‘Tis the season, here in the dog days of summer, to be squirreling away as much of all the fresh, cheap, readily-available produce that you can. The last couple weeks, I’ve been indulging in some overexuberant canning, and I just bought another flat of pint jars today (and about ten pounds of stone fruit).

But canning really means some serious slaving over a hot stove — we are talking blood, sweat, and tears territory. And sometimes, you want to preserve some bounty, but you don’t want to be fussing with hot water baths (and hot water burns) and jars, and all the rest. Enter fermenting. Enter sauerkraut.

Way back in the day, I said that one of my New Year’s resolutions (along with redesigning this site, check!) was to make sauerkraut from scratch. And while the redesign sat on the back burner for a while, I got going on the sauerkraut pretty quickly. Nothing, after all, can really stand between a girl and her fermented cabbage.

My first attempts, however, were utter disasters. All the web sites I looked at assumed that I was starting with jarred sauerkraut that I simply wanted to kick up a notch (with the universal advice to cook it with juniper berries and butter). Few cookbooks had anything about sauerkraut, and those that did (ranging from a 1940s vintage farm cookbook to a modern-day book on preserving) all said the same thing: mix cabbage and salt and wait for the cabbage to release enough liquid to cover itself. Well, folks, maybe something is screwy with my cabbages, but they never ever came remotely close to releasing more than a tablespoon or two of liquid. Meaning only one thing: my first two (two!) attempts at sauerkraut rotted. They rotted in my closet. Thankfully, cabbage (strangely?) doesn’t smell very much at all when it rots; doubly thankfully, cabbage is cheap.

But, oh, what was I doing wrong? Enter the beautiful, amazing cookbook Cooking for the Moment, by Andrea Reusing (which I received c/o Clarkson Potter). This book not only had a recipe for homemade sauerkraut (a rarity, let me tell you), but it worked. And it was easier than all the ones that failed. The secret was simple: don’t rely on the cabbages to create their own liquid. Take matters into your own hands, and create a brine. Meaning: Just add water.

At any rate, now that I know the secret, making homemade cabbage could not be easier. So far, my attempts have tasted a little different than the store-bought stuff, mellower in flavor, and also more cabbage-y. More vegetal. At first, I was dismayed by the difference, but then, one of my friends pointed out to me: Wouldn’t you hope the homemade version would be different than the processed, store-bought version? Yes, I would think so.

All I know is that once you try this, you will never buy $7/jar sauerkraut again (in fact, you will be outraged that it even exists).

And, as a final note, I cannot sing the praises of this cookbook enough. Not only is it the only book I’ve found (in my extensive search) with an accurate recipe for sauerkraut, but everything in it is just my kind of food — simple enough, but with one easy flourish you could never think of on your own. And, as if that weren’t endorsement enough, I saw it on the shelf of one of my most food-savvy friends, with one of the most carefully curated cookbook collections I know. This one is seriously a keeper.

Homemade Sauerkraut

Adapted from Cooking in the Moment

Makes about 6 quarts

Ingredients

- 2 large heads of green cabbage (about 5 lbs.) — you want the kind that’s tightly wound, not frilly and loose

- 1/2 cup plus 3 Tbsp. kosher salt, or more as needed

1. Remove outer leaves from cabbage, discard. Core cabbage (cut off base stem of cabbage, then cut into quarters; remove the more solid-looking core on each quarter). Cut cabbage into thin slices, horizontally.

2. Put all the sliced cabbage into some large vessel. Reusing suggests a 10-12 quart crock or food-safe plastic bucket. I used a large glass punch bowl that I got at a thrift store for less than a dollar and washed the living hell out of (I now use it for all fermenting needs, and I highly suggest this option).

3. Combine salt with 1 gallon of water; stir until salt is dissolved. (If you are somewhat lazy, like me, you can simply toss the cabbage with salt and then add water to cover.) Either way, the cabbage should be covered by several inches of water. (If it isn’t, add more water, along with more salt — 2 tsp salt/1 cup of water.)

