CSA Week Eight. Reason 2153 why I like vegetables from the farm more than take out.

It is a very good thing that work slowed down because it has become increasingly difficult to leave my house in the morning. I mean, how can I stop staring at this?

But Karl's Farm never rests. Week Eight brought the following:

• zucchini
• blue and white potatoes
• green beans
• sweet onions
• green pepper
• yellow squash
• cucumbers
• cherry tomatoes

I decided to get all boring. I pulled out some chicken boobs and added my favorite Penzeys for chicken -- lemon pepper (a shout out to my dad!) and Old World seasoning, then fired up the grill.

I stared and stared and stared at the bounty, feeling zero creativity. I finally went with the squash, pepper, onions, and cherry tomatoes...

... chopped the pepper, sliced the onions ....

... and, to show you I am not limited to dark and stormies or Stella, cracked open a chilled zero-calorie raspberry Steaz, the other Tupper Butler house favorite.

Made with green tea! Fizzy! And look at all those B vitamins!

Then I chopped and washed some dino kale recently picked up at the Whole Foods -- albeit a bit reluctantly. I love my farm delivery, but I needed some leaves.

Dino kale is short of dinosaur kale, apparently due to the texture of its leaves:

I like dino kale as it is easier to clean, but it usually comes in a smaller bunch. I do NOT boil dino kale first, not even for a minute. It cooks very quickly. So, with the kale washed and cut, the vegetables cut, and the garlic minced, I readied two pans with olive oil: one with garlic for the kale, and one with the onions and peppers for the squash. 

With the chicken on the grill and the hour getting late (does that really say almost 9 o'clock?!?), I pulled out my secret ingredient for cooking vegetables quickly.

I added the squash and Penzeys MURAL OF FLAVOR, which, as my dear friend Abbey taught me, makes absolutely everything imaginable more delicious. I stirred it all together a bit, then added enough broth to cover the bottom of the pan. This is an excellent trade off for avoiding oil calories, mind you.

In too went the kale to its pan, with water from its bowl washings remaining on the leaves.

Meanwhile, the chicken breasts (which had been flipped) were ready, so off the grill with them.

The kale was ready in about five minutes, while the squash took the longest (poor planning on my part), but eventually began to break down, so I added the washed cherry tomatoes and a lid to allow the steam to break down the tomatoes while the squash finished cooking.

About 5 to 8 minutes later, I sliced a farmer's market tomato and an avocado, and dinner was ready, with only about half an hour passing from unpacking the CSA basket to staring at this on my plate.

And that, my friends, came together faster than one could have take-out delivered. 

Ratatupper.

And then came the night that I had more than I knew what to do with -- partly due to an uncontrollable visit to the farmer's market to satiate an okra craving. But more on that in a minute.

I had alllllllll these vegetables. There are two of us. What was a gal to do? 

Something entirely new, turns out. This new restaurant opened in the same spot where we used to enjoy pretend authentic Mexican near our house, Senor Peppers. We hated the new restaurant before it opened, simply because it was not Senor Peppers, and then also because it had the stupid name of Blue 44. What the hell? Blue what? Is this some ridiculous sports bar coming to Chevy Chase? Reluctantly, however, we visited one night after someone glowed about a sweet potato biscuit (I mean, come ON) with boar sausage. Not only did Blue 44 have nice people and ginger beer for my rum, but the menu looked downright amazing. 

It included ratatouille. 

What is ratatouille, Brandon asked? Well, I cannot confess to making or having much of it, but my understanding is that it is a vegetable semi-stew, usually involving eggplant, which I never ate much since it -- at times -- results in weird bumps on my tongue. Hmmm, says Brandon. He was skeptical. I did not blame him. This one came with polenta. Polenta is not my favorite. With many other things on the menu calling out to us, we have yet to meet Blue 44's ratatouille. But I guarantee you it is now on the list.

SO. Faced with all of these vegetables, especially since one was a compulsively purchased eggplant from the farmer's market, all I could think was RATATOUILLE. So I did some reading, then made some things up.

[Aside: No, I have not seen the movie. No, I do not want to see the movie. No, I did not look at the recipe from the movie.]

I gathered together

• eggplant 
• yellow squash
• zucchini
• green pepper
• okra
• sweet onions
• tomatoes
• garlic
• salt

First, I cubed the eggplant, yellow squash and zucchini. Then, per the Interweb, I salted the hell out of it and set it aside in a colander to allow the salt to extract moisture while I chopped the other 724 things (felt like) awaiting my knife. 

Can we pause for a moment to take in the beauty of this okra? My initial plan was to include it in the ratatouille. Then I knew -- as much as I knew my roots remain planted firmly in Mississippi -- that this batch was destined for my cast iron skillet and some corn meal.

As the eggplant, squash, and zucchini lost its moisture, I whipped out my Dutch oven -- my most favorite non-consumable BFF in my kitchen -- and heated the requisite olive oil with minced garlic. Don't ask me how much -- probably two swirls' worth (using my olive oil flask, not the open pour of the bottle) and two or so garlic cloves. Since I have a tendency to burn garlic, I kept the flame low and added the halved-then-sliced sweet onions (about four -- these guys are small) to begin their transition to translucency and then the green pepper (I only had one but wished I had two). Meanwhile, I chopped the tomatoes, removing the seeds and innards. After a couple of tomatoes, I began to worry that I was not going to have any liquid in the pot, so I left the seeds and innards for tomatoes three and four (again, these were small guys). Turns out that was ENTIRELY unnecessary, and when I do this again (note use of "when" and not "if"), I will remove the seeds for all tomatoes. I added the eggplant, squash, and zucchini once the onions started to turn and the green pepper loosened up, then stirred it all about, a bit concerned that the Dutch oven would not contain all of this vegetable goodness heading its way. Finally I added the tomatoes. Mmm.

I topped the whole thing off with a bit of pepper and a TINY bit of Penzeys Bouquet Garni, which I had never used before and liked to say, brought it all to a lovely simmer, then set the lid to the Dutch oven askew and let the heat do its magic.

Then I turned to the okra I wisely kept from the pot.

Folks often complain about the goo that comes with okra. (I do not ever, ever use the word "slime" in relation to okra. "Slime" is so ... derogatory. Okra is too delicious for such language.) To them I say, USE THE GOO, people, USE THE GOO! I never understood why people fry okra by dipping it in some sort of egg mixture first. Eggs ain't got nothin' on okra's self-producing batter-holder. You shall see. 

First, I washed and sliced the okra, chucking the tips and butts. This is the most time-consuming task of the evening and the primary reason I do not eat okra every night -- NOT because it creates a mess. No, the slicing can be a pain in the arse. Remember the beauty of this okra noted above, however, and hear me, listen, understand my words: I would have sliced this okra all night, knowing what would become of it. 

Once sliced, the okra headed to a bowl of cold water. Looks harmless enough, eh? 

Then I readied my favorite Penzeys combo ... 

... and prepared a bowl of cornmeal by sprinkling in a healthy amount of spices (more Cajun the cayenne -- I wanted to live) and mixing it all about. 

Somewhere along the way I put a batch of quinoa on to cook as a vehicle for the vegetables. Also somewhere in there Brandon asked what I was cooking, to which I replied "some sort of ratatouille type thing," at which point "ratatupper" was born. Continuing on:

Now. Could someone please tell me why an egg is necessary when okra in cold water produces the following?

Note that steady stream of goo. I mean, thick as melted cheese. So gorgeous! So eager for cornmeal and a cast iron skillet! I grabbed the okra by the handful all gooed up and turned it into the bowl of spiced up cornmeal to coat.

Then I headed to my cast iron skillet, which was heating up on the now crowded stove with enough canola oil on the bottom to coat and provide a bit of depth. I NEVER immerse my okra in oil. That's just too greasy for me. This was enough okra to need two batches of cooking, as one never wants to let one's okra cook in anything other than a single layer.

