Up til just a few years ago, you couldn't pay me to put a Brussels sprout in my mouth. No offense to my Mom, but she'd ruined the little cabbage for me. Her one and only method of preparation was to boil the heck out of the poor things until they resembled khaki bits of Army fatigues and serve them plain as can be with a pat of margarine and some salt and pepper. She also always bought the biggest (and thus more bitter) sprouts she could get. Why, I'll never know. Consequently, this little vegetable made it real fast to my shortlist of BLECCH!
It was SB who turned my attitude around. Oh, and Yotam Ottolenghi. SB showed me how to roast Brussels sprouts. YO showed me how to dress them up all pretty and sweet.