We kids feared many things in those days – werewolves, dentists, North Koreans, Sunday School – but they all paled in comparison with Brussels sprouts.

Dave Barry

So it appears that Rebekah’s new favorite hobby involves seeing some captivating recipe on line, and then sending it to me in the hope that it will motivate some kind of cooking response on my part.

For a woman whose first words to me were, so far as I remember, “Feed me,” the practice is pretty much on brand.

So this week I took two of her suggestions and put them together for Monday night’s dinner; the result was, in a word, exceptional.

The first one she sent me was for pork. So I went to the grocery store, selected the thickest chops I could find, then let them percolate all afternoon in this really great marinade. It involved olive oil, brown sugar, minced garlic, soy sauce, Worcestershire sauce, dijon mustard, salt, pepper and patience. Once I grilled them they were the most tender, juiciest chops ever.

The second recipe was Brussels sprouts. The back story here is that Rebekah steadfastly refused to eat Brussels sprouts for literally decades. Then she tried them as an appetizer at Pooles Diner in Raleigh, and again at On the Square here in Tarboro, and now she is a looking to see me replicate the phenomenon.

The secret, it turns out, is to boil them until tender, smash them with the butt end of a mug, toss them in salt, pepper, olive oil and garlic, bake for fifteen minutes at 425, add some parmesan, then finish with another five minutes in the oven.

I served the Brussels sprouts and grilled chops with roasted potatoes to great acclaim.

I’m sure I am not alone in noting the logical contradiction between my delight in preparing great food and my expressed intent to loose six pounds before my big birthday later in the month.

I guess time will tell.

Until then, I will continue to be grateful for all the blessings we are able to enjoy. “And of God’s fulness we have received, Grace upon Grace” (John 1:16) – DEREK