As one who lives to eat, I’ve never understood those who eat to live. My relationship with food is a joyous one, and my life is enhanced by experiences at restaurants and family made home-cooked meals that give you both permission and encouragement to take seconds, then thirds.
Despite my love affair with food and my constant thought of ‘when will I eat next?,’ I never felt at home in the kitchen or comfortable doing the cooking myself. It even made me slightly anxious, and often left me paralyzed with visions of smoking pots and fires in the oven, quickly followed by me grabbing my phone to order take out. Suddenly, in the last few months I’ve come around to the idea of experimenting in the kitchen, and I’ve found I really enjoy it! Often when I begin, I have no idea how a recipe will turn out and have many doubts regarding my culinary abilities mid-way through, but most of the time, it actually turns out very delicious.
I’ve been documenting some of my trials (and errors) and wanted to share my adventure in Brussels (spouts) that happened a few weeks ago.
I've since made this recipe again and they came out just as delicious. Even Murat, who swore up and down he'd never eat brussel due to traumatizing childhood memories involving boiling the offensive vegetable, took seconds. High praise indeed!
Reflecting on my experiences with the world, my neighborhood, and my home.