4. Use a plate to weigh down the cabbage so that it doesn’t float up (it needs to be fully submerged in the brine).

5. Cover with plastic wrap or a towel. Put in a dark, cool place (I used my hall closet).

6. Check every day or so, skimming off any impurities that form on the surface (I didn’t have any problems, really with that). It probably won’t be ready to go for a week or so, but the warmer it is, the faster it ferments. You may want to start tasting it after three or four days.

7. When it reaches the desired flavor (level of tang), drain the sauerkraut, reserving all liquid. Pack the kraut into containers (I just use old yogurt containers, but you can use glass mason jars if you’re feeling fancy). Cover kraut with reserved liquid. Store in refrigerator.

8. That method lasts for at least a couple weeks, but Reusing adds that if you want the kraut to keep longer, you can bring the liquid to a bare simmer in a large pot. Let simmer for 2 minutes, then let cool. Use the simmered liquid to cover the kraut in Step #7 above and store in the refrigerator. It should keep longer. (I haven’t actually tried, as my kraut seems to disappear fast enough as is.)

*NOTE: This should work out just fine, but if for some reason anything looks or smells funky, throw it out and start again (and feel free to ask for help in the comments). Cabbage is cheap; no reason to get yourself or anyone else sick.

Well, it’s been a long weekend of eating, hasn’t it, friends? I think I really realized for the first time this year that while the true gluttony may be centered on Turkey Day itself, Thanksgiving is really just the kickoff of the gorging season. For most people, the gorging season, I suppose, means Thanksgiving to New Year’s. For those of us in Arctic Minnesota, however, the gorging season runs well through February, as we attempt to build up some extra insulation from the windchill.

So, sometimes after all that gorging, it’s nice to have some cleansing, and that’s where this soup comes in. And, as a bonus, any stray turkey leftovers still lingering about your fridge would work perfectly here as well (and would get a chance at rehydration in the broth). I’m not that into the idea of cleansing, per se, but sometimes you just want something light, something that makes you feel good after you eat it, rather than like you need to lie down immediately and maybe roll around for a few hours.

I actually made this soup pre-Thanksgiving in a moment of starved, fevered inspiration last week, but I just ate the remains tonight, and boy, did that feel good. You know what else felt good? The piles of turkey, and stuffing, and quiche (because we didn’t have enough cream already), and chocolate cake (because, why not), and everything else I’ve consumed, in fresh or leftover form, over the last few days. But this soup felt good in a different way, and in a way you may be craving as much as I was at this point in the holiday eating marathon.

One bonus is that this soup is super easy to assemble and cook, with the one big cheat of a packet of instant miso. I’m sure you could make this with legit miso, and it would be delicious, but when you’re in a hurry, or when you’re tired of so many days spent in the kitchen, prepping and cooking and cleaning, there’s no harm in a little shortcut.

Miso Chicken Noodle Soup with Edamame and Cabbage

Makes 3 or so servings

Ingredients

- 1 packet instant miso

- 1 large boneless, skinless chicken breast (or leftover turkey)

- 1/3 green cabbage head, cored and sliced into ribbons/chunks

- 1 big handful shelled edamame (either fresh or frozen)

- 1/2 lb. fettuccine noodles

- crushed red pepper, freshly ground black pepper, salt, to taste

1. Follow directions on back of miso packet to cook miso (bringing X amount of water to a boil, dumping miso in).

2. Meanwhile, bring a large pot of salted water to boil. When boiling, add pasta. Cook to al dente, drain.

2. If using raw chicken, cut the chicken breast in half through the width, to make two thinner fillets. Then cut fillets into quarters. (This is so it will poach a little faster.) Once miso is boiling, add chicken pieces to broth. Let simmer for a few minutes, until chicken is poached through (it should be fully white on the outside and inside; you can check by cutting open a small piece). Remove chicken and let cool on a cutting board.

3. After removing chicken, add cabbage and edamame. Reduce heat. Once chicken is cool enough to handle, shred it into pieces with your hands. Return chicken to pot (this is where you’d add the leftover turkey, if you’re using that instead). Add drained noodles to miso pot.

4. By now, you probably have a lot of stuff (noodles, chicken, veg) and not a lot of broth. Add water until you have the amount of broth you want (I added about four cups). Some miso flavor will be sacrificed, but enough will remain, plus the flavor from the chicken (or turkey) to make a nice steamy pot of goodness, perfect for cultivating a little virtuosity between now and the next big holiday feast.

Last week, I said I had a master plan, didn’t I? Well, here is the grand reveal, and it is a humble sauteed (stir fried?) cabbage. But don’t let that fool you, these browned cabbage morsels are mighty delicious, and utterly simple, whether you already have cabbage all shredded up for chicken-cabbage salad or not.

I made this in the throes of summer, which works, too (anything that involves minimal stove time works in summer). Truly, though, this is a fall dish, full of rich, savory flavors, some warming spice, and just a touch of comforting caramelization. Not to mention that this could not be cheaper, with the main expenditure — a head of cabbage — coming in under two dollars.

This recipe, if you can call it that, comes by way of Orangette. I ate it, as she does, with a fried egg and toast, but also by itself, both warm and cold. I found it strangely addictive, actually, not unlike the chicken-cabbage salad that was its progenitor. If you use the leftovers from that salad, you’ll have the added benefit of some nicely browned shreds of chicken and grapes that have melted down almost to their skins. I know the grapes and chicken were delicious, because I had some, though not many, remaining in my leftovers when I sauteed the whole lot. The cabbage by itself was still utterly delightful and should join any the repertoire of any cook in need of a quick, cheap, completely satisfying, and satisfyingly unique supper.

Sauteed Cabbage with Hot Sauce

As with Orangette’s version, this is more of a suggestion than a recipe. Just taste as you go.

And as for servings…I’d say 4 as a side dish? Maybe? So addictive, it’s hard to tell.

Ingredients

- 1 head green cabbage, cored and sliced into 1/4 inch ribbons (or leftover chicken-cabbage salad)

- 2 tsp. (or more) sambal oelek, to taste

- Soy sauce, to taste

- Salt, to taste

- Canola oil

- Optional: Orangette’s version includes 1 fennel bulb, sliced, but I didn’t have one on hand, and I wanted to keep things as simple as I knew was still delicious for you all. I’m sure fennel would be a great addition.

1. Heat wok or large pan over high heat. When pan is hot, pour in a good coating of oil.

2. When oil is hot, add cabbage (and fennel, if using). Stir to coat with oil. Let cook for a few minutes, until the cabbage begins to brown.

3. Add sambal oelek to taste, stirring to combine. (Things may start to get a little smokey at this point.) Let cook a few more minutes, until the cabbage is wilted and browned.

4. Add soy sauce to taste. Stir to combine. Add salt if needed. Ta-da!

Last night, I changed my comforter from the thin summer weight to the loftier winter down. And while I was struggling to get the comforter into its cover (why, why is it always such a struggle?), I was thinking that I couldn’t believe that only two months ago I was suffering in the Minnesota summer heat. And now I’m wondering at what point I can rightly call my landlord to inquire about when the heat is going to be turned on.

But despite the onset of serious fall (it’s going to be winter soon, here in the midwest tundra), I had to sneak one more vaguely summery recipe in here. There’s a master plan, I swear! And it’s not even that specifically summery; even here in Minnesota, I still saw green cabbage at the farmer’s market a week ago, and we never had farm-fresh grapes or tarragon anyway (sadly). But something about this dish — its light, refreshing crunch, perhaps — makes me think of summer.

Or or maybe it’s the fact that I ate this for lunch for days on end in the cruelly hot month of August, replenishing the cabbage and the grapes and the dressing (I didn’t have anymore chicken or tarragon) as I saw fit, so that in the end, who knows how large a portion I actually made. And then, as delicious as it was, when I eventually tired of it (days and days later), I turned the leftovers into a brilliant, absolutely fall-appropriate stir-fry type dish that will be coming up here in a few days. I told you I had a master plan.

This recipe, if you can call it that, is pretty loose. The proportions of, well, everything are up to you. All the ingredients are up to you. You can do this with lettuce instead or parsley instead or so on and so forth. Although, for the master plan to work, you really do need to use cabbage. You’ll see.

