Does your Ghetto Gourmet Sweetheart bring you unusual food items from his local hood store (and I meant hood, not food) which were almost a pilfer, they were so inexpensive, and don’t know what to do with them? Chalk this up to his Neolithic hunting and providing instincts.

Do you also buy too much food on sale impulse because it seemed like a good idea at the time? That’s your gathering instinct, putting away for the leaner months.

That’s how I came home with 15 pounds of frozen Brussel sprouts for $15. Well, they’re vegetables and we need those, right? What could go wrong with this culinary inspiration? Boredom, that’s what. My first two pounds were nicely fixed with garlic, sun dried tomatoes, onions and some sea salt. They went down easily, so I was quite pleased and optimistic.

Third pound, devil took the sundried tomatoes and hell ate the sticky, fresh garlic. So I just sprinkled some garlic powder and salt, combined with some bacon drippings as a quick and dirty cover up for lack of inspiration. Yeah, we ate ‘em.

Went through my freezer today. Damn, I have a lot of Brussel Sprouts left. Oh, ef me, I still have 12 pounds! Why do I do this to myself? Also came across a few pounds of frozen franks and sausages, procured by my thoughtful GG who braved the rats on his way to the hood store to make sure that I am not famished and maintain my pleasing proportions.

That’s it, it’s on between me and the Brussel sprouts. I thunked four pounds onto the counter for defrosting, along with their sausage friends, which I much rather would have grilled and eaten with mustard than contaminated with the vulgar Brussel sprouts. Necessity will be a mother, however, and I will overcome out of sheer desperation.

Eight hours later, they have been cooked in a large skillet, the outside leaves somewhat burnt because I was getting back at them for jumping into my cart and coming home with me. My GG’s 10 oz. single serve spaghetti sauce will serve well as a light coating to mask the damage to the outer leaves. The sausage will plead the innocence of his Brussel sprout clients, because they didn't have the advantages they needed to grow into cabbages, and all will serve as witnesses to each other and swear I coerced them into my cart. So into the oven they’ll go for tomorrow’s dinner, sprinkled with parmesan—you see where I’m going with this… and my Neolith will suck it down like a nursing baby does his mother’s milk.

Besides, he didn’t really come over for the meal, anyway, did he? So it’s not that hard to gain forgiveness, even cause him amnesia, for culinary sins. Just make sure you have some beer handy, and do not, under any conditions, confess to him. This can also be payback for those vile chili lime tortilla chips he crumbled feta onto and then gave you beer in lieu of water—you see where he went with that… and if he weren’t that calculating, he wouldn’t make a good hunter.

Also, nothing against beer, mind you—it makes for a great transcendent experience.

Oh, and one more thing—make sure you thank your hunter for whatever he drags in to the hearth, just as he thanks you for what may be a lame apparition of dinner. If you accepted the thanks, then keep your mouth shut when faced with certain culinary challenge. Besides, sometimes the pickings are as wonderful as soft corn tortillas and brie, which can become a warm burrito of melted brie and grape jam, redneck version of the French crepe, thank you very much.

This is DL, reporting from ground zero of my own mad life (I mean that Britishly).