cabbage kick

Knobby winter squash awaiting eating

The night after we butchered our pig, as we tetris-packed 160 pounds of meat into our chest freezer, I vowed to blog about every cut we cooked. One month and at least eight cuts later, I haven't blogged anything pork and all I can think of is cabbage.

A few years ago, the word I probably would have used to describe cabbage was slimy--likely because of those plastic cups of mayo-drenched coleslaw. But we've been eating cabbage all fall and I'm somewhat obsessed with it now, with shredding it into crunchy confetti, snacking on it raw like potato chips, and sautéing it just barely with a few sprinkles of salt and pepper. I'm obsessed with chopping it; the sound effect rivals the symphonic crackle (to quote Ratatouille) of a fresh baguette crust. I'm also obsessed with making sauerkraut, not the eating as much as the fountains of water that gush out of the leaves when you pack it into jars with salt.

I might even be starting to feel passionate about this leafy thing. Because seriously, why is the only cabbage our country knows slimed into mass-produced cole-slaw? Tonight at dinner, as we munched cabbage braised with spareribs, bay leaf, and hot peppers, we tried to understand it. It's no less transportable than broccoli, long lasting like carrots and onions, green (as in, basically a multivitamin), and actually delicious. But it's completely misunderstood.

Reasons we brainstormed:

We just read the other day in the epic The Art of Fermentation that lettuce kvass, once a celebrated drink in Eastern Europe, was nearly lost forever in the destruction and dispersement of the region's people groups in the twentieth century. One woman, who remembered her grandmother making it, was only able to find a handful of other people around the world who recalled this tradition. What uses of cabbage have vanished forever?

On a lighter side: Cabbage is not as easy to anthropomorphize as broccoli stems and carrot sticks. Have you ever seen a smiling, cartoony cabbage? A wrinkly, head-shaped blob is not easy to market to kids.

And that mythical slime, too, the sag of limp sauerkraut strands, the collapse of overcooked boiled cabbage on a plate into a puddle--there is nothing less appealing, but it doesn't have to be that way. (This sauerkraut is proof. Would you believe it's crunchy, soda-pop fizzy, and tastebud-prickling tangy all at the same time? I will dance around the kitchen when we get our own batch that tastes like that.)

To celebrate this powerhouse of crunch and nutrition, here are two cabbage recipes.

Sautéed Cabbage with Grapefruit and Red Pepper 
I didn't come up with this one--all the credit goes to my dad. It was a spur-of-the-moment brainstorm twenty minutes before dinner, and the kick of citrus and heat won the cabbage more oohs and aahs than all the rest of our planned dishes combined.

1 large grapefruit
1 tbs butter
1 medium head of cabbage, cored and diced
1/2 tsp red pepper flakes, ground
Salt and pepper to taste

Zest the grapefruit and reserve all of it. Peel the grapefruit with a sharp carving knife, and then divide it into segments, carefully slicing on either side of the tough inner skin. Cut each segment in thirds.

In a large frying pan, heat the butter over medium high heat. When it's melted and bubbling, add the cabbage. Cook, stirring frequently, until it brightens, about 2-3 minutes. Add the zest, red pepper flakes, and salt and pepper. Cook another two minutes until the cabbage softens and releases a little moisture--but doesn't collapse! no collapsing! Add the grapefruit. One minute more, and it's done. The cabbage should be slightly soft, but retaining some of the crunch is key. Serve it hot.

Apple-Date-Cabbage Salad 
At the end of Thanksgiving vacation, Tim and I cooked two meals for his parents. For one, squash soup, I wanted something cool, light, and crunchy to contrast. Rummaging through the cupboards and fridge, I found dates, mint, and almonds left over from a Moroccan stew Tim's mom made earlier in the week, and ta da--salad.

1/2 small head of cabbage
Juice of 1 lemon (and zest, optional)
1/2 cup slivered almonds
1 large apple
6 large Medjool dates
6-8 fresh mint leaves

Core the cabbage, then grate it using a box grater or food processor. Toss with the lemon juice and a little bit of zest too, if you'd like, and set aside.

Toast the almonds in a small frying pan over medium heat until they're just starting to brown. Set aside to cool. Slice the apple into skinny matchsticks, and then chop the matchsticks into green-pea-sized pieces. Remove the pits from the dates and dice into pea-sized chunks as well. Mince the mint.

Add the cooled almonds, apples, dates, and mint to the cabbage and toss until combined. Serve at room temperature.

This salad keeps really well, thanks to the magical properties of cabbage--unlike lettuce, it won't wilt to nothing after being stored with an acidic dressing. We ate leftovers for dinner the next evening.