Cut

I can't help thinking this is some kind of metaphor for (the remains of) the festive season.

The cuts on a stalk of sprouts.

One of those things you don't normally buy, but it's Christmas, so you want things to look nice.

Or, it's Christmas, and winter, and you're five miles from a shop, and you want the sprouts to last.

Then, before you know it, you're using up the remnants of the food.

And what's left is what's been cut.