Brussels sprouts

We have really, truly finished the garden. Saturday morning, we measured rows, put down landscape cloth, planted garlic cloves, covered them with straw, and covered the straw with row cover so it won’t blow away in the winter winds. It always feels very much like tucking them into bed for a long winter’s nap. Goodnight little garlics! See you in the spring.

I learned a couple of years ago that while Brussels sprouts get sweeter and less bitter after a few frosts, they will not tolerate a hard freeze. When the forecast for Chicago said 33° Saturday morning, I feared that we would be down in the 20’s. I harvested the Brussels sprouts Friday morning. They, like everything in the garden, had a slow start, but most got respectably large.

Brussels sprouts harvest

One stalk had only small sprouts, and all stalks have smaller sprouts toward the top. I had this thought that the little ones would be perfect for Cornish Hens Stuffed with Brussels Sprouts and Salami. It’s much better than it sounds. I haven’t made it in years. The thing I failed to consider in my plan of using these cute little sprouts is that there are roughly 10,000 to the pound, and I needed three-quarters of a pound. Each sprout needs to have the bottom cut off and any outer damaged leaves removed. I was at it for awhile.

Next, I had to bone four Cornish hens. Now that I am a savvy raiser of meat chickens, I know that these hens have not, in fact, ever been to Cornwall. They are just baby meat chickens, perhaps two weeks old, and probably males besides. I felt a little bad cutting down their tiny little backbones. As I tried to get the knife between the “oyster” and the pelvis, I thought back to a lesson that I was given by Dr. Rodland during my junior year—the best way to dissect is with your fingers. It is far easier to find the muscle bundles if you feel for them. I did my best to get between the bone and muscle of the back and ribs on one side, cutting the joints at the top of the thigh and wing so the limb bones would stay with the chicken. The shoulder blade threw me off for a minute, but I figured out what it was and extracted it. I then did the same for the other side. Then there was the matter of the keel, where the two (or more) breast muscles meet. The cookbook said to be careful to not puncture the skin. I ran my fingers down both sides of the keel, but couldn’t get the connective tissue free from the top of the cartilage. I carefully scraped it loose with the knife. I kept the bones for stock. All that baby-bone cartilage would make a nice, gelatinous broth.

Great—only three more to go. When I did the second bird, I realized I had not gotten the wishbone out of the first bird. I went back and took care of that. If I did it all the time, it would be fast and easy. Since I do it once in a blue moon, it was hard, time-consuming, and ultimately required a complete change of clothes.

On to the stuffing. I blanched my cute little sprouts and mixed them with ricotta, Swiss cheese, egg, and salami. I stuffed the birds and synched up the skin with toothpicks. I tied their little legs together to try to keep the stuffing in.  

Once they were all trussed and laid out on the baking pan, I put all my clothes in the laundry and took a shower. I had offered one chicken to Hilda for her dinner. I later decided that it had been too much work for anyone to eat it alone. She offered her dining room so that she could clean up the dishes. She also made the mashed potatoes while I finished the sauce using the pan drippings, wine, stock, and butter.

Stuffed Cornish hens

It was a nice dinner, and since half a bird is enough for any reasonable person to eat, we all got two meals out of it. I froze the fourth bird for another time.

Cross section of the stuffed bird

All afternoon for one dish to be eaten in 10 minutes. I have now officially joined the ranks of Women Who Do Not Have Enough To Do With Their Time.