43. Cabbage Is Sweeter Than People Think

Anton: At every small station in the cold north, there is a bun seller. She stands at the end of the platform in two coats and fingerless gloves, a basket on her arm under a folded blanket, and when the train stops she lifts one corner and the steam rises like breath on a frosty morning.

Vera: And what is under the blanket?

Anton: Buns. Golden, oval, warm. Inside, cabbage and egg. In those lands a journey of two days is ordinary, and people plan it by the buns: which station has the best, which seller adds onion, which one adds rice.

On the Platform, in the Cold

Vera: Tomas, sitting on the upturned crate by the back door, has made a face. Cabbage, he says, is not a filling.

Anton: Tell him to wait. Cabbage cooked slowly in butter turns soft and pale gold, and it tastes almost like sugar. Cabbage is sweeter than people think.

Vera: That is what my aunt used to say, word for word.

Aunt Ulla's Attic Kitchen

Vera: My aunt Ulla lived at the top of a wooden house, in a kitchen where the stove took up half the room and strings of drying mushrooms hung from the beams like brown beads. Every autumn a cart came round with cabbages, and she bought a whole sack.

Vera: I was eight. She gave me the job of peeling the boiled eggs, and I cracked them on the table, rolled them under my palm and pulled the shells away in long spirals, as she showed me.

Vera: She baked forty buns in an afternoon and gave half of them away down the stairs. She hummed while she pinched the edges, always the same three songs, and I still cannot shred a cabbage without humming one of them.

Vera: The neighbours paid her in honey and firewood. I thought she was the richest woman in the world.

At the Work Table

For twelve buns, the dough: 400 g plain flour (3 1/4 cups), 7 g instant yeast (2 1/4 teaspoons), 20 g sugar (1 1/2 tablespoons), 6 g salt (1 teaspoon), 200 ml warm milk (3/4 cup plus 1 tablespoon), 1 egg and 40 g soft butter (3 tablespoons).

The filling: 400 g white cabbage (half a small head), 20 g butter, 1/2 teaspoon salt, 3 eggs and a little chopped dill. One more beaten egg for brushing. Oven: 200°C (400°F).

Vera: A child mixes and kneads the dough for about eight minutes, until soft and smooth. Cover it and let it rise for an hour.

Anton: A grown-up shreds the cabbage finely and cooks it with the butter and salt in a wide pan over medium heat, stirring, for fifteen minutes, until soft and sweet. Let it cool completely.

Vera: A grown-up boils the eggs for ten minutes and cools them in cold water. A child peels them and chops them with a table knife, then stirs them into the cabbage with the dill.

Anton: Cut the dough into twelve pieces. A child flattens each into an oval as big as a palm, puts a spoonful of filling in the middle, folds it over and pinches the edge firmly shut.

Vera: Lay the buns seam-down on a lined tray, cover, and let them rise for twenty minutes. A child brushes them with the beaten egg.

Anton: A grown-up bakes them for fifteen to eighteen minutes, until golden, opening the oven door with oven gloves and stepping back from the heat. Let the buns cool ten minutes. The filling stays hot much longer than the crust.

Twenty Minutes Before Supper

Question: Tomas asks why the cabbage must be cold before it goes into the dough.

Answer: Warm filling melts the butter in the dough and makes it soft and wet, so the edges will not stick together. The steam also pushes out through the seam while baking and can tear the bun open.

Three quick questions. One: How long does the cabbage cook? Two: Which way up do the buns go on the tray? Three: What do you brush them with?

Answers. One: About fifteen minutes. Two: Seam-down. Three: Beaten egg.

Vera: Tomas has eaten one. Then another. Now he is reaching for a third and pretending he is not.

Anton: Cabbage is patient. It waits all summer in the field, folding leaf over leaf like a sleeping bird, and gives all its sweetness to anyone who cooks it slowly enough.

Vera: Ulla always drank rosehip tea with these, poured from a tall pot that lived at the back of the stove. Warm, red, a spoon of berry jam stirred into each cup. It is gentle enough for Tomas too. Hold the cup by its handle, Tomas; it is hotter than it looks.