Chicken Salad with Grapes and Tarragon

Makes about 4 servings

Ingredients

-       2 boneless, skinless chicken breasts

-       1 head green cabbage, shredded

-       1 bunch red grapes, rinsed, grapes cut in half

-       a couple sprigs of tarragon, leaves removed from stems

-       olive oil or canola oil

-       rice vinegar

-       salt and freshly ground black pepper

1. Poach chicken breasts. Once chicken breasts are cool, pull apart the meat into shreds.
2. Combine all ingredients in a large bowl. You want a couple glugs of the oil – canola for less flavor, olive for more distinct flavor. Then add rice vinegar by tablespoons, mixing each time, until you get the flavor you want. Then add salt and pepper to taste.

Ed. note: See more of Joanna’s cooking — and gorgeous food photography — on her blog, Jojo’s Kitchen.

Sometimes putting together a meal from whatever scraps you have left in the cupboard and fridge yields ho-hum results.  Other times, magic happens. I’ll be so bold as to say that this dish falls into the latter category. Why, you ask? Just let me tell you a little story about the time I made these noodles.

Picture it: I was rummaging through my kitchen, trying to figure out what to make for dinner for myself and my boyfriend, who was already on his way over to my place. I had soba noodles. I had edamame. I had fresh ginger, garlic, and all kinds of condiments. I just needed ideas.  As often happens, I consulted epicurious.com and found this gem of a recipe from the August 2007 issue of Gourmet magazine (oh, Gourmet, may you rest in peace).  After a quick trip to the produce store down the street (which, I smile to point out, is called U Don’t Know Nothing Produce), I was in possession of some lovely shiitake mushrooms, some Napa cabbage, and scallions. Perfect. Before I knew it, I was chopping and sautéing them with the aroma of garlic and ginger filling my apartment.

So, how good was it? Maybe too good.  After preparing the sauce, veggies, and noodles, the whole dish came together as a delightful symphony of flavors and aromas that prompted us to start eating straight out of the pot. After dealing out heaping portions into a couple of bowls, I was pouring myself a glass of wine when I heard a small thud and an exclamation of, “Oh NO!”

I turned around to find my boyfriend contemplating a pile of shiitake mushrooms, noodles, and cabbage on the floor. “It’s okay,” I said. “There’s plenty more.”  He looked thoughtful for a moment, as if considering whether or not he was willing to sacrifice an entire bowlful. “Nah,” he said, “I think it’s okay. Besides, I’ll probably want more after this.” He scooped the noodles back into his bowl and, aside from a small bit on the bottom of the pile that had made the most direct contact with my living room carpet, ate an entire bowl of noodles that had fallen on the floor—all because they seemed too delicious and too precious to waste. And he went back for seconds.

This is a pretty easy recipe, though it does involve a whole lot of chopping. It’s the perfect kind of dish to make when friends/significant others drop by for dinner:  the work is pretty mindless, so it’s easy to enjoy a conversation and perhaps also a glass of wine while getting dinner ready. It’s also pretty versatile: it’s great hot or cold, and it works well with a variety of different ingredients. The original recipe is vegetarian- and vegan-friendly; I, however, have made this recipe both with and without shrimp. I’m sure it would be great with some seared tofu, too—just play around and see what you like.  I also swapped out the 1/3 cup of water that the original recipe calls for and replaced it with rice vinegar and sesame oil to round out the flavors—flavors so round that you may, um, find yourself eating it off the floor, too.

Spicy Soba Noodles with Shiitakes, Cabbage, and Edamame

Adapted from Gourmet

Serves 4

Ingredients

For the sauce:

¼ cup rice vinegar

A few tablespoons of sesame oil, to taste

1/3 cup soy sauce

2 or 3 teaspoons of Korean hot-pepper paste, depending on how hot you want it (Sriracha is also great here if you don’t have or can’t find the hot-pepper paste)

1 tablespoon packed brown sugar

For the Noodles:

3 tablespoons sesame seeds

¼ cup vegetable oil

2 tablespoons of finely chopped peeled ginger

1 tablespoon finely chopped garlic

10 oz fresh shiitake mushrooms, stemmed and thinly sliced*

1 head of Napa cabbage (1-1 ¼ pounds), thinly sliced (should yield about 8 cups—I know, that’s a lot).

6 scallions, thinly sliced

1 box soba noodles (8 or 9 oz). If you don’t have soba, I imagine you can also use a very thin long-cut pasta, but the buckwheat flavor of the soba noodles is especially nice.

1 cup frozen shelled edamame

A couple of handfuls of shrimp, peeled and deveined (optional)

*A quick note on the shiitakes: clean them using a clean, damp towel or a damp paper towel. Never, ever clean mushrooms by rinsing them!  It makes them rubbery, and it also interferes with the browning process.

First, stir together all of the sauce ingredients in a sauce pot over medium-low heat until the brown sugar is dissolved.  Set it aside. That was easy, no?

Toast the sesame seeds by stirring them in a dry skillet over medium heat until they are golden brown. Set them aside in a small bowl so you can use the same skillet for your veggies.

Heat the vegetable oil in a skillet over medium-high heat. You’ll know it’s ready when the oil looks like it’s shimmering. (Vegetable oil is preferable here because its flavor, unlike that of olive oil, won’t compete with the other flavors of the dish.) Add the ginger and garlic and sauté for about 30 seconds until fragrant. Make sure that the garlic doesn’t burn.  Then add the shiitakes and sauté until they start to brown and get nice and tender. Then reduce the heat to medium and add the cabbage and most of the scallions, saving a little bit for garnishing the dish at the end. Cook until the cabbage is tender but still has some crunch to it, about 5 or 6 minutes. Then add the sauce and simmer it for another couple of minutes.

While the cabbage and mushroom mixture cooks, cook the soba and edamame together in a big pot of boiling, salted water until the noodles are just tender. (If you’re using shrimp, you can also throw them into the pot to quickly cook them, or you can sear or grill them and throw them on at the end. Up to you.)  Drain the pasta and edamame in a colander and then rinse them under cool water to stop the cooking.  Drain them again, and then transfer to a large bowl or back into your pasta pot. Add in the sesame seeds and cabbage mixture and toss it all together. Serve the noodles in bowls topped with the reserved scallions and enjoy.

Bubble, bubble...minus toil and trouble

Let’s first make one thing clear: I’m a big fan of the vinegar pickle.  I love the dilly bean and the pickled corn round and swear I would walk 500 miles (more, even) because I am a junkie for those grossly addictive Zuni café red onion pickles (yes, those pickles.  The good news is there’s no need to walk anywhere. Visit those links! They are a piece of cake to create at home).  Not to mention the many occasions when pickles, snacked on between shots of vodka, have no doubt inoculated against unkind mornings-after.  Mainly, it seems I can’t ever get enough vinegar.  One, let’s say, “uncommon” habit I have is to down cider vinegar mixed with molasses on occasions I’m too lazy to brew coffee, or when I’m in need of a pre-jog pick-me-up.  Probably, it goes without my saying: Any vegetable in vinegar is basically this girl’s dream come true.

Here’s the but: If there’s anything I love more than the vinegar pickle, it’s the lacto-fermented pickle.  Science projects that double as cooking have—for the past couple years—placed high among my preferred pursuits.  These include, but are by no means limited to, sourdough bread baking, kombucha brewing, and yogurt culturing.  Among these, there is nothing quite like watching cabbage bubble up in its crock into sauerkraut and kimchi—and my latest experiment, a Japanese cabbage pickle called “tsukemono.”  There’s something wondrous about lacto-fermentation.  Given a couple days, the bacteria already present on raw cabbage turns some tricks, ups the vitamin C and lactobactilli content, and emerges something greater than the sum of its parts. You shred some cabbage, add salt, and basically that’s it: it practically wants to become sauerkraut for you. It’s like Jimmy Stewart put it, once upon The Philadelphia Story: “Vinegar pickles are a slap on the back. And lacto-fermentation is a heavy mist before my eyes.”  So maybe he was talking about whiskey and champagne, respectively, but lacto-fermentation isn’t so different from bubbly: It’s magical, it’s fortifying, and it will make you giddy.