At this point, about 20-30 minutes had passed, and the vegetables were looking and SMELLING mighty delicious, even as I regretted not removing the rest of the tomato innards.

I continued to dip, batter, and fry the okra, turning it as rarely as possible, until it had a nice brown coat. Then it rested in a bowl as I finished up the batch. Had I a colander that was dry and ready, I would have preferred to let it rest there, with a paper towel underneath, so as to maximize crispness. But I had lots going on here and could not be too picky.

With the quinoa cooked, the okra fried, and the ratatupper ready, I pulled together one of my most favorite meals ever that came out of my kitchen, even if I needed a good hour to pull it off. SO worth it, folks. So, so, so worth it. If you come to dinner -- especially you vegetarians -- do not be surprised if this is what you will find on your plate.

CSA Week Seven. Scattered with a New Addition.

Leave it to life to taunt me with the greatest delivery from the farm imaginable while I am away, only to see me return home on the first "scattered" week of harvest -- the term from Karl's Farm itself. To be honest, to have the first "scattered" occur as far into the season as week seven is a testimony to the hard work of Karl's Farmers. And, to be clear, what Karl's Farm calls "scattered" is still a delicious basket of vegetables, even if not full to overflowing this time.

Week Seven included:

• cucumbers (I CANNOT KEEP UP WITH THE CUCUMBERS)
• spring onions
• scallions
• a green pepper
• a yellow squash
• a zucchini
• cherry tomatoes

Still, I came home to the Week Seven delivery a bit late, and a bit distracted, as this week I had this little nugget to contend with:

Note: she did not come from Karl's Farm. She came from my VERY convincing vet friend, whom I love dearly, who cared for Coltrane until the very end (and, subsequently, me) and who is responsible for our bringing Boomer home from the Dobe "rescue" in North Carolina. Turns out this little furball was rescued from North Carolina too.

Which might explain the love fest going on in my house between the 78-pound Doberman and this tiny one-ounce (feels like) kitten.

Inseparable, those two. How can one cook when such a show is taking place in one's house?

I did, however, make a delightful cucumber salad for a BBQ at a bestie's house -- only instead of using four POUNDS of cucumbers, I used FOUR CUCUMBERS, which, turned out, is not quite the same.

Care of Emeril, with my comments interspersed ....

3 large seedless cucumbers (about 1 pound each or 4 pounds regular cucumbers)

1 1/2 teaspoons salt

1/4 cup white vinegar

1/4 cup cider vinegar

1/2 cup sugar

1 tablespoon fresh chives, chopped

1.  Peel the cucumbers and cut them in half lengthwise. Using a small spoon or a melon baller, scoop out the seeds and watery center from each half, forming a shallow groove down the center. 

This is extraordinarily easy to do. And you will discover that cucumbers hold a TON of water.

2.  Using a mandolin -- or, if you are not Emeril but Michelle, a very sharp knife -- slice the cucumbers crosswise as thin as possible, ideally about 1/8 inch thick. 

I probably ended up slicing the half moons of cucumber slightly thicker.

3.  Place the cucumbers in a colander and sprinkle with the salt. Using clean hands, toss to combine the cucumbers with the salt. Set the colander over a bowl and refrigerate for at least 1 hour and up to 2 hours. 

Note: I did not expect this step to be necessary. But guess what. IT IS. And if you think nothing is draining, then wait a bit longer. And the next step illustrates why this is crucial.

4.  Using clean hands, squeeze handfuls of cucumber slices to release any excess liquid, and transfer the cucumbers to a medium nonreactive bowl.

This essentially means grab handfuls of cucumber and squeeze the bejesus out of it. Feels strange. The end result, however, does not feel strange. You may worry that you are mushing up the cucumber, but, you are not. And yes, this takes a minute.

