This morning I remarked to my husband that summer was over, even here in L.A. My first clue? The sky was a little grey. second clue? I found myself reaching for a sweater for the second time in less than a week. Clue #3? I made brussel sprouts for dinner.
I love brussel sprouts. They’re one of the many formerly “yucky” vegetables that I came to absolutely love during my “vegetarian years”. My vegetarian years, ten of them in all, happened to coincide with my New York years — or, as I teasingly call them, the years when my sophisticated inner self finally found a sophisticated outer world to gallivant around in. In my fancy new world, vegetables weren’t just tossed in a pot to boil. Non. Flavors were built. Techniques were employed.