Garlic Parmesan Roasted Brussel Sprouts

Get ready to embark on a culinary journey with our Garlic Parmesan Roasted Brussel Sprouts recipe. This tantalizing dish combines the earthy goodness of Brussel sprouts with the rich flavors of garlic and Parmesan cheese. Whether you’re a seasoned chef or a novice in the kitchen, this recipe is sure to impress your taste buds and leave your guests craving for more. Let’s dive into the details of this mouthwatering dish.

Garlic Parmesan Roasted Brussel Sprouts Recipe

Follow this simple recipe to create a side dish that will steal the spotlight on your dinner table. The combination of fresh Brussel sprouts, aromatic garlic, and savory Parmesan cheese makes this a crowd-pleaser.

Ingredients:

Here’s what you’ll need for this delightful dish:

Instructions:

  1. Preheat your oven to 400°F (200°C).
  2. Start by preparing the Brussel sprouts. Trim the bottom, slice them in half from top to bottom, and rinse them thoroughly.
  3. If you want easy cleanup, prepare a large baking sheet and line it with parchment paper.
  4. Pat the Brussel sprouts dry with a paper towel and place them in a large bowl.
  5. Add the olive oil, salt, black pepper, Italian seasoning, minced garlic, and grated Parmesan. Gently toss to coat the Brussel sprouts evenly.
  6. Now, spread the coated Brussel sprouts onto the prepared baking sheet in a single layer.
  7. Roast in the preheated oven for 25-30 minutes or until they turn golden brown.
  8. Your Garlic Parmesan Roasted Brussel Sprouts are ready to serve. This recipe makes approximately 6 servings. Enjoy!

My Stepdaughter Insisted I Reassign All Her Deceased Father’s Possessions into Her Name – I Complied, Yet She Was Unpleased

The emptiness of George’s departure permeates their residence, his presence enduring in the shirt Mariana grips nightly. However, it wasn’t his passing that devastated her… it was her stepdaughter Susan’s insistence on inheriting his wealth. When she reluctantly agreed, an unexpected twist left Susan enraged and Mariana strangely content.

Progressing past the death of a dear one is always challenging. At times, I still sense my husband George’s voice echoing in my mind. I awaken holding his cherished shirt, his fragrance still clinging to the material. Yet, as I mourned him, my stepdaughter’s actions… they utterly broke me…

I am Mariana, aged 57, wed to the kindest man, George, for 25 years. He had a daughter, Susan, aged 34, from an earlier marriage.

Our bond with Susan was once good. She addressed me as “Mom” and filled the gap in my heart from not bearing my own children. I never viewed her as “another’s” child. I cherished her as my own daughter, truly.

When Susan wed her chosen partner, George and I were thrilled. But then, everything deteriorated when George received a terminal cancer diagnosis.

Susan’s visits reduced from weekly to monthly, then ceased entirely. She seldom visited her father, occasionally phoning to inquire about his health.

One day, she posed a question that tore me apart. “How long does he have left?”

Clutching the phone tightly, my voice shook. “Susan, your father isn’t an item with an expiration date.”

“I just need to know, Mom. I’m swamped, you know that… I can’t come by often,” she responded.

“Swamped?” I repeated, my tone filled with disbelief. “Too swamped to visit your dying father?”

She exhaled deeply. “Look, I’ll attempt to come soon, okay?”

But that “soon” never materialized.

Then, the dreaded day arrived. The hospital informed me that George had passed away peacefully.

I was devastated, barely able to stand as the reality sank in. My beloved George, gone.

Shockingly, Susan didn’t attend his funeral. When I called her, she promptly excused herself.

“I’m expecting, Mom,” she stated, her tone strangely indifferent. “The doctors advised against lengthy travel due to some medical concerns.”

I swallowed hard, holding back tears. “But Susan, it’s your father’s funeral. Don’t you wish to bid him farewell one last time?”

“I can’t jeopardize my baby’s health,” she curtly replied. “You understand, right?”

I didn’t, not truly, but I nodded silently, forgetting she couldn’t see me. “Of course, dear. Take care.”

As I sat near my husband’s coffin, I couldn’t dismiss the notion that our relationship had irrevocably changed.

Six months post-George’s death, I was startled by a loud knock at my door. Opening it, I saw Susan and her husband Doug, along with a severe-looking man in a suit.

Susan entered without greeting. “Mom, we need your signature on some documents.”

Baffled, I blinked. “Which documents?”

Doug handed me a stack of papers, including a blank sheet. “Just sign these. They’re for transferring all the properties into our names.”

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