44. Roll the Sides Up Tight, Like a Little Boat

Anton: An old proverb, written down almost five hundred years ago, says it plainly: better is half a loaf than no bread.

Vera: Tonight we are making the whole loaf, though, and filling it with cheese. That is better than either.

Lamplight, by the Rag Rug

Vera: Ursula, cross-legged on the rag rug by the stove, has heard the word cheese and come to the table.

Anton: These are boats of bread. A flat oval of dough, its two long sides rolled up into a rim, the ends pinched into points. Into the hollow goes the cheese, and at the last moment, an egg yolk, gold as a marsh marigold.

Vera: An egg on top of bread? Raw?

Anton: Cooked in the heat of the cheese. Wait. You will see.

Vera: And the shape? Why a boat?

Anton: Some say it comes from the boats on the sea below the mountains. Some say it comes from the hands, which found that a rolled rim is the easiest way to stop a filling running away. I believe the hands. Hands invent most things first.

A Yard Full of Vines, Long Ago

Anton: I ate my first one in the mountain lands between two seas, far to the south-east. Zurab, whose bakery was a round clay oven sunk into the ground in a yard roofed with grape vines, slapped the boats onto its hot wall and pulled them out with a long hook.

Anton: He set mine on the table, dropped in the yolk and a cube of butter, and told me to stir. I did it too gently. He took my fork, stirred hard until the cheese turned to a yellow pool, tore off one pointed end of the boat and dipped it in. Like this, he said. Like this.

Anton: Outside, the vines hung heavy with grapes and wasps, and the smoke from the oven drifted up through the leaves like mist leaving a valley in the morning.

At the Work Table

For four boats, the dough: 300 g plain flour (2 1/2 cups), 4 g instant yeast (1 1/4 teaspoons), 1 teaspoon sugar, 5 g salt (3/4 teaspoon), 180 ml warm milk (3/4 cup) and 1 tablespoon oil.

The filling: 150 g mild melting cheese, grated (1 1/2 cups), 150 g salty white brined cheese, crumbled (1 cup), 1 whole egg, then 4 egg yolks and 20 g butter (1 1/2 tablespoons). Oven: 230°C (450°F), with the tray inside to heat.

Anton: Make the dough, knead for eight minutes, cover and let it rise for an hour.

Vera: A child mixes both cheeses with the whole egg in a bowl.

Anton: Cut the dough into four. Roll each on floured baking paper into an oval about 25 by 15 cm (10 by 6 inches).

Vera: A child rolls the two long sides in towards the middle, leaving the centre open, then pinches and twists each end into a point. Roll the sides up tight, like a little boat.

Anton: Fill each hollow with the cheese and let the boats rest for fifteen minutes.

Vera: A grown-up slides them, on their paper, onto the hot tray and bakes them for twelve to fifteen minutes, until the crust is golden and the cheese bubbles.

Anton: A grown-up takes the tray out with oven gloves and makes a dip in each with a spoon. Drop in a yolk and bake three minutes more, until the white film over the yolk has set; for small children, five minutes, until the yolk is firm.

Vera: Add the butter. Wait two minutes before anyone stirs, because melted cheese holds its heat like a stone in the sun.

After Dark, Plates Out

Question: Ursula asks why we use two kinds of cheese.

Answer: Melting cheese stretches into long strings but tastes mild. Brined cheese is salty and tangy but crumbles instead of melting. Mixed together, the filling both stretches and has a strong taste.

Three quick questions. One: How hot is the oven? Two: What shape are the ends of the boat? Three: Which part do you eat first?

Answers. One: 230°C (450°F). Two: Pinched and twisted into points. Three: A pointed end, torn off and dipped into the cheese.

Vera: Ursula is stirring as hard as Zurab would have wanted. Her boat has sprung a leak at one end.

Anton: A leaking boat still tastes good. The yolk and the butter and the cheese run together like streams after a thaw, and the crust soaks up whatever spills.

Vera: Then we bail it out with the crust. Ursula, tear from the pointed end, the way Zurab showed Anