Thinking Outside the Cage

Enter cabbage.

For so long, I was convinced that this food was for animals only. It all stems from this one particular guinea pig, the class pet. I was little, but apparently quite invested in the dietary pleasures of animals, and this animal in particular. I knew it liked red cabbage, and this information, I recall, constantly swept around the classroom with the fire of a recess announcement. We loved to feed it cabbage.

When my mother granted permission, the two of us would shop for the smallest head of red cabbage we could find, one that was the perfect size for a small, cabbage-loving animal. When I say that I loved shopping for that head of cabbage, I do not exaggerate. In fact, it was one of the many highlights of my childhood. I would revel in the thought of choosing the perfect head (because guinea pigs keep track of this kind of thing, you know) and I'd anxiously await my mother's go-ahead for the purchase. Every time we went to the grocery store, I'd wonder if it would be the time that we would buy a tiny head of red cabbage. I'd gaze at the red cabbage lovingly, trying to choose the one that I'd select if it did become a cabbage day. Oh, royal guinea pig, you were loved!

Here's the thing. We never bought cabbage for any purpose other than the guinea pig luncheon special, and, as a result, I naturally concluded that cabbage was not for humans. Okay, okay, I am not quite telling the truth. There was cooked cabbage (green cabbage) at home on St. Patrick's Day, accompanied by corned beef and maybe potatoes. I was not interested in eating any of those items. I did not want corned anything, and I did not want to eat guinea pig snacks. Of course, I've (sort of) come to my senses now, but that meal truly frightened me for some reason. (I will intentionally leave out the bit about me not having eaten corned beef ever since then, maybe or maybe not because I am still feeling weird about it.) Anyway, that was, I believe, the only cabbage that ever hit our plates. I didn't miss it because I didn't know it yet.

Enter adulthood. (Well, two years ago in my adulthood.) I discover that cabbage is one of my favorite things on earth. Raw! Cooked! Red! Green! Cut into wedges and placed in my cage! I like it any way I can get it, and I am just enamored. I love to slice the head in half and examine its swirling patterns, and I love to peel off a leaf and hold it like a cup, examining its strength. I like that it is practically waterproof, and I like that, in a pinch, it could become a terrific weapon (if you were, um, into that sort of thing). I love to feel the weight of it in my hands, and I love the way the outer leaves protect all its other leaves, like a rubber slicker, like its very own jacket, like its very own tupperware. I love that a little bit goes a long way. I'll cut off a small wedge, slice it, and, all of a sudden, it's enough for sixty tacos.

I am interested in the sheer brilliance of its role in Thai cuisine, both raw and cooked. I love it in Jamaican form, cooked with carrots and coconut milk, and I love it in salads and slaws. I like to put it in those aforementioned tacos and mix it with lentils or noodles, beans or rice. I like it it in soups and did I mention I love it in salads? Any salad! And if there is blue cheese in that salad, then I am particularly pleased. I have been known to cut up a wedge of cabbage and eat it all from the cutting board before it actually has a chance to enter a dish. Oh, cabbage!

I like the way red cabbage dyes its surroundings, and I like the way green cabbage does not. I like to slice it as thin as I can, and I like to cut it into small squares. I like its solidity, its durability, the way it lasts for weeks in my refrigerator. It is crunchy but substantial, and it makes lettuce look like such a wimp! I like that it is so commonplace (it's in every slaw ever made) but also so misunderstood. Maybe not even misunderstood, just not understood, not really considered. It's common, I suppose, so as a result, it's just not thought about very much. This makes me want to get to know it, to be the confidante it never had. This makes me want to hold cabbage up to the light. I think the guinea pig would be really very pleased about that, about the fame that cabbage will have one day. The fame will be good, I think, as long as humans don't eat all of the cabbage. I mean, they need to leave something for the guinea pigs. It's only fair.