A Nashville Brussels Sprout

I have been fortunate enough to do quite a bit of travel over the past few months, and among the trips was a visit to my brother-in-law in Nashville. This beautiful city provided the single best bite of food I’ve had in the past two years. The truly spectacular meal of which it was a component is a longer story, but I am focusing on this single taste for now. Surprising though it may be, the bite was of a Brussels sprout. This humble little piece of veg, that was an accompaniment to the main of the dish, outshined everything else on the plate and in the meal. Perfumed by duck fat and coated in a perfect velouté, it was the kind of bite that leaves you chasing the high. Every time I’ve gone to the grocery since, I’ve brought home Brussels sprouts. Every time I’ve seen them on a menu since, I’ve ordered them. The perfection of that single bite eludes me still, but I must toil on in search of it. After a bite like that, what choice do I have?