Brussels Sprouts Quotes

“The flesh on the nape of my neck did the crawly thing that it does so well. Some people say this is God's warning that the devil is near, but I've noticed I also experience it when someone serves me Brussels sprouts.”
― Dean Koontz

“you mean you would've never let me dribble your basketballs”
― Sophie Gonzales, Only Mostly Devastated

“When they got to the table, it was easy to recognize some of the dishes just from their pictures in the book. Skillet Broken Lasagna, which smelled of garlic and bright tomato; Fluffy Popovers with Melted Brie and Blackberry Jam (she started eating that the minute she picked it up and could have cried at the sweet, creamy-cheesy contrast to the crisp browned dough). There were also the two versions of the coconut rice, of course, and Trista had placed them next to the platter of gorgeously browned crispy baked chicken with a glass bowl of hot honey, specked with red pepper flakes, next to it, and in front of the beautifully grilled shrimp with serrano brown sugar sauce.
Every dish was worthy of an Instagram picture. Which made sense, since Trista had, as Aja had pointed out, done quite a lot of food porn postings.
There was also Cool Ranch Taco Salad on the table, which Margo had been tempted to make but, as with the shrimp dish, given that she had been ready to bail on the idea of coming right up to the last second, had thought better of, lest she have taco salad for ten that needed to be eaten in two days.
Not that she couldn't have finished all the Doritos that went on top that quickly. But there hadn't been a Dorito in her house since college, and she kind of thought it ought to be a cause for celebration when she finally brought them back over the threshold of Calvin's ex-house.
The Deviled Eggs were there too, thank goodness, and tons of them. They were creamy and crunchy and savory, sweet and- thanks to an unexpected pocket of jalapeño- hot, all at the same time. Classic party food. Classic church potluck food too. Whoever made those knew that deviled eggs were almost as compulsively delicious as potato chips with French onion dip. And, arguably, more healthful. Depending on which poison you were okay with and which you were trying to avoid.
There was a gorgeous galaxy-colored ceramic plate of balsamic-glazed brussels sprouts, with, from what Margo remembered of the recipe, crispy bacon crumbles, sour cranberries, walnuts, and blue cheese, which was- Margo tasted it with hope and was not disappointed- creamy Gorgonzola Dolce.”
― Beth Harbison, The Cookbook Club: A Novel of Food and Friendship

“I made the Gruyère cheese soufflé and the grilled ham with apricot sauce. Nathan prepared the yogurt parfaits with fruit compote."
"Nathan, how'd it go with this first challenge?"
"Good. I think I managed okay." His eyes were wild and he looked slightly shell-shocked.
"Did you get a chance to taste Helene's food?"
"Yeah." He nodded vigorously. "She's good."
The other contestants laughed at the understatement.
Jenny clapped her hands together. "My favorite dish was an American specialty. Buckwheat pancakes with a trio of toppings... classic maple syrup tapped right here at the farm, a blackberry sauce with mint, and a delicious maple walnut butter. And the bacon-wrapped Brussels sprouts side was crispy and salty and delicious.”
― Penny Watson, A Taste of Heaven

“Kenny. You've got the Moroccan carrot salad done, but where are we with the brussels sprouts?"
"Everything is prepped. We just need the sprouts."
"Good. Go ahead and start caramelizing the onions for the goat-cheese toasts, and then get the bacon going---just be sure to undercook the bacon. It'll cook the rest of the way in the oven."
"Yes, chef."
"Clementine, can you take over the grilled crudités? We need to get them chilled by five."
She nodded. "Yes, chef."
"Excellent. I'll start prepping the butternut-squash fritters," I said, rolling up my sleeves. "And then the mozzarella poppers. Let's get to work."



I was elbows deep in fried mozzarella and crispy-edged butternut-squash fritters when my brother and boyfriend finally arrived, wet and bedraggled, at the kitchen door.
"I have dates," Nico said, holding the crate aloft. "Dates and brussels sprouts."
"It's about time," I shot back. "You've been single far too long."
"I'm going to get cleaned up," he said, "and then I can relieve you."
"Take your time," I replied honestly. "I've got everything under control."
And I did. The fritters were done and in the warming oven with a cake pan full of water in the rack below to keep them from drying out. I'd made up the mozzarella poppers by breading the rounds of buffalo-milk mozzarella with batter and panko crumbs before deep-frying them in batches.
It had felt good to work with my hands again, good to do something other than managerial work. I cast a longing eye at Clementine's pavlovas, the baked egg whites topped with quartered figs. There was something soothing about working with egg whites, the frothy pure-white shade they became when whisked.”
― Hillary Manton Lodge, Together at the Table