For reasons beyond understanding, store-bought sauerkraut often contains high fructose corn syrup or other dumb additives.  On top of all this, it costs a small fortune.  Why pay for the jar or refrigerated (often pasteurized! What!) bag when it’s simple—and it really is truly, truly simple—to make your own for pennies?  It’s delicious, for one thing, and ridiculously good for you: it’s rife with vitamins, highly digestible, promotes healthy intestinal flora, boosts your immune system, and can heal your broken heart.

Ways to enjoy your pickled cabbage

• There’s no shame in eating kraut straight out of the jar, but my favorite thing is a sandwich of toasted dark bread—some kind of pumpernickel or dark rye—slathered nearly to excess with mustard, topped with kimchi or sauerkraut and sardines. It is possible to buy the fish in its “skinless and boneless” manifestation, but why do that, when you’d be paying more to miss out on tasty calcium?  What I do is I remove the primary, disorienting, crunchy spine; the rest ain’t no thang.
• Sauerkraut pushed around in a pan with juniper berries and sausage
• Kimchi fried rice: If your kimchi grows “overripe”—meaning too sour for you to bear, what you do is fry it up with some day (or longer)-old rice, throw in frozen peas, cilantro, cumin, soy sauce, eggs, and white pepper.
• Make triangles of toast, top with tsukemono, a raw (if possible) or smoked oyster (recommended: Crown Prince smoked oysters in Olive Oil; steer clear of cottonseed, because it is gross) and as many drops of Tabasco on top as you can stand.
• Drink the kraut juice.  Just do it!  It’s good and good for you.

Japanese sauerkraut a.k.a. Tsukemono

Adapted from Nourishing Traditions by Sally Fallon
Makes 1 quart

1 head Napa cabbage, cored and shredded
1 bunch green onions, chopped
2 tablespoons naturally fermented soy sauce
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 teaspoon sea salt
2 tablespoons whey (if not available, use an additional 1 teaspoon salt)

This is traditionally made with a culture derived from rice bran, but whey serves an identical purpose and is more easily obtained. (You can simply drain it off the top of your yogurt; or if you make your own cheese, you know what to do.) Place all ingredients in a bowl, mix well and pound with a wooden pounder or a meat hammer to release juices.  Place in a quart-sized, wide-mouth mason jar and press down firmly with a pounder or meat hammer until juices come to the top of the cabbage.  The top of the vegetables should be at least 1 inch below the top of the jar.  Cover tightly and keep at room temperature for about 3 days before transferring to cold storage.

Interested in sauerkraut or kimchi? My favorite kimchi instructions come from Greg Cooks: his kimchi tutorial is excellent and simple, and the results ultra tasty.  My sauerkraut advice I get, of course, from Sandorkraut.  Check out his Wild Fermentation forums if you’re afraid of poisoning yourself, but really, you shouldn’t be.

Coleslaw is one of those dishes that evaded my understanding for a long time. A pile of shredded cabbage drenched (sopping, in fact) in mayonnaise, flavorless, textureless, and mushy? Mm, sign me up. No wait, keep that as far away from me as possible. No, I don’t want it on the side of my sandwich, or my fried chicken, or anywhere in my immediate or not-so-immediate vicinity.

I’ve increasingly been suspecting, though, that not all coleslaws are created equal, and that coleslaw can, in fact, be not only palatable, but delicious — crispy, refreshing, bursting with flavor. I’ve been seeing it on a lot of sandwiches lately, in its not so mayonnaisy, greasy form. And so, recently, I have decided to give coleslaw a second chance. And it has been revelatory.

Coleslaw is awesome! Or at least, this coleslaw is awesome. It combines 2 different cabbages (red and green) with carrots and corn kernels, for lots of different colors and textures and tastes. And, equally importantly, its dressing doesn’t taste like you just dumped a jar of mayo on all your hard-shredded veggies and called it a day. Yes, there is mayo in the dressing. But there is also lime juice and vinegar and hot sauce and all kinds of other strange alchemy that produces a sweet-sour-spicy sauce in just enough quantity to cover, but not drench, the cabbage, etc.

The night I made this, I served it with a chipotle-rubbed steak and grilled avocados (more on that later). The next day, it was recycled as a topping in scrumptious pork tacos — soft tortilla, leftover pork tenderloin chunks, salsa, and — since we were lacking hot sauce — sriracha (which I think may be even better than Cholula in taco-land).

