The cabbage is the thing, #2, free of alien babies.

Out of the CSA delivery, one of the most common victims of my lack of time last summer was the poor green cabbage. Not to be confused with the cabbage varieties I cooked with ease (Napa, joi choi, bok choy) similarly to any other green. Green cabbage, to me, is a beast. Yes, green cabbage stores longer than god in the refrigerator. Yes, green cabbage is packed with nutrients (insert what, to be exact). Yes, green cabbage is an excellent main ingredient in a variety of slaws. But cabbage is also stinky and, well, a bit intimidating.

If I am being completely frank, I may also be nurturing childhood scars related to green cabbage – ESPECIALLY the monstrosities delivered by the farm. See, I was born in 1973. Do you know what that means? I was a child of the ‘80s. Do you know what THAT means? I am certain it in fact means many things, but today, I am referring to the phenomenon known as Cabbage Patch Kids.

God, the term is terrifying even to type.

Those who knew me as a little girl, I would bet significant sums of money, would not dream to describe me as a child with a penchant for dolls. Don’t misunderstand me: I had dolls. I imagine at times I must have played various forms of imaginative make-believe with said dolls. My memories of childhood, however, recall more a love for stuffed animals and Star Wars figurines – not to mention my beloved Weeble Wobble Treehouse and Snoopy Sno-Cone Machine – than wanting to dress up dolls or pretend to change a doll’s diaper or walk a fake baby in a stroller. I do recall a doll from a toy store in England bought for me when I was five that I adored … and then, a few years later, there was the Cabbage Patch Kid.

Early in life, I yearned to be mainstream. Accepted. Normal. (Funny how life changes.) For a period of time before I hit double digits-ish, this meant joining the craze for Cabbage Patch Kids. You get a birth certificate with each one! And if you do not like the name, you can send in for another birth certificate! (Query: how does this promote something positive in a child’s life?) The dolls were all different, just like people! And look how happy they are! Just eager to be loved!

Some children are afraid of clowns. I became afraid of my Cabbage Patch Kid. I cannot remember when it appeared – certainly by the end of 1983, when 3 million Cabbage Patch Kids were sold and the dolls began appearing on the cover of every major news source as the greatest doll phenomenon in history.  If I had to muster a guess, I imagine my father brought one home to my pleading eyes, as he too wanted me to feel accepted and a part of All Things Girly after my mom died – and I do recall being thrilled by her arrival. She had brown hair and freckles. How appropriate! But I hated her name, so in a fit of rebellion I filled out the form to name her myself and received the birth certificate of my choosing. I wish I could remember the entire name. All I remember is Lauren was either the first or the middle. Lauren Elizabeth, maybe? 

Over time, or maybe it was just my growing up, the squished, ever-grinning freckled face seriously began to give me the creeps. I just did not feel the same childlike maternal love for my Cabbage Patch Daughter as I felt I should. This did not aid my sense of participation in All Things Girly. And the idea that these squished faces sprang out of heads of cabbage …. I mean, can you imagine opening giant cabbage leaves and finding a BABY inside? Who the hell makes this stuff up? Cabbage Patch Aliens, they should have been called. For heaven's sake. THIS IS THE LOGO.

You will find it entirely reasonable, then, that the delivery of green cabbage – with its gorgeous, enormous, wrap-around leaves that protect the nugget of cabbage contained within – always gives me a slight moment’s pause. I shudder to think peeling those leaves to find some form of human life inside.

Determined to see through my commitment to eat every morsel of every CSA delivery, and completely hamstrung by my refusal to eat the cabbage raw in a slaw or otherwise, I spent oodles of time researching various cabbage preparations to settle on this one. Easy as can be, mind you, but a time commitment of a couple of hours, even if most of that time is spent doing nothing but watching Game of Thrones episodes on HBO On Demand (an activity I highly recommend if, like me, you lived under a rock of work the past year and never heard of this show before looking for something to occupy your sudden free time).

Gather together:

• Lemons
• Sugar
• Delicious white wine (I used a Riesling)
• White onion
• Olive oil

First, pour yourself a glass of the white wine. Next, prep the cabbage. Even if it looks like the leaves will open up to reveal a life-form inside. I mean, can you say ominous?

Take a deep breath, steel your nerves, and peel away the giant protective leaves to find inside … a perfectly heavy, gorgeous head of cabbage. Toss the big leaves, quarter the cabbage, and then cut away its core. Cut into ribbons and wash in several changes of water.

Then put the cabbage in a giant bowl and add a cup of the wine, two tablespoons of lemon juice (I used the juice of two lemons, which yielded slightly more), and 1 and 1/2 tablespoons of sugar. Toss it all about. 

Go enjoy an episode of Game of Thrones or similar, play with the kids, take a nap, pull out a favorite record, whatever will pass the time enjoyable for an hour – but every fifteen minutes or so, give the cabbage a toss around in the marinade. At first, it will look like nothing is marinating other than the bottom few shreds of cabbage. That is a LOT of cabbage for a seemingly small amount of marinade. And you will be tempted to think – even after 45 minutes – that the full hour of marinating time is unnecessary. Incorrect, I learned. After about 45 minutes, give or take, the cabbage suddenly appeared smaller. The marinade was doing its job. The cabbage was breaking down and the deliciousness in the bowl with it was slowly blending with the cabbage.

After munching on a shred or two of the marinating cabbage after the hour is up, As the grab a hefty white onion (I used a Vidalia), halve it, peel it, and slice it.  Grab your Dutch oven or similarly sized pot, swirl in a fair amount of olive oil (maybe a tablespoon to two tablespoons), heat it up over medium to medium-high, and toss in the onion. Commence smelling and cook until translucent-ish, 5-8 minutes.

Next, add the cabbage (and, if necessary, increase the flame to medium high). As with the marinade, this will appear to overwhelm the pot. Fret not, however, since after several minutes, it starts to cook down. Cook about five minutes until the cabbage begins to wilt. Then turn down the flame, cover, and let cook for 20 or so minutes, stirring occasionally along the way.

Meanwhile, peel, core and slice a couple of sour apples. We had red apples on hand – pink ladies, most likely – so sour was not on my agenda, but I imagine the sourness of a Granny Smith or similar would add a bit more flavor to the pot. Once the cabbage is nearly tender, toss those slices in to the mix and continue cooking for another ten minutes or so, until the apples are tender but not falling apart. Season with salt and pepper and prepare to devour.

On this particular night, in the midst of watching many Game of Thrones episodes, I also managed to steam the farm’s radishes and grill some bratwursts (my absolute favorite guilty pleasure) as perfect complements to the baby-free cabbage. Mm-mmm.  Cabbage need not be so terrifying, turns out.

CSA Week Four. Kale with a side of Vandaveer.

A confession. I missed last week's CSA delivery. Mind you: I was back the next day and managed to cook every morsel, but the day of delivery? When I normally cannot wait to get home to see what goodies await? Did not happen.

All that work that happened and happened and happened and happened finally drove me to need to run far, far away. I needed my family, I needed my oldest friend, I needed a night of not working. I knew, under no circumstance, could I enjoy such a night in my home, so, on a Tuesday morning, I drove to BWI airport, boarded a just-purchased Southwest flight to my hometown in Louisville, and enjoyed 24 blissful hours not working (or at least not working much). What did I do? I saw my oldest friend in the world -- one of my two Caras -- and her garden. What does she grow in her garden?

That, lovely people, is. An. Entire. Garden. Of. Kale. KALE.

KAAAAAAALE.

I mean, kale that you can eat raw. Kale that you cook the same day it is in the ground. Kale that you spy in the backyard and know it was grown by awesome, amazing people I love. Is any kale in the world more delicious?

In a word, no.

I stood in that kale garden, drank a beer, exhaled, loved my oldest friend in the world, and then her daughter -- her beautiful, hilarious, sweet little girl, complete with princess outfit! -- bent down, plucked kale leaves from her garden, and handed them to me for munching.

I mean. Can you stand it? Are you weeping from joy yet? I sure could, even now, just remembering. I am the luckiest gal in the entire universe.

Because then? Not only did I get to eat dinner with my brother and dearest Suz at the new locally grown joint downtown (creatively called "Harvest"), which EVEN managed to have ginger beer for a dark and stormy ....

... but THEN, then, thanks to my strategic timing, I headed to see two amazing friends play amazing music that nourishes the soul the way kale nourishes a body. In my home town. For heaven's sake. For a Tuesday, I was doing pretty damn well. I even had my camera with video capability handy!



Meanwhile, back home, Karl's Farm was delivering to me the following:

• Green cabbage
• D'Avignon radishes
• Spring onions
• Mustard greens
• Hakurei turnips
• Zucchini

Luckily, most of these were repeats, so I had little to contemplate -- though I also now have little to report. Also luckily, all survived the overnight without me well. Most importantly for me, I had the best 24-hour excursion imaginable, and with deliciousness waiting for me at home. Like I said, the luckiest gal in the universe.

The cabbage is the thing, #1.

So, here is what might be the biggest not-secret of my life: I work quite a bit. Quite. Some would say too much. This past week has been illustrative of all the good and all the bad that come with participating in a CSA. Work happened, and happened, and happened, and happened, and before I knew it, I was staring down the day before a new delivery with half the share sitting in the fridge. And on a night when ALL I wanted was to head to ol' Rigyalas, or order Indian food, or just eat peanut butter on toast. But, I am nothing if not determined, and dammit to hell if I was about to let any of this delicious food go to waste.

I took stock. Left this week: an enormous Napa cabbage, kohlrabi, snow peas, radishes, spring onions. Time to pull out the wok.

Now, I have a go-to cabbage preparation. All I could think to do to use all of these vegetables was to expand my go-to to include them, timing appropriately, then add the secret ingredient that makes everything a meal.

First, I prepped the cabbage per usual, trimming and washing in several changes of water. Then I tried to figure out kohlrabi. Which came with a friend.

Kohlrabi is not anything I had heard of. It looks -- best as I can describe -- like a Muppet. I mean, it should stand up and dance and sing. Apparently I am not alone in thinking this, as a bit of Web research pulled up the following.

Also considered "sputnik-shaped," kohlrabi is apparently German for cabbage turnip. These little critters can be eaten raw or cooked and are described as tasting like "broccoli stems," which, um, are not my preference. It is also commonly used in Indian food. This was going to be an experiment. Once I disposed of the squirmy tag-along, I got to peelin' and choppin'.

 

Kohlrabi reminds me of raw potato, which, to the horror of many, I found delicious as a wee child, when my father and I would steal a slice as my mother cooked, sprinkle with pepper, and crunch away. The thought of doing so now makes me cringe, but the kohlrabi makes for a nice, non-cringeworthy substitute.

To add to the kohlrabi and cabbage, I prepared the radishes, the snow peas, and the spring onions. In other words, I washed them. With a veggie brush. Those suckers were dirty. Then I sliced the radishes and the spring onions -- white AND green parts.

With that, I minced my garlic and ginger. Do you know the easiest way to peel fresh ginger? It does not involve a knife. Simply use the back of a spoon to scrape scrape scrape. Then mince. I then collected my necessaries: mirin (or rice vinegar if no mirin), soy sauce (or Bragg's amino acids -- WAY less sodium), canola oil (I highly recommend investing in a 79-cent squirt bottle for such a purpose), toasted sesame oil, and, lately -- though by no means is it necessary -- I have enjoyed adding Penzeys Chinese Five Spice Powder.

My dear friend Sarah gave me an electric wok when I got married.  Now, this may seem one of those things that ladies ooh and aah over, only for the gift to require adequate storage for an annual use. But that is not the case. I use the HELL out of this thing. It is a great size, non-stick, minimizes oil needs, heats up fast, cools down faster, and is a zillion times easier to clean than any pot I own. It fits perfectly in the cabinet atop the fridge. In the summer especially, I use the electric wok several times a week, essentially whenever I cannot grill due to weather or the absence of slabs of meat. Bonus: the wok does not heat up the house. I love love love love it. Run get one for yourself and see what I mean.

I never use it on high when cooking veggies. I turned it to maybe a six, waited a minute or two, drizzled in a TINY amount of canola oil (less than I would use in a pan), and added the onion. My senses began to sing. Once the onion heated up (remember, these are spring onions that will cook much faster -- normally I use a regular white or yellow onion, which requires more cooking), I added the garlic and ginger. Then the kohlrabi.

Normally, the only two items that hit the wok are onions and cabbage. With so many vegetables awaiting my belly, I worked in the rest with some guesstimate at how long each needed to cook. About this point in time, I changed my mind about adding the radishes since I had zero clue how long the radishes would need in a wok, and I was a bit concerned that the radishes would be strange with the Chinese Five Spice. So, into a steamer went the radishes. And to the wok went several healthy shakes of Five Spice, the cabbage, then the snow peas. To the concoction I added about a teaspoon of mirin and a good few squirts of Bragg's (maybe a tablespoon). The thing was so full I had potential for a true mess on my hands.

The cabbage requires massive amounts of turning. It does not cook down nearly as quickly as other greens. I mean, it's CABBAGE. But once it is done, it is done. After 5 or so minutes had passed, it was ready.  I drizzled a dab (less than a teaspoon) of the toasted sesame oil over the cabbage concoction, then gave it one lass thorough toss about before removing it to a bowl. Time for my final ingredient for the wok. Even on number six, the cooking liquid was bubbling away. Waiting patiently.

The perfect receptacle for fresh shrimp! Shrimp complete any meal! Protein! Low-fat! Delicious! And fast!

While the shrimp cooked for the few minutes necessary, I heated a touch of olive oil in a nonstick pan (again, minimizing the oil use) and tossed in my now steamed radishes, to which I added just a hint of salt and pepper. Voila.

Finally. A meal made from five vegetables from the farm. This was a record for me. And so freaking delicious.

Onions are not always for crying.

One would think it easy to know what to do with a spring onion. But has one ever seen onions as massive as these?

I remember last year debating with certain individuals the part of the onion to use versus discard. Whelp, I am a big believer in using as much as possible -- white AND green parts -- so I knew this would be some serious onion going on in whatever I threw together. Here's the thing about spring onions: sooooo mild and delicious and sweet. I ripped off the scragglies, cleaned the suckers with a veggie brush (which inevitably means allowing the outermost layer to peel off), and chopped -- white AND green parts. I like to cut the green parts straight and then get all slanty with the white parts. I only wish I could add the smell to the Internet. Yummy. And no tears!

Then I whipped out my friendly turnips. These fellahs came with beYOOtiful greens, so to store, I had removed the greens from the turnip, ensuring their freshness come time to cook them up.

The turnips needed peeling and the greens trimming and washing (no spinning). Once the onions started to cook (the smell people! the delicious smell!) and turn translucent, I added a spattering of sweet curry powder and the turnips. Then, as they softened to the point of near completion, I added the greens. Total time in the pan -- less than ten minutes.

Meanwhile, I had asked my husband to bring home some fish. The great thing about cooking fish? Easiest thing imaginable. Easier than a PBJ. Easier than a burger. Easier than onions and turnips. It truly is the safest thing to send Brandon to the store in search of with minimal direction, allowing him to choose, since any fish can be cooked in one of several easy breezy ways. On this particular night, he brought home a fish that was very white. After seasoning with a bit of salt, pepper, lemon juice, and fresh dill from the garden, all it needed was a hint of olive oil with garlic in a pan, then, once the fish was added, a mixture of water and veggie broth for poaching liquid. Again, if only I could capture the smell on the Internet.  Instead, you will need to imagine ....

CSA Week Three: What in the sam hill will I do with all of this food?

Oh, Karl's Farm. You spoil me.

I knew I was in for it this week when I saw those spring onions peeking out at me over the basket. Or, towering, more like.  This week's share:

• Kohlrabi
• Joi Choi
• Snow peas
• Spring/green onions
• Napa cabbage
• D'Avignon radishes
• Hakurei turnips

Little did I know that this week would epitomize everything wonderful and tragic about participating in a CSA.

