Every year the fields to the east of my town are planted up with Brussels sprouts. One major supermarket proudly displays a sign advising passing motorists that they are proud to be supporting local farmers and growing Brussels sprouts for Christmas.
last summer saw a substantial increase in planting – four fields in all but it was the week before Christmas before there was any serious picking activity and even then only one field was harvested before the big day.
I can only assume that they had suffered the same as me and as a result of the wet summer, the crop was not ready for harvesting in time for the big day. I barely had enough Brussels sprouts for me, Mr Mac and little sis and I had to suffer the indignity of buying Brussels for our traditional Scottish steak pie dinner on New Year’s Day.
Even now my stalks look great, nice and upright with healthy leaves but the Brussels are still the size of marbles!
Every day I drive past the remaining fields full of Brussels and wonder what is going to happen to them. The control freak in me wants to stop and pull the yellow leaves from the bottom of the stalks but it is not my place to do so. The rows and rows of neat, uniform Brussels sprouts do fill me with envy though. Am I weird?