“Creamed cabbage.” Oh dear.
It doesn’t sound particularly exciting … and especially not around here, as for all of his natural life Peter had been at war with the entire Brassica family from a young age. And not just the cabbage side of the family, either. Peter wasn’t even wild about mustard. And when he was astonishingly caught eating (off my plate) the (admittedly wonderful) sesame-oiled flash-grilled cauliflower at Deane’s in Belfast, his profoundly skeptical mother suggested that the BBC (just around the corner) should have been asked to send in a camera crew for verification purposes.
In retrospect, this was understandable. Way too much overboiled big-head cabbage, way too many school lunches where the air was full of the persistent reek of broken cabbage-y sulfur bonds, turned Peter into one of the many who leave the room muttering when the word “cabbage” is mentioned.
But finally, and more or less accidentally, I broke the streak.
During a shopping trip meant to prepare for a picture-taking session involving the European Cuisines dot com version of côtelettes de porc a la Flamande, I more or less accidentally acquired a small and handsome young cabbage labeled “Sweet Heart”, grown in Spain. A little searching reveals that this is a newish cabbage variety; “sweethearts” are also called pointed cabbage, hearted cabbage, Duchy cabbage, and occasionally York cabbage and hispi. Anyway, the cabbage followed me home, and became part of this recipe adapted from one in van Waerebeek’s Everybody Eats Well in Belgium.
The recipe involves shredding or finely chopping the cabbage, boiling it for exactly three minutes, draining it, spreading it into a buttered casserole, pouring cream over it, grinding over it fresh nutmeg and black pepper, and baking it for fifteen minutes. Any recipe that simple already has a lot going for it.
But I knew that (on the home front) if I said anything as provocative as “I’m gonna get you to eat cabbage”, I was doomed. So I proceeded stealthily, doing the slicing and brief cabbage-boiling without saying anything to Himself Upstairs about what I was up to until the dish was in the oven. “Smells good,” I said. Peter (because cooking scents routinely ascended to his office upstairs), amazingly, agreed.
This was encouraging. The casserole came out of the oven, and looked and smelled terrific. I sampled it, found it super, then dished it out and photographed it. And then, daring greatly, “What do you think this is?” I said.
Peter, still upstairs, said he didn’t know. So (more or less thinking “WTF…”), I told him.
Himself Upstairs was very surprised: so much so that he came downstairs to investigate. Then—encouraged to eat some—he did. And he liked it!
Cries of “Hey Mikey!” broke out in the kitchen. And then these had to be explained to Peter, as he’d never seen a Quaker Life commercial.
No matter. If you are acquainted with a cabbage hater and are attempting to lure them gradually to the Cabbage-y Side of the Force, this is the recipe to try. Among cabbage recipes, it is a veritable Rolls-Royce.
(Also: I haven’t done this with double cream, but there’s no reason you couldn’t do that if your local dairy does a decent one.)
…For those curious: in the photo above, the cabbage is plated up with confit of duck legs from Silver Hill, because I had some in the freezer, because cabbage and duck go together quite well as a country-ish pairing, and because it looks nice.
Preheat oven to 400F / 200C. Generously butter a 2-quart casserole or large baking dish.
Pull off the outer leaves of the cabbage. Halve it and cut out the core.
With a sharp knife or the shredding disc of a food processor, shred the cabbage thinly.
Bring to the boil a large pot of salted water. When it comes to a rolling boil, throw in the shredded cabbage. Stir a few times until the water returns to the boil.
Allow to boil for three minutes. Remove immediately and drain well.
Turn into the buttered casserole.
Pour the cream over. (Honest, it’s in there. Just not wildly visible in a light-colored dish.)
Grate or grind over the nutmeg.
Grind over the pepper: add a few grinds of dried chilies, if liked.
Dot with the butter…
… and shove into the oven.
Bake for 15 minutes, or a little longer (if the cabbage has not absorbed most of the cream by then).
DO NOT BE TEMPTED TO OVERBAKE THIS to make a pretty crust (or whatever), as if you do so, you’ll likely break the sulfur bonds in the cabbage and produce exactly the result this recipe aims to avoid.
Serve immediately. Serves 6, or 3 or 4 cabbage fans.
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