Why red cabbage isn’t just for Christmas (or braising)
And proof in recipe form: charred red cabbage glazed with pomegranate molasses, tahini, dukkah and herby, orange fregola.
Before we start a little housekeeping…
I’m off to Australia for a couple of weeks until December, but rather than leaving you with pre-programmed weekly recipe posts (which I’m realising can feel a bit soulless), I’ll be dropping one big post whilst I’m away all about the veg I’ve found in Australia and what I’m cooking there.
These recipes will, as usual, be for paid subscribers, so if you’d like to receive them do sign up – it’s just 76p a week – less than the price of a red cabbage.
Don’t’ worry, there’ll still be a few Aussie-inspired foodie ideas for free subscribers in that post too. And you can holiday with me over on my Instagram which I’ll be keeping annoyingly full of holiday pics.
Right. Cabbages…
About this time of year, people start braising cabbages.
It’s a Christmas and Thanksgiving classic – long and slow in the oven, often with citrus and warming spices. And that’s fine. A useful, low effort, side dish to feed a crowd. Fine.
But a little unimaginative
Growing a red cabbage is a laborious process filled with heartache. They take 8 months of space, attention, netting and staking, and even then the caterpillars may still find their way to the sweet, succulent leaves at the heart. After such a trial, it seems a shame to make only one obvious recipe with it, on repeat, and bung it on the side of the main meal as an afterthought. Like a wedding singer forced to sing bland Ed Sheeran songs every Saturday night to an inattentively drunken bride when he could have been a star.
Well, not on my watch
I have, despite the odds, grown red cabbages this year. Gnarly, small, a bit nibbled, but cabbages none the less. And they will come nowhere near a braising dish. The centre of the plate, the spotlight, is the only place for these divas.
And roasting is an excellent option
Cut into wedges, so each wedge has a little nub of stem to keep the leaves attached, covered in olive oil and salt then roasted hot and fast, and, in the final minutes of charring, brushed with pomegranate molasses – this way they can form the core of so many warm salads with, for example, puy lentils, ham hock, herbs, or orange segments and shredded chicken - whatever makes them sing even more sweetly and uniquely.
Charred red cabbage, orange fregola and tahini
New but familiar. The pomegranate molasses here does a similar job to the vinegar and brown sugar in the traditional braising method – a sweet/sour kick to brighten the flavour. So too the orange zest in the fregola dressing, which gives the well-worn ‘citrus + red cabbage = Christmas’ equation new interest. The dukkah (shop-bought is fine or make your own, there’s a recipe in my cookbook) and tahini are final flourishes but essential for depth of flavour and variety.
Serves 2
1 small red cabbage (around 750g)
3 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
2 tbsp pomegranate molasses
150g fregola, giant cous cous or maghrabieh
1 tbsp mint, chopped
1 tbsp parsley, chopped
½ orange zested and juiced
1 tbsp pistachio nuts, chopped
2 tbsp tahini (a very runny one)
2 tsp dukkah (one with plenty of nuts in it)
Pre-heat the oven to 215C.
Cut the cabbage into 8 wedges, making sure there’s a little piece of the core attached to each wedge so the leaves stay together. Coat in two tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil and plenty of salt. Arrange on a baking tray in a single layer and bake for 15-20 minutes, turning halfway.
Brush the wedges with the pomegranate molasses on both sides and return to the oven for a further 5-8 minutes or until caramelised, charred and chewy.
Meanwhile, boil fregola in salted water for 8-10 minutes or until al dente. Drain, rinse in cold water and transfer to a bowl. Stir in the herbs, orange juice and zest, a big pinch of salt and the final tablespoon of olive oil. Some pistachio nuts here are nice too.
To serve, spoon the fregola onto plates, arrange the cabbage on top then drizzle with tahini and a sprinkle with dukkah.
Phwoar, this sounds great. And those cabbages are beauties.