5.  In another medium nonreactive bowl, combine the white vinegar, cider vinegar, and sugar. Stir until the sugar has completely dissolved. Pour the vinegar mixture over the cucumbers, add the chopped chives, and stir to thoroughly combine. Serve immediately, or refrigerate for up to 12 hours or overnight, and serve cold.

Now, I do not know if it was my use of four cucumbers as opposed to four pounds or what, but this vinegar mixture generated WAY too much liquid for the cucumbers I had. I used about a fourth of it. I also added a sprinkle of fresh dill. Definitely let the vinegar soak in a bit before eating. 

Though this did not generate massive amounts of cucumber salad, as my dear friend pointed out at her BBQ, one does not necessarily crave massive amounts of cucumber salad. So maybe four pounds was not necessary to begin with. All in all, DELICIOUS, and perfect for a hot summer BBQ.

CSA Week Six. Cowboy Stew.

I was away for week six of my CSA delivery. Far, far away. Crown Counsel of the Cayman Islands called me to testify in a criminal trial against a woman responsible for a horrific car accident I survived intact with my dear friend Laura back in 2007 -- though someone else was not so lucky. In short, a trailer came unhitched from the car in front of us on the one road that goes around the island, drifted across the lane, and an oncoming van (a Caymanian bus) smashed the trailer, then turned and slammed head on into a tree. That trailer happened to be hauling giant rocks that exploded all over the road -- and our rental sedan, breaking the mirrors and denting the doors -- said sedan being a replacement of the *convertible* we had before it broke down mid-week. While I was thanking god for broken down convertibles, several people in the van were injured, and the driver -- who apparently broke nearly every bone on the right side of his body -- was airlifted to Miami and died ten days later. Horrifying. Tragic. Sad. I could write for hours on the events of that day and the aftermath, and Lord knows I have spent hours processing so much about that day, but that is not what these pages are for.

Point being, not one week after work enters a hiatus, I received a summons from Crown Counsel to provide testimony at this trial, which I desperately wanted to do, being an officer of the court and all. Then I realized I could use this time to decompress, exhale, see my aforementioned dear friend Laura. I decided to stay the week and told husband Brandon I would call the farm and let them know to skip our delivery that week. Brandon was just .... just ... APPALLED at the thought. "I can cook it!," he says. Um. Okay?

Brandon does not cook. Well, he makes veggie burgers. And veggie hot dogs. He has probably heated up frozen vegetables. He makes a KILLER pot of coffee, especially when he delivers a cup to my pillow in the morning to wake me. When I try to encourage his dinnertime cooking, every meal is an adventure, and every meal is called Cowboy Stew.

If you know Brandon, you know I am preaching gospel here.

Sometimes Cowboy Stew consists of leftovers with Brandon additions. Sometimes Cowboy Stew is veggie burgers and a can of soup and maybe baby carrots. One time I remember clearly that Cowboy Stew was the Cowboy Stew Tasting Menu, complete with covering my eyes when I came home from work to lead me to a dining room table covered in many plates. On one plate, leftover chicken or similar. On another plate, Triscuits and cheese. On another, sliced avocado. On another, leftover brown rice. And on another, fried green tomatoes he pulled together after calling his mother. Fantastic.

To this day, I do not believe Cowboy Stew ever included fresh vegetables. Oh, except one time when he made Swiss chard ... only we couldn't eat it because poor Brandon did not exactly wash it well and the leaves were covered in grit. Made for difficult chewing. But I applauded the effort and explained the concept of washing in bowl changes of water.

So, I was skeptical about the farm delivery. I made Brandon promise that he would document all he did with the delivery for Web Preservation AND that he would store everything appropriately to ensure we ate all of CSA Week Six. Then I boarded a plane to hang out with this guy.

Did I mention Cayman is a British colony? Yes, that is a robe. Yes, that is a wig. A BLONDE wig. On a Jamaican (as Jamaica is part of the crown consortium for practicing law on the island, or something like that). And they call the judge My Lord. I mean, I am not making this up.

