Birds of Paradise

No, not that ravaged-looking plant that goes by the name "Birds of Paradise", but which genus name, Strelitzia really suits it better. Let me stay side-tracked for a moment--this plant is genuinely ugly. We have the luck of having one in our own backyard. One big pokey burnt leaved, cob-webbed filled mess of a thing. It's hideous. And the healthy versions, in my opinion, are just as bad. With the healthier ones, even though the dead portions have been removed, you still have the flower which doesn't at all resemble a bird to me, but an obnoxious, spiky monstrosity that might just bite.

While gardening last weekend, we gave it a good trimming (more like hacking) and it looks a little better. We'd like to pull the whole thing up, but our neighbor likes it.

Our beloved parrots of Telegraph Hill are the true Birds of Paradise. And I am fortunate enough to work near this area of the city where I can hear and see them everyday. Sometimes, while out to lunch, I'll look up to see a flock of their little green bodies. It's so mystical and cool.

Not everyone feels this way of course. The other day, I heard this conversation on the street:

woman to man: "Can you imagine living up here?"
man to woman: "They're cute."
woman to man: "Yeah, they're cute, but they're noisy."

She's right, they are loud. But I can't imagine this city without them. They've become a part of this natural landscape and have made Filbert Gardens that much more amazing. They're an integral part of this neighborhood experience and I'm so glad to be able to enjoy it.

Back in Cole Valley, our neighbor told us that the parrots "summered" in a large tree behind our house. Really? We didn't hear them for a very long time (most of the summer months). But, sure enough, I started hearing their squawking in the morning while getting ready for work. I live and work in neighborhoods where the parrots dwell. Aaahhh...well. :)

Cabbage Patch Kid

They look like little cabbages, those yummy Brussels sprouts. And that's what they are.

I never knew "Brussels" was plural. I'd always said, "brussel sprouts". Brussels is capitalized too. Hmm..

Anyway, a few days ago, I ate this vegetable for the first time in my life. Why I'd been so afraid of it, I'll never really know. Was it the appearance? Little green buds with an unknown center. Was it the name? I'd heard negative references about them forever: television, movies, kids on the block whose mean moms were forcing them to eat them. This was a not a food eaten for pleasure or hunger, but for pure punishment. Punishment from overzealous parents or, worse yet, overzealous friends' parents trying to exert control or influence over their neighbor's kids.

Well, punishment or not--they're good. Brussels Sprouts are delicious. My first-try recipe is simple: steamed for about 10 minutes then sauteed with butter and salt for about 3-4 minutes.
You get a juicy, plump, leafy bundle of flavor. Yum. Serve with a steak and you're good to go.

However, I discovered the real problem with the Brussels Sprouts later. Like it's cousin, the broccoli, one must accept a certain level of digestion issues after enjoying it. Perhaps a shot of Pepto Bismol or even some Beano beforehand might do the trick.