Cabbage

Why did she have to raise cabbage? Anything but cabbage. Charles hated cabbage, and she knew he hated it.

Since they were married for the past twenty years, Helene had been obsessed with cabbage. Just try it this way, she said time and again. This way or that way was never going to work for him. He hated cabbage.

“Charles,” she said to him a number of times, “the rabbits are eating my cabbage.”

“Good,” Charles responded. “Now you don’t get to force it into me.”

“You know you would love my cabbage strudel if you would give it the old college try.” Just the thought of cabbage strudel about drove Charles insane.

He gave murder some thought over the years. No judge would convict Charles. “Your Honor,” he would say, “you will understand when you hear the circumstances of my crime. You will have no reason to convict me of the murder of my wife.”

After the judge heard his plea, he would immediately release Charles. “Justifiable homicide. No man could live with the persecution Charles has lived with for twenty years.”

This was Charles’ reasoning for some years, but no more. The country had gone cabbage crazy. It was becoming harder and harder to find a restaurant, a tavern or a friend who did not serve a cabbage dish with every meal.

Finally a solution came to Charles. A one way ticket to America. He had heard that America was a savage country where men and women ate only meat. America, everybody claimed, was a barbarous place.

The westward voyage was such a comfort. Not one meal on the menu offered cabbage. The ship passed the Statue of Liberty with its promised freedom from the tyranny of cabbage. As the ship moved into its berth at the port of New York, Charles smiled his broadest smile. He had turned his back on the religious persecution of his home country’s love of cabbage. Before him stood a cabbage-free life.

The ship docked. Charles gathered up his bags and headed into the city. His plan was to follow Horace Greeley’s advice of “Go West, Young Man.” Soon he would be on a train to California. First he must try a meal at one of New York’s finest restaurants.

Charles opened the menu and read. He just about vomitted. It seemed America’s finest restaurants too had embraced the contagion. Before him were offerings of cabbage and potatoes, cabbage rolls, boil-that-cabbage-down, cabbage stew and cabbage burgers. Cabbage mania had struck America when Charles wasn’t looking.

On and on the cabbage dishes ran until he came to the final offering. “Cabbage strudel topped with a dab of vanilla ice cream.” It was named, of all things, Cabbage a la Helene.

Let me sing the praises…

of a root beer float. After a long hard day of this and that and the other, what a better way to relax than go into the kitchen, dump several scoops of vanilla ice cream into a glass and pour some root beer over it. Then go into the living room, sit in the big arm chair, put my feet up on the foot stool, click on the TV and the blu ray and watch a movie. The cat crawls up on my lap and lays there quietly. Now that’s living.

of cornbread. I got to tell you this is the food of the gods. When I die and meet St. Peter at the Pearly Gates, he’s going to have a big plate of cornbread waiting for me. If I am to be let in, that is.

One of the fondest memories of my childhood was this. I would spend my summers staying at a farm owned by some friends of my mother. These folks had fourteen kids. So another mouth to feed was no big deal. The big meal of the day was a midday dinner. In the evening we kids had leftover cornbread.

We would heat up a piece of that cornbread and slop some butter on it. We were in hog heaven. Either that or crumble up the cornbread in a glass of cold milk. I am telling you that there is nothing like it. Man, my mouth waters just thinking about that cornbread melting in my mouth.

Is there a food that brings back childhood memories to you?