Converting to Cabbage

hey good lookin'

I can tell you with unflinching honesty that I had never bought a head of cabbage until Friday March 6, 2009. I hadn't even considered buying one before February 27th. Cabbage just did not pop up on my culinary radar. I had always considered it nasty, stringy stuff stuck into otherwise delicious kalua pig as filler, and dutifully picked it out and made a neat, but dripping mound of inedible cabbage floss on the side of my plate. It annoyed my Chinese-Hawaiian grandmother that I would waste perfectly good food, but then she would vulture it. FI can't stomach mayonnaise and my first exposure to coleslaw was in a public elementary school cafeteria, which I think is reason enough to believe that cabbage is gross. On top of that, sauerkraut in Hawaii is only found in stainless steel rotary dispensers at the Costco hot dog condiment bar, a sadly pale and smelly fraction of its true form. It would have bothered the entirety of the Irish side of my family to imagine that their cabbagey culture was being spurned by one of their own, and it surely would make me unsuitable to date a true lover of beer.

When I started dating Jeff, aforementioned lover of beer, I started drinking a lot more of the stuff and consequently going to a lot of beer halls. Austro-Germanic restaurants suddenly became regular sources of food for me. Not wanting to appear to him as if I was out of place at a Bavarian beer hall on Staten Island (I was) and always wanting to be President of the Clean Plate Club, I dived into the side of sauerkraut on my plate with relish(ah, puns, you sneak up on me). I never knew how delicious fermented cabbage could be! Perhaps this unloved vegetable deserved a second chance, but I still didn't want to buy them to cook myself.

after being gently browned in butter,
cabbage wedges taste less like the foot in this picture

A few weeks back, Jeff took the initiative and bought an adorable head of cabbage, a little larger than a giant grapefruit. He made Rick Bayless's black-bean tacos with a healthy dose of freshly sliced cabbage, and I couldn't get enough. A couple of nights later, a um hearty stirfried stew of sorts inspired by, but sharply departing from, this recipe showed up on the table. While I could get enough--it was quite filling--I happily sneaked the container of leftovers to work for lunch.

oho! a cream bath!

As if this weren't enough to convince me that I ought to love cabbages myself, I started reading Molly Wizenberg's new book which, in addition to making me both giggle and cry on the subway without caring, has a beautiful way of selling the merits of cabbage. And so, the last time we went to the store, I bought another cute little cabbage, and last night I made cabbage two ways for dinner. I am so happy that I did.

I highly suggest you read Molly's book, A Homemade Life, and although I don't want to let it out of my sight for the next month or so, you can read my copy in my presence. Honestly, how can you not love someone who writes such deep insights as, "Brandon once showed up at my door with a quarter pound of a very rare type of cured pork, and nothing makes a girl feel googly-eyed like getting pork from a vegetarian." The recipe I made from her book last night--Cream-braised cabbage--is sure to win over anyone who thinks cabbage is yucky. Browned in butter and then slow cooked in a cream bath? It makes anything tasty and luxurious. The Kitchn has the recipe excerpted here for you to cook along.

cream-braised cabbage:
it looks almost like glazed turkey breast here, but tastes so much better

The second recipe I made conquered my greater fear of coleslaw by taking out the mayo. As I often do with Heidi Swanson's recipes, I substituted some of her ingredients for what I had in the kitchen. Lime peanut coleslaw became meyer lemon hazelnut slaw, quite possibly for the better.

cabbage two ways and meyer lemon water