This will keep for a few days; things will get a bit soggy, but because the dressing is so much lighter than commercial coleslaw, it will still taste fine.

Awesome, Semi-Spicy Coleslaw

Adapted from License to Grill, by Chris Schlesinger and John Willoughby

Makes a good-sized bowl of coleslaw (for 4-6 people), but you may want to double the recipe depending on how large the heads of cabbage you had to buy are, and how adept you are with other cabbage uses.

Ingredients

- ½ cup mayonnaise (I used jarred to fine effect, but you can also use homemade)

- 1/3 cup olive oil

- 1/3 cup fresh lime juice (from about 2 large limes)

- ¼ cup distilled white vinegar (recipe called for red wine vinegar, but we only had white, you can use either)

- 2 tbsp. Sugar

- 2 tbsp. Ketchup

- 10 or so dashes hot sauce, preferably Cholula or Tapatio

- salt and freshly ground black pepper

- 2 cups shredded green cabbage

- 1 cup shredded red cabbage

- 1 cup shredded carrots (1-2 carrots)

- 2 ears of corn, husked

1. Prep the veggies:

- Here’s a how-to on shredding cabbage.

- To “shred” carrots, I just grated them, which I thought was easiest.

- After you’ve husked the corn, either steam or boil it briefly (about 2 minutes) just so it softens up a bit. Remove from heat and cut kernels away (I find a bread knife is easiest for this).

2. Make the dressing:

- Combine first seven ingredients (mayo through hot sauce) in a small bowl. Whisk to blend. Add salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste (it should be a little spicy, but not overwhelming, with touches of sweetness and acidity).

3. Combine everything in a big bowl! Enjoy coleslaw, possibly for the first time ever.

Thanks to The Amateur Gourmet’s post a couple of weeks back, I had really been craving pork chops and cabbage. So I made them. This is a pretty wintry dish, as it’s quite hearty and gut-warming, but good cabbage is available year-round, so the seasonal eater in you does not need to worry about this one.

Pork chops are a terrific cut of meat for the burgeoning cook, because, as far as meat goes they’re quite cheap. They’re also pretty forgiving, and so long as you avoid cooking them to death, they’ll be tender. I do recommend a high moisture cooking method like this one for chops, though, as they can tend to get a little dry.

This is a one-pot dish that takes less than an hour from start to finish, and there’s something about those caramelized bone-in chops that really makes you look like a professional. Simple, tasty, and impressive. Try this dish, and add it to your arsenal. you won’t regret it.

1. Chop up the cabbage and set it aside. I used one head with these two chops, which looks like a HUGE amount of cabbage, but it cooks down more than you would think.

2. In a deep-ish pot heat a few tablespoons of olive oil over medium-high heat. Carefully add the pork chops, avoiding second-degree oil burns. Brown the pork chops, roughly 90 seconds or so on each side. Just eyeball it and take them out when they look good.

3. Admire pork chops:

4. Add the cabbage to the pot with the oil and pork fat. Mix until all the cabbage looks shiny and starts to wilt a little bit, then add half a cup of wine, about a quarter cup of red wine vinegar, a few tablespoons of whole grain dijon mustard, salt, and pepper. once this is all bubbling along, lower the heat to medium, lay the chops on top of the cabbage, and partially cover the pot. Now you are BRAISING, which is just a fancy work for simmering in a little bit of liquid.

5. Let this go for about 25 minutes, then check the pork chops for doneness. Contrary to popular belief, you do NOT have to cook pork chops until they are grey and leathery. I am sure I am going to get hate mail from the health police on this one, but it is perfectly ok to eat porkchops that are still just a tiny bit pink. I don’t mean pork sashimi here; your chops should be white throughout, but a well-cooked porkchop has just a hint of pink in it’s color. If you’ve ever ordered a pork chop at a good restaurant, you’ve seen what I mean. Err a little on the side of doneness, but don’t panic if your meat is not dark grey throughout.

I also served these with some roasted green beans and the rest of the white wine used in cooking. It was awesome.