Cayman may not have farms to produce vegetables like those I enjoy every week in my house, but Cayman has this .....

And I was immediately able to procure the necessaries.

Now, I may be on my favorite island, but I still craved nutrients. At the local Hurley's grocery, I bought the most beautiful (imported) vegetables imaginable -- broccoli rabe, beets, Swiss chard, bok choy. My dear friend Laura and I were going to eat WELL. Our place had a kitchen, but wow did I miss my Shun knife.

Still, we muddled through. Somehow.

On my favorite food night, I tossed the beets in the oven to roast, then whipped out the Swiss chard, chopped up some onion and local "flavor peppers," which were the most adorable things I think I ever saw, and put together my favorite greens saute.

Meanwhile, back home, Brandon feasted his eyes on this:

Leave it to Karl's Farm to deliver so many of my favorites while I was away! This week's share included

• Cucumbers
• Garlic (I mean, garlic!!)
• Onions
• Zucchini
• Yellow squash
• Beets
• Scallions
• Kale
• Green beans
• Lemon basil

For heaven's sake! Brandon had a feast on his hands! I was almost jealous! 

Emphasis on the almost. Because, let's not forget, I had this:

So, with every bit of contentment imaginable, I pulled out my roasted beets, topped with goat cheese, and served up the chard with my favorite cold bottle ...

... while Brandon sent me an email of a photo with only the subject line (and I am not making this up) Cowboy Chipotle Veggie Chop a la Mode. 

CSA Week Five: GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

And then, my friends, there was the time I came home to this beauty beaming at me from the front of my house:

Do you see it there? On the right? Poking up at me in all its grandeur? Ready to feed my body and soul?

Karl’s Farm brought kale with CSA Week Five's delivery. And on a week I knew I would only be home to cook for a few nights, as I had a weekend trip planned with my husband to the Delaware shore, home of my best friend from college and baker extraordinaire, who also happens to be married to an insanely talented chef who taught me everything I know about Swiss chard. I could not disappoint them in allowing a single leaf to go to waste. Once I returned from that trip on Sunday, just 24 hours later I would be taking off to Cayman for a week, partly for vacation, and partly due to the Caymanian justice system since Crown Counsel wanted me to testify in a trial early in the week related to a terrible car accident my friend and I endured intact a few years back, where one other person was not so lucky. If ever there was a time to revel in delicious, life-affirming food, this was it. And Karl’s Farm helped me out by providing a massive harvest. This week’s share included this gorgeous bounty, from left going clockwise:

• Hakurei turnips
• Joi Choi
• Spring onions
• Green cabbage (ominous as ever!)
• Sweet, delicious, beautiful kale
• Red beets
• D’Avignon radishes
• A zucchini the size of my left leg (approx.)

This week is what makes participation in a CSA so freaking fun – I needed to get creative and get to work! By my calculation, I had two nights to cook this list of vegetables. Or most of it, anyway. The cabbage would keep over a week easily, and the zucchini would last at least a week, too, but the rest cried out for consumption. Immediately.

As soon as I took stock, I made a mental plan. I did not pass go, I did not pour myself a dark and stormy, I did not turn on music. I knew the turnips, the joi choi, and the radishes would make an excellent meal when I had less time the night between trips. I took one look at those beets and knew they were mine, but the clock was ticking. I set about preparing the beets the way I have grown to lovee – and once again offered a mental special thanks to my friend Nicole Rivera for teaching me the simplicity of this beet preparation, thanks to facebook and her ever-helpful husband Jimmy. I set the oven to 400 – which was a few degrees higher than my normal temp for roasting beets – but given the late hour approaching 8 o’clock and my desire to have all cooking, eating, and cleaning complete before Brandon made it home from school around 9:45, I did not want to risk waiting an hour and a half for the beets to roast and cool adequately to be peeled. I cut the greens off the beets to store in a Ziploc bag (soon joined by the greens from the turnips), trimmed the stems, and scrubbed the beets with a brush (some would say this is unnecessary, but I don’t like to cook in all that dirt).

