Dear lord it’s COLD. I know, it’s January, it’s supposed to be cold. But listen, last year, we had virtually no winter; one freak October snowstorm and we were done. That was followed up by the mildest, most beautiful spring and then the most blisteringly hot summer in recent memory. In short, it’s been a year-plus straight of some pretty obvious global warming, and I am just not ready for wind that makes your cold-induced tears freeze to your face.
The snow finally arrived yesterday. Up until now, it has largely been a warm, snowless winter. We did have that freakish snowstorm at the end of October, but that hardly counts-no one was ready for it and it left as quickly as it came. Since then, there’s been was no white Christmas, no white New Years, no white anything. I’ve missed the snow. I love the snow. It makes you feel like a kid again. A grownup kid who can stay indoors in warm socks, beneath warm blankets, drinking red wine and eating hardy things. I celebrated snow’s arrival with Beef Bourguignon.
Ok, I’ll admit it, this soup is not pretty. It’s kind of a drab, wallpaper pasty tan, not quite orange, not quite brown, not quite…anything. Luckily, sometimes delicious things come in less-than-stellar packages.
It was 65 degrees yesterday, as it was the day before that, and the day before that. Forgive my confusion, but is it, or is it not December in New York? I mean, there are less than 3 weeks left ’til Christmas! I have fuzzy yellow gloves to bust out! My wool coat is feeling neglected! Winter, where are you!? To make matters worse, I’ve been so busy lately that I haven’t had time to soak in the Christmas spirit that I love so much. I managed to decorate my apartment a few weeks ago, but that’s as far as I got. So, when I got back from a business trip to Miami this past weekend (oh poor me, I know..it was lovely, but NOT Christmas!!), I was determined to get the season started.
Here’s the deal: I love brussels sprouts. Love, love, lovelovelovelurveeeee. I have always been such a devoted follower of them that one year the mere threat of a brussels-sprout-less Thanksgiving table sent 12 year-old me into full-on panic-tantrum mode. I’ll eat them pretty much however they’re prepared and generally, the more simply, the better. I first tried this recipe several years ago for Thankgiving (or maybe Christmas?) and haven’t looked back since.