Mrs. Teabody Reveals her Feelings Regarding Cabbage

It all started innocently enough. A few weeks ago Mrs. Teabody enjoyed homemade vegetarian soup at a friend's house and the friend was kind enough to share her recipe -- a simple concoction made almost entirely by opening cans and rinsing the contents. Mrs. Teabody holds no snobbery whatsoever regarding this sort of cooking and had enjoyed similar concoctions as perhaps you have, Gentle Reader. Taco soup and stuffed pepper soup come to mind. Down toward the bottom of the ingredients list was an odd one: one-half jar of canned red cabbage.

 My friend was quick to point out not to use more than stated.

On the weekend another friend gifted me with ten end-of-garden tomatoes and my thoughts turned to the soup recipe. Instead of the canned crushed tomatoes, I'd use fresh and whoever made a soup without using onions and garlic? Soon a pot was burbling along on the stove top with fresh tomatoes, lots of diced onion, quite a bit of fresh garlic and lots of salt and pepper. Lots of thyme. Once that was all nice and stewy, I placed it in my big crockpot and started adding the rinsed cans of three types of beans, veg all,  vegetable stock, etc. The kitchen smelled heavenly.  Finally it was time for the cabbage. Unable to find the recommended jar of red cabbage, I had picked up a can that said Southern Country Cabbage. It looked like this:

Southern country cabbage

In less time than it takes to say "Pinch your nostrils" the area around the cabbage had turned entirely toxic to my smelling buds.

All the sulfur in Hades had been released. That is because when cabbage is cooked, the sulfur that it contains actually multiplies! The longer it is cooked, the more it multiplies. It is this sulfur smell that gives off the strong cooked cabbage odor. ... The longer the cabbage cooks, the stronger the smell it emits. Apparently "Southern country cabbage" had been cooked long AND hard. As I had dumped the contents into a colander, I quickly began rinsing it under water. The effect on the burning smell

 was absolutely minimal.  When I could bear it no longer, I sprinted--using the term loosely--from the kitchen outside to the compost heap and with no regard whatsoever for the seventy-nine cents I'd paid for this lot, I dumped it all onto the heap. The heap shivered and held its nose. I left the colander on the porch and threw open the kitchen door.

Raw cabbage sliced into wedges

 Head cabbage, generally designated simply “cabbage,” is a major table vegetable in most countries of the temperate zone. I have eaten more than my share of raw cabbage all my life. It is crunchy and delicious.

Raw cabbage made into coleslaw

One of my favorite dishes on the planet is coleslaw and I have a friend who makes coleslaw so delicious you might even choose it as an "only-food-you-can-eat" on a desert island scenario. Folks do other treatments to cabbage that are--for me--less successful. One of these is Kimchi.

Kimchi

Kimchi is a traditional Korean dish of fermented vegetables, the most common of which are napa cabbage and daikon radish. It can also be used in a variety of cooked dishes. I can eat Kimchi but I don't love it.

And that brings us to Sauerkraut:

Sauerkraut is beloved by millions of people.

Sauerkraut is finely cut cabbage that has been fermented by various lactic acid bacteria. It has a long shelf life and a distinctive sour flavor, both of which result from the lactic acid that forms when the bacteria ferment the sugars in the cabbage. And here's the thing: I don't like it. I don't. I have tried.

In spite of the fact that sauerkraut is as much a part of my heritage as an outdoor bathroom and milking cows, I don't like it. Out of seven children I am the one who doesn't pile my mashed potatoes and dumplings high with a mound of sauerkraut on the first day of the new year. 

But many people (whom I love) DO love it and that is the point to ponder.

Fermented cabbage is like so many other things about this modern world. Mention the word Sauerkraut and everyone has an opinion. We become a room divided. Over a food. Over cabbage.

And here's the thing: I don't have to love sauerkraut just because you love sauerkraut. Or because my family loves sauerkraut. Or because dozens, maybe thousands of people I know and like, love sauerkraut.

  Similarly, you don't have to dislike or hate me because I feel differently than you feel.

What you and I  do have to agree upon is not whether we both like anything. What you and I have to agree upon is that we can feel differently about cabbage -- or almost anything - - and still love and respect one another.