Then got a crazy idea to start the beets as I often do with potatoes I bake – for a few minutes in the microwave.

After two or so minutes, I learned this is not the wisest idea.

So, I would have to rely on my hot oven. I laid the beets on aluminum foil and drizzled with a hint of olive oil, then folded the foil into a packet before placing it on a cookie sheet. Now, there is great debate about whether to cover or uncover beets when roasting. I tend to always cover. I find they cook quite evenly this way, and faster, I presume. If nothing else, covering contains the potential mess illustrated by the above failed experiment.

I grabbed my Tuesday night New York strip (grass-fed, organic), plopped it in a dish, sprinkled it with Penzeys garlic salt and Northwood seasoning, drizzled it with Worcester and left it to marinade and come to room temperature while I prepped the veggies, both those for immediate cooking and those facing a short life in the refrigerator.

And prep I did. First, I poured a dark and stormy with Goslings dark spiced rum. Next, I set the grill to high. Then, I cut the greens from the turnips and radishes to store with the beet greens and sealed the radishes and turnips in their own plastic bags. I drained the water that Karl’s Farm so lovingly includes in bags of greens from the joi choi, wrapped the base in a damp paper towel, and stuck it in the fridge, right in front of the baby-free cabbage. Next, I stared at the zucchini for a good three minutes and wondered how many people this thing could feed before adding it to the crisper. I then assembled the necessaries for the star of the evening – garlic, half of the spring onions (trimming and bagging the other half for the fridge), and my BFF kale.

After washing with a brush and slicing the onions, I trimmed the kale into ribbons and rinsed in 4-5 changes of water. I put a pot of water on to boil for the kale; went outside to clean the grill, reduced the flame, and threw on the steak; and then minced copious amounts of garlic – but not too small. When the water began to boil, I tossed in a smidge of salt and the kale, then allowed it to cook down for a couple of minutes before draining. Again, some would say this step is unnecessary and add the raw leaves to the step below, but I like to soften the kale up ever so slightly before cooking it in oil.

After a few minutes, I drained the kale, went outside to flip the steak, probably poured another dark and stormy, took my perfect beets out of the oven to cool (a butter knife sailed right through, but with enough resistance to show me no mush within), then whipped out an All-Clad skillet for the kale. The kitchen was a frenzy, but I was having a blast. After heating up olive oil on a medium flame, I added the onions and, after they started to turn slightly translucent, the garlic and a toss of crushed red pepper flakes. My kitchen smelled like heaven with anticipation.

After a few minutes, I added the kale ribbons and began to turn turn turn.

Then I grabbed the steak off the grill to set (very important step, people!) and checked the beet temperature. Cooked beets are infinitely easier to peel than raw beets. I have heard that beet peels “shed like sweaters” after cooking, but I have no idea what this means. Or maybe I just wear tight sweaters. I can confirm, however, that peeling cooked beets is quite simple. Most people use gloves to avoid bright pink finger stains, but I think the finger stains are kind of cool, so I use my hands. Often the temperature is too hot to hold the beet, so I scrape the peel right on off with a butter knife using my right hand while holding the beet (through a paper towel if necessary) with my left.

It was all I could do not to just sit down on the floor and eat those beets out of my hand. So, so delicious. Initially I mourned the absence of goat cheese in the house – the perfect roast beet companion – but these were so tasty that I was a bit relieved to have a reason to eat them pure.

With the steak ready and the beets sliced, all I needed to do was drizzle a touch of red wine vinegar on the kale and sprinkle with salt.

Finally, I could eat this phenomenal meal. And, truth be told, the steak was purely extraneous. I could have had just the beets and kale with onions and felt perfectly sated. As it were, the steak was a nice bonus – at least the small portion I enjoyed before saving the rest with leftovers for Brandon. Since this night, I might add, when all of the food I prepared disappeared in a New York minute, he has asked me to stop cooking so much ….

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.