Posted by Maria Gagliano
As an editor, I’m pretty lucky. I work on books that teach me things I never realized I wanted to know. In fact, this blog’s tag line (useful, useless, curious, creative) epitomizes my list. One day I’m learning about brewing beer (The Naked Pint), the next I’m reading about the origins of nursery rhymes (Pop Goes the Weasel). Turn to the next manuscript and I’m getting tips on effective persuasion (27 Powers of Persuasion); after that I’m up to my watch strap in salty cabbage.
Yes, salty cabbage. A finished copy of The Lost Art of Real Cooking by Ken Albala and Rosanna Nafziger hit my desk last week, and since then I’ve been kneading, brining, baking, and curing my way through the book. The obsession started when the proposal hit my desk last year. Of all things I never realized I wanted to know, cooking from scratch hit a particular nerve.
I remember reading their recipe for handmade pasta, something I’d never considered making on my own, let alone on a weeknight for myself and my three roommates. But something happens when you read these recipes. Something that snaps you out of that computer-monitor daze, that feeling that your city kitchen is too cramped, your work schedule too demanding, your refrigerator too sparse to produce anything remotely rewarding. You just want to get in the kitchen.
Maybe it’s because Ken and Rosanna give us recipes as they once were: simple, but not necessarily easy or convenient. And that’s okay, because there’s something about making pasta the way your grandparents (or great-grandparents?) did, even if it means getting a little flour on the floor. Waiting a month for cabbage to ferment into sauerkraut suddenly doesn’t sound like a big deal. It’s slow, but it’s the way life used to be before gadgets, frozen dinners, and treadmills. It just feels right.
The pickle recipes really got me. I’m obsessed with all things cured, brined, and fermented. As a child, I’d sneak pickles and olives from the fridge whenever I could. I still do. And yet, it never dawned on me that I could make these things.
Last night I tried their sauerkraut recipe, which is insanely easy. So easy, in fact, that I recall querying the authors when editing the manuscript. “You just cut the cabbage, pour salt over it, knead it, and set it aside?” I asked. “Don’t you add water? Where do you get the brine? Sounds like something’s missing. Please revisit.”
But I was wrong. It’s seriously that easy. It’s so easy that I’ve now deemed the counter space behind my sink the “fermentation corner.” I want happy bacteria turning vegetables into pickles at all times. Let me tell you, this is addictive.
Here are my escapades in sauerkraut making (with help from Ken on the recipe steps):
1. Take a few cabbages and cut them into quarter-inch strips.
2. Throw the strips into a bowl with two tablespoons of kosher salt.
3. Knead the heck out of it. I had my doubts, but after about five minutes the salt starts to draw water out of the cabbage, making its own brine.
I started with so much cabbage I didn’t think it would fit in the crock. It broke down so much that it only filled it halfway (check out this before-and-after).
4. Transfer the cabbage to a crock or jar and weigh it down with a plate or ceramic jar lid so everything is submerged. Let it sit.
This will take about three or four weeks to ferment in a cool cellar. If you keep it on a kitchen counter at room temperature it will work much faster. Just keep an eye on it and skim any mold off the top should it form. Taste it often. When you like it, it’s ready.
































