous vegetables – unsullied by the bacon that is often paired with it.