Take a quick walk through the museum-like produce wing of Central Market and you will notice a frightening thing: brussels sprouts. The terror stems not so much from the sprouts themselves, which, in addition to liver, take top billing in most childhood meal traumas. It's how they are showcased. The pert, tapered green heads are mounted on their stalks with vicious spindles protruding from the spines, like the thick nasty barbs of an infantry booby trap. You can almost feel them embed themselves in your shins, clinging firmly until you eat... More >>>