That first night, I tore into the Joi Choi. A bit of research turned up that Joi Choi was a relative of bok choy (shocker) and fell under the category of Chinese cabbage. The leaves had a fairly significant change in thickness from stem to tip, so I knew that cooking these beauties would require some attention on the cutting board. But, really, look at this thing.

This was enough to feed quite a few folks, so good thing I was starving. And in a bit of a time crunch. After chopping, washing in about 4 bowl changes of water, and spinning (those leaves are super delicate), I wanted to stay basic so I could actually taste this bounty. Garlic, crushed red pepper flakes, and olive oil to the rescue .... and wow, did this thing change colors as it cooked.

Meanwhile, I had the grill heated up, a sweet potato stabbed with a fork a couple of times getting started in the microwave, and a grass-fed New York strip marinating in a variety of peppers (black pepper, lemon pepper, red pepper, white pepper) with Worcester. I added the steak and the potato to the grill while the leaves cooked down and ended up with a bit of Tuesday heaven.

Boring, and not so boring.

I have been super busy the past several days, and besides fantasizing of taking a leave from my job to follow favorite musicians around the country, I have dreamed of eating this meal again as soon as possible. This meal here:

Even staring at it now .... mmmm. Memories. Honestly? I threw this thing together in a whirlwind of frustration that I have no time. Zilch. Nada. None. To my rescue came the bounty of Karl's farm and this glorious creation.

Please. In the name of all that is holy. Stop reading, go to www.penzeys.com, and order yourself some sweet curry powder. The small jar is all of three bucks. Promise. Worth it. Go go go.

Now that you are back, let me explain this life changing moment, despite the scarcity of moments these days.  As a general rule, when I buy groceries on the weekend, I try to get three proteins that I can whip up without thinking -- some sort of fish, chicken breastesses, and steak/ground buffalo/kabobs/insert meaty meat here. And chicken breastesses, which last the longest, usually require digging deep within for excitement and creativity to go beyond Dad's Lemon Pepper Chicken. Now, I realize, as a general rule, one can do any of a bajillion things with chicken breastesses that will taste delicious, but me? I cannot. I get bored. And impatient. Perhaps this is why I call them breastesses.  So the nights I make chicken breastesses, the rest of the plate better be damn exciting.

Bless summer for the ability to grill and enjoy it.  I rinsed those breastesses, patted them dry, added salt, pepper, and Penzeys Northwoods seasoning, then off to the grill with me.  Done and done. 

Now the fun. Southern curly mustard greens! Hakurei turnips! A dark and stormy! ALL FOR ME!

Hakurei turnips are small, white, and edible raw. I prefer things cooked. The turnips would need the most time, so I started there. I had fabulous thoughts of roasting the turnips with the D'Avignon radishes and topping with this Dijon mustard concoction I read about .... only, no mustard? And no radishes? Siiiiiiigh. I did not want to cook the turnips the way I always had, which basically mirrored the way I braise greens. I vaguely recalled reading something from a vegetarian website and thought, why not risk it. Enter Penzeys sweet curry powder. 

After peeling, washing, and slicing the turnips to about ..... 

I sliced a small yellow onion, threw it in some heated olive oil, added the turnips after a couple of minutes, and then maybe a teaspoon-ish of the Penzeys. Holy wow. My senses were ALIVE.

I worried about the cooking proceeding too slowly, so I added a bit of vegetable broth, gave it a stir, and plopped a lid on it. Then I turned to the mustard greens. Have you ever seen anything more gorgeous?

Chopped, rinsed, spun, and ready, the mustard greens would soon join a pan full of white sweet onions turning translucent in a hint of olive oil, with a couple of cloves of minced garlic and splash of veggie broth.  A drizzle (tiny drizzle!) of sesame oil on these and done. Mmmmm.

When I checked back on my turnips, I was greeted by the most glorious sight on my stovetop --  and PERFECT with the greens.

That meal was a fave. I asked Brandon for a quote, but he was too busy eating to say more than "savory." At least I care less and less about making chicken breastesses more exciting. But I shall always call them breastesses.