There is only one thing to do when life gives you cabbage.
Well, maybe two. One thing per color of cabbage in my humble opinion. If you have green cabbage then you must make cabbage salsa to eat with chips. But if you have red then you must make SAUERKRAUT!!!
Wait a minute, you say, I didn’t realize this was a food blog! Doesn’t the already scattered creator of Namastaimee have enough on her plate between building websites, painting, illustrating books, making jewelry, and showering if we’re lucky? And I say no, there is always more room on your plate for sauerkraut. Especially if it is red.
This is not, in fact, a food blog, but a blog about all things I find aesthetically pleasing. And there is nothing more aesthetically pleasing than the color of red cabbage kraut. Its tangy deliciousness and probiotic awesomeness is completely besides the point here.
This weekend, after an immense amount of research (thanks to Raw. Vegan. Not Gross. for her stunning video on the matter. She did however fail to mention that the cabbage must be massaged in a non-metal bowl…I made 2 failed batches previously all because of this unfortunate fact) I made my first successful batch. And it was BEAUTIFUL! Upon staring at the jar of bright fuchsia brilliance my mind was catapulted into visions of huge sauerkraut murals and all manner of exotic sauerkraut jewelry. If only it didn’t smell so strange…
I would now like to share a small poem commemorating this glorious delicacy. I’ll call it “Ode to Sauerkraut.”
You are but a bundle of purple leaves
Snuggled close to the ground.
You wonder what you will grow up to be
When the harvest comes around.
Maybe you’ll swim in a soup, you presume
Or garnish somebody’s plate.
You never imagined the beauty and scent
Of your delicious fate.
I'm now wallowing in guilt over the butchery of this innocent cabbage and am unable to finish the poem. What if that sweet cabbage could have lived another several months in the nice warm dirt under the summer sun with its friends and family? Would a slow, natural withering have been a preferable death to beheading? And at the prime of its life no doubt! Did that cabbage spend its days dreading its inevitable death? Did it have any feelings at the time that I sliced it to bits in my kitchen? I am very thankful to the cabbage for nourishing me, though it didn’t really have a choice in the matter. Maybe one day when I am dead a tiny descendant of that cabbage plant will be fed by the nutrients in my ashes. (cue background music: Lion King "Circle of Life" song) I will now continue to have an existential crisis on behalf of the little cabbage I have so thoroughly enjoyed tasting and leave you, kind readers, to your day.