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Sweetness
We're teetering on the very edge of spring. The days are staying lighter longer, the blustery winds whisper the balmy promise of warmer days, and before too long the first, elegant vegetables of the new season will appear. Thin gorgeous fronds of asparagus, tightly budded baby artichokes, sumptuous green fava beans and curlicued fiddleheads will take center stage to a chorus of oohs and aahs from winter-weary palates. How quickly we will forget the less stylish, not-so-chic winter vegetables. The cold-weather stalwarts — the dowdy squashes, rotund cabbages and pudgy Brussels sprouts — will be mostly eclipsed by these bright young things until next autumn. But it is still early March. Before spring officially takes over, let us revel in the comfort of winter food just a little longer. The truth is, much as I impatiently anticipate the glories of the asparagus patch, I also have a serious thing for cabbage — not just good tangy coleslaw at a summer picnic but the soul-warming solace of cooked cabbage dishes. Believe me, I am not talking about the bland and waterlogged cabbage of steam tables, but of warm and vibrant cabbage cuisine. Cabbage is a pungent member of the mustard family, with a latent sweetness that is brought out by proper cooking. I love its inimitable crunch between my teeth and the silkiness it gets when salted or cooked. I love it quickly sautéed in stir fries, shredded raw in salads, braised in broth, pickled in sauerkraut or roasted with balsamic vinegar. I love it green, purple, red, frilly and smooth, and I love all its stinky little mustard family relatives too — broccoli, cauliflower, kale and even Brussels sprouts. About the only thing I don't love about cabbage is the funky smell it releases when it is boiled in water (although even that seems to be controlled by cooking it without liquid at high heat, in the oven, say, or in a wok.) And then there is the rather disintegrating effect that cabbage can have on the human digestive system. Given the high prices at the pumps these days, it's a pity we can't harness the gas-producing cabbage to power the automobile. But, imaginatively prepared, cabbage can be worth the olfactory distractions. And boy, is it good for you. All the cabbage relatives are high in the fiber and chemicals that researchers say keep cancer at bay. For a somewhat humble vegetable, cabbage certainly gets around. It is the central, almost the only, ingredient in Dragon's Teeth, a fiery Chinese stir fry of cabbage and pointed little red chiles (the teeth of the dragon) that I always ordered at the sorely-missed Panda Palace. The owner had taken it off her menu because Americans, she felt, wanted something more than cabbage in a dish. Not me, however. So when I begged and pleaded, they would fire up the wok and chop the cabbage, creating a crunchy and wonderful dish for me—simultaneously sweet, sour and wickedly hot. Cabbage is also central to Chinese twice-cooked pork, with its delicious anise-flavored sauce. For real cabbage lovers, the pork can get in the way. The incredibly obliging but long-suffering folks at the westside Dragon Restaurant have gotten used to me ordering "twice cooked pork, no pork," with a stoic expression on their faces that says it's not their fault if the customers are crazy. Cabbage is a standby of Korean food culture in the form of the fiery pickled dish Kimchi. Chopped cabbage and other vegetables, salted and vinegared in an earthenware jar and often left to ferment in the ground or on the stoop, Kimchi is a powerful and acquired taste. Cabbage is prominent in East European cuisine too—Polish, Russian, German, Slavic—where they treasure tight green bundles of cabbage stuffed with meat and rice, and rich brothy cabbage soups. And of course, cabbage is beloved in British and Irish cuisine (corned beef and cabbage season is coming up in earnest in a week or so, although you can always get it at the Irish Lion). It is, for instance, a primary ingredient in the British "bubble and squeak." When I was younger, I filed bubble and squeak with other British dishes I considered highly suspect, like haggis and black pudding. Given the rather unusual ingredients of those other dishes, I thought sure the "squeak" must be some unimaginable animal part. Instead bubble and squeak turns out to be a very innocuous, but very delicious, concoction — a fry up of leftover mashed potatoes, cabbage, and onion that makes a squeaky sound in the pan as it cooks. Cabbage is such a staid and respectable citizen of the vegetable kingdom that it's easy to take it for granted. But cabbage is only available to grace our dinner tables today because of the amateur crop selection practiced by ancient farmers, says University of Saskatchewan horticulturist, Brian Baldwin, in "The History of Cabbage" (see http://gardenline.usask.ca/veg/cabbage.html). Treasuring the leaves of the original, prehistoric cabbage, Brassica oleracea, Mediterranean inhabitants picked and ate (and saved the seeds from) the leafiest specimens, gradually producing large-leafed kale by 5th century B.C. When tastes began to favor tightly clustered green leaves, plants that looked more and more like today's cabbage were chosen, resulting in a headed cabbage by the first century A.D. In northern Europe, a preference for fat stemmed Brassica produced kohlrabi. More recent partialities for eating flower buds led to the selection of plants that looked increasingly like cauliflower and broccoli (by the 15th and 16th centuries) and a predilection for multiple leaf buds gave the Belgians (what else?) Brussels sprouts in the 18th century. Today we have Brassicas galore — professional modern crop selection has produced many varieties of head cabbage, broccoli-cauliflower hybrids, broccolini, broccoli raab and more. They are not averse to colder weather and they have a lot of staying power, so most of them are available year round. We'd be crazy, of course, not to take advantage of the bounty of spring vegetables that are about to burst onto the scene, but we'd be crazier still to abandon the Brassicas one minute before we have to. Roasted
Cabbage and Farfalle (Bow Tie Pasta)
1 small to medium green cabbage, cored, leaves cut into 2-inch chunks 1 small to medium red cabbage, cored, leaves cut into 2-inch chunks Olive oil Salt Pepper Balsamic vinegar 1 pound farfalle pasta (bow ties) Note: You don't need to break out the 50 year old vinegar for this recipe, but don't use the cheapest you can find either. You want it to be sweet and not too sharp. Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Place chopped cabbage on baking sheets. Drizzle with olive oil and use your hands to separate the leaves and coat them with oil. Salt and pepper liberally. Roast cabbage for 10-15 minutes, depending on your personal preference (don't be afraid to eat a piece to see how it tastes.) I like it beginning to get crispy and caramelized on the edges, but holding a bit of crunch. While cabbage is roasting, cook pasta according to
package directions. Drain and toss with olive oil. When cabbage is done to your taste, remove it from the oven. Drizzle with a couple of tablespoons of balsamic vinegar. In a large bowl, toss the cabbage and pasta together. Add additional oil, vinegar, salt and pepper to taste. Serves four as an entrée, six as a pasta course (more as
a side dish with roasted meat.) Roasted
Brussels Sprouts 1 1/2 pounds Brussels sprouts, cleaned and trimmed Olive oil Salt Pepper Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Place sprouts in a baking dish and rub all over with
oil. Sprinkle with plenty of salt and pepper. Roast them in the oven for 20-30
minutes. If you like them on the crunchy side, take them out sooner, for
softer and sweeter sprouts, leave them in longer. Taste them as they cook to
see what you prefer. As the leaves brown up and get a little crispy, they are
sweet and wonderful, so don't be afraid of letting them brown. Bubble and Squeak This is a traditional British use for leftover potatoes and cabbage or Brussels sprouts, but if you don't have leftovers, it's worth creating them for this dish. 1 medium cabbage, chopped or sliced and cooked (I prefer roasted cabbage for this, but boiled works well too. This is also delicious with leftover, chopped Brussels sprouts.) 3 cups mashed potatoes 1 onion, sliced 3 Tablespoons oil or butter Salt Pepper Heat oil or butter in a large frying pan. Sautee the onions until soft and beginning to brown. Mix in potatoes and cabbage, well seasoned with salt and pepper. Spread the mixture out in the pan and cook until the bottom is crispy and brown. Turn out of the pan, cut into wedges, and serve. Serves six. Dragons Teeth The wonderful owner of the Panda Palace once told me how to make this dish and I curse myself ore not writing it down. I have searched far and wide and the closest I have been able to come is the Quick-Stir Fried Cabbage on chinaoninternet.com. This is an adaptation of that recipe, and while it's not as good at the Panda's, it relieves the craving. 1 cabbage, chopped into bite sized pieces. 4-5 long thin dried red chiles (more if you like punishment). You can break them into pieces, but remove some of the seeds if you don't like hot food. To contain the heat, keep them whole. 15 Sichuan peppercorns (optional) 2 tablespoons vegetable oil 1 teaspoon salt 2 teaspoons sugar 2 teaspoons sesame oil 2 tablespoons soy sauce 2 teaspoons vinegar Heat the vegetable oil in a wok over high heat. Add the peppercorns and chiles and stir fry until fragrant. Remove peppercorns and discard. Add chopped cabbage and stir fry a few seconds until starting to wilt. Add salt, soy, sugar, and sesame oil and cook until cabbage is wilted and browning at the edges, but still crisp. Sprinkle with vinegar. Serve with steamed white rice (and don't eat the
chiles!) |
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