We’ll start with an easy one: Székély Káposzta or Szekler Cabbage:
No cabbage teleology, cabbage etiology, or cabbage eschatology for the time being, and we’ll go easy on the cabbage thermodynamics and cabbage sociopolitical theory.
The Székély (or Szekler in English, via German) are a separate nationality, or depending on your point of view a subset of the Hungarian nation, who live in the middle of Romania and about 150 years in the past. Their exact origins are lost in time and are subject to historical debate, but they speak the most charming Hungarian you have ever heard, and it’s fun to go visit them now and then and ride around in horse-drawn wagons, eat fresh and natural food, and breathe mountain air. Everyone thinks that Székély cabbage is Székély cabbage because the Székély eat it. Although the Székély perform many marvelous tricks with cabbages, onions, and meat, Székély Cabbage was actually invented by a guy named Joe Székély to be exact (no doubt of Székély origin) who discovered it by accident in a kitchen mix up similar to the genesis of the Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup, and not by the Székély people as a whole. So it’s like a Caesar salad–I always thought it was the Imperial antipasto and then it turns out it was first thrown together by a resourceful Mexican chef named Caesar in Tijuana in the 1930s. Which begs the question, how did Augustus get his roughage?
Székély Cabbage is a simple dish to make.
First thing to do is make a stew. The original name of the dish was Székélygulyás, as in goulash, but we are venturing into treacherous territory here because a Hungarian goulash is different from what everyone else thinks it is, but what we are making now is actually closer to what foreigners usually think it is, and not really a gulyás. So just forget the gulyás part. No measurements needed—just do everything according to taste.
Brown some onions, in oil. When just about done throw in some sweet paprika and continue to sautee for a few minutes. Don’t burn the paprika. Now brown the meat—you can use pork or beef. Beef is the traditional ingredient, but pork is generally substituted when you eat it as a lunchtime special at the local cafeteria. Both are fine. Meat browned, add a bit of water—enough for it to stew in. You can add a chopped tomato or pepper if you want. Add more paprika to taste. Stew until soft. Dump in a little red wine (cabernet or merlot) towards the end if you like.
On the other burner simmer some water in a pot and throw in sauerkraut roughly in a proportion of double the amount of meat, along with some bay leaves. It’s interesting that in every language in the Cabbage League, the word for sauerkraut is the local equivalent of “sour cabbage”, or at most “pickled” or “fermented” cabbage. Except for English, which needed to import the German word. Why is this? This is one of the issues we will be discussing further down the road in pursuit of the secrets of the cabbage.
Open a window – that’s one possible reason for you: the poorly ventilated traditional English cottage rendered sauerkraut boiling nearly impossible – and think of all the vitamin C you will be getting. In about 20 minutes the cabbage should be soft and a bit of sweetness should have showed up in the flavor. Drain the cabbage and dump it into the stew: continue to simmer long enough for the two ingredients to make friends with each other.
Serve with sour cream and eat with bread. You’ve just extended your lifespan by about 20 minutes! So you can have some rhubarb/strawberry pie for dessert:
I was just so thrilled to finally find some rhubarb in Budapest, I had to photograph it. This is an old Crane family recipe, but Móni found my pastry-making abilities utterly disastrous and assumed control over this second one, which turned out much better. Actually, she made the cabbage, too, I just documented them and pontificated.
Secrets of the Cabbage is now officially a gastroblog! Waiting for the comped VIP invites to wine tastings and culinary festivals to start rolling in. Any minute now…
