Cabbage Season & Other Surprises

They walked in carrying their own slippers.
 

That's the whole story of the friendship, if you need one. They texted that afternoon—their daughter was flying to Boulder the next day, our daughters are close, both nineteen, did we want to have dinner? We've been saying yes to that question for twenty-five years.
 

I looked in the refrigerator. Half a red cabbage—left over from a salad I'd made two nights before. Red cabbage, fennel, mandarin oranges. The girls had picked at it. I wasn't sold either. Close to two pounds of carrots. Some potatoes. My husband offered to run to General Steak and Seafood, our local meat shop, for pork chops—thick-cut, bone-in. It's where we go when dinner matters.
 

January is like this. The crisper drawer half-empty, the holidays over, the unglamorous work of continuing. Cabbage season, if we're honest—the vegetable you're supposed to want after weeks of butter and cheese. No more cheese boards or prime rib or the elaborate things you make when everyone's home. Just what's left, and the question of what to do with it.

That, and whoever's free on a Saturday night.
 

When I told the girls what I was making—braised red cabbage, roasted carrots, pork chops—they looked at me like I'd suggested we eat the wallpaper.
 

Fine. They could have the potatoes.
 

I'd planned melting potatoes, but my daughter overruled me—she wanted crispy edges. She pulled up a recipe on her phone, one of her older brothers had made, and guided me through it. Boiled, then smashed, then roasted and tossed with garlic butter.
 

Halfway through, we discovered the many steps. Strained oil and garlic. An hour in the oven after boiling. We were too hungry. I was too tired. They smashed the potatoes anyway, roasted them, skipped the butter entirely, topped them with cheddar and sour cream. They were delicious. Nobody needed the garlic butter.
 

This is the difference between nineteen and fifty-four. At nineteen, you want cheese. At fifty-four, you find yourself standing at the stove, sneaking bites of braised cabbage and thinking: when did this happen? When did I become someone who gets excited about a purple cabbage?
 

I'd never braised cabbage in my life. But this time—Martha Rose Shulman's recipe from the Times—something shifted. Balsamic vinegar and apples, a quarter teaspoon of allspice, an hour of low heat. I added an extra apple and a full teaspoon of kosher salt. By dinnertime I was guarding the pot. So tart and sweet. I didn't know cabbage could do that.
 

It's an ugly dish. Purple-brown, slumped. Nothing you'd photograph. But ugly food is often the best food. It has nothing to prove.
 

The carrots were Shulman's too. I've chased the perfect roasted carrot for years, and the problem is always char or glaze. My daughter picks around burnt spots—defeats the purpose. And glazed carrots are cloying. Why add sugar to something already sweet?
 

These solve both problems. You cover them for most of the roasting, so they steam without charring. Thyme, olive oil, salt and pepper. The girls ate them without commentary, which is the highest compliment.
 

The pork chops we kept simple. Salted, grilled. The quality of the meat does the work. Find a good butcher.
 

We ate at the table, the six of us—slippers on, pork chops and cabbage and carrots on one end, the cheese-covered potatoes on the other. Two generations, two ideas of what makes a good dinner. Both of us right.
 

The girls asked about dessert. I told them they were welcome to make something, but I only committed to dinner as my shift in the kitchen.
 

Around midnight we heard them laughing, clattering around, the smell of chocolate filling the house. Ina Garten's brownie pudding. We went to bed and let them have it.
 

The next morning it sat on the counter, dense and crackled. I slipped a large spoonful into a bowl and ate it with my coffee. It melted on my tongue. January food and December dessert. The holidays not quite done with me yet.
 

Shulman says the cabbage keeps five days. I wouldn't know. It didn't last that long.

 

Braised Red Cabbage with Apples

Adapted from Martha Rose Shulman
 

Ingredients:

• 1 large red cabbage (2 to 2½ pounds), quartered, cored, sliced thin

• 2 tablespoons canola oil

• 1 small onion, thinly sliced

• 3 tart apples (Granny Smith), peeled, cored, sliced

• ⅓ cup balsamic vinegar, divided

• ¼ teaspoon ground allspice

• 1 teaspoon kosher salt

• Freshly ground black pepper
   

Cut the cabbage and cover with cold water while you prep everything else.

Heat oil in a large lidded skillet or Dutch oven over medium heat. Add onion; cook until tender, about 3 minutes. Add 2 tablespoons vinegar; cook until golden, another 3 minutes. Add apples; stir 2-3 minutes.
 

Drain cabbage; add to pot. Toss to coat. Add allspice, another 2 tablespoons vinegar, salt, pepper. Cover. Cook over low heat 1 hour, stirring occasionally.
 

Taste. Adjust. Serve warm—or refrigerate overnight. It's better the next day.

 

Roasted Carrots with Thyme 

Adapted from Martha Rose Shulman
 

Ingredients:

• 2 pounds carrots, peeled, cut into 2-inch pieces, quartered lengthwise

• 2 tablespoons olive oil

• 1 teaspoon fresh thyme leaves

• 1 teaspoon kosher salt

• ½ freshly ground pepper

Heat oven to 400 degrees. Oil a sheet pan.
 

Toss carrots with olive oil, thyme, salt, pepper. Spread in single layer. Cover tightly with foil.

Roast 20–30 minutes covered. Check tenderness. Adjust seasoning.

 

Grilled Berkshire Pork Chops
 

Thick-cut bone-in from a good butcher—about an inch and a quarter. We ate every bite. Some of us ate off the bone. I don't even have a photo.
 

Generously salt and pepper the pork chops. Refrigerate uncovered for two hours or up to overnight.
 

Grill on medium-high direct heat until internal temperature reaches 145 degrees. Or, grill indirect heat (325–350) with a meat probe until internal temp hits 120, then sear on high heat—grill or skillet—two to three minutes a side until you reach 145. The meat does the work.