How To Murder And Braise A Massive Red Cabbage ~ Then Hide The Body In The Freezer
Something strange has happened to me one time too many in my life for it to be ‘not a thing’. It’s definitely ‘a thing’ and that ‘thing’ is a real life true déjà vu. Why do I consistently find myself, no matter where I am in the world, in the same uncomfortable position of carrying for miles a single massive burdensome heavy vegetable?
The realisation struck me just before Christmas when I had my first sprout of the year and it was enormous. I’d never seen, never mind eaten, a sprout so big and I made the overenthusiastic mistake of shoving it in hole, immediately being forced to perform the unforgivable action of opening my mouth again, AFTER the food was in there, to get my teeth across it to crush it. In my life time I have never reopened my chops to chew. Privately disgraced and disgusted.
They were nice though. They had lost a lot of their zesty tang, with age no doubt, but they had a lovely warm friendly flavour. It was only later, in the bath after dinner, that it suddenly struck me I had a house full of giant vegetables. Or had I shrunk?
At the car-boot I go to there is a fantastic green grocer with a five table length stall. I’ve never bought anything from them as my mind is firmly focused on knick knacks, but it’s always packed with people and the fruit and veg looks amazing, PLUS none of it is in plastic bags! Its all loose and you sling it in your own carrier. It’s the perfect environmentally conscious way to shop.
Anyway, the previous Sunday was a struggle to find anything to buy, even though I’d gotten there really early. Normally I’m well fed, hot, bothered and loaded down with vintage truffles, so food is not on my mind. That day I was frozen cold, empty-handed and I hadn’t had me breakfast.
I was defeated and disappointed and heading back to George Michael when I saw the red cabbages glowing in the distance like rubies in the dust. Perfect, I’ll make a batch of braised red cabbage for dinner. It takes hours, but the day is still young.
When I reached the stall they were already low on stock, they get down to the bare wood every week and I saw they had huge celeriacs too. Double happy. Slow braised red cabbage and mashed celeriac is going to get me through this winter.
My jumbo carboot cabbage.
I said “hello, one red cabbage please” and the woman said “£1.50 please”, total bargain. It wasn’t until she picked it up that I realised it was bigger than my own big head. My heart sunk into my lonely empty stomach and PTSD flashbacks of getting swept up in the Summer Of 2010 mega-watermelon buying frenzy in the fruit shop with the glamorous elderly Russian ladies in fur coats in Coney Island and not being able to carry it beyond the other side of Brighton Beach, so I rolled it all the way down the boardwalk to get it on the subway in 100 degree heat.
The Great Watermelon season of 2010 - Brighton Beach, Coney Island, Brooklyn, New York.
Then there was supposedly restorative and invigorating fresh Coconut in Bangkok’s Chatachuk Market that after the 10 seconds it took to drink was like carrying the dead weight of the severed head of my arch enemy in my left hand for hours looking for a bin/grave. Finally let’s never forget the two stone pineapple in Kowloon that was like dragging an angry toddler home.
A bin, a bin, my right arm for a bin.
I bottled out. I said oh, sorry, no thank you. Walked ten feet and turned back. I could not go home empty handed. I’m a vegetable warrior, I’m a fruit soldier, I was a vegan before it was invented, I’m not being beaten by a cabbage.
I waved at her and confessed the reason for my moment of weakness. She laughed and asked me if I was going to be alright as she slowly released the beast onto my outstretched and braced left hand. Why do I always use my weak hand? She asked if my car was far, I said its farther than I’d rather and she might see it rolling round the carpark if I have to abandon it.
We both made it home, it was too big for the fridge, so it sat on the kitchen bench for about a fortnight and I thought it might take root, or have a cup of tea. It also served as a perfect model for the 50s vintage hat I bought on the way back from the post office.
The perfect vintage hat display.
As perfect a head-sized model it was for my hats, I had to eventually get round to disposing of the body. On an unusually energetic day I shredded him, braised him and put him in the freezer. It only takes about five hours, but it’s worth it, even though I half expected The Sweeny to come knocking on the door. Here’s the recipe.
Dead and shredded raw red cabbage.
1. Drag the biggest red cabbage you can home, coz you aren’t going to make this more than once in a short lifetime.
2. Shred it like you mean it.
3. Fill as many pans as you own with the cabbage and pour a bit of oil in and some salt.
4. Stand there and stir it on a medium-low heat for about 3 hours. Yep.
5. When it’s reduced right down, put it all in one pan, add some butter, brown sugar and vinegar and stir for about another hour until it’s like caramelised like toffee.
6. Not until the tides turn, the moon aligns over the equator and hell goes cold is it ready, so I’d pull up a stool and have a sit while you stir.
By the time it’s ready, you probably won’t be able to bare the thought of eating it, so freeze it in pots and get over the ordeal.
Delicious, sweet braised red cabbage - worth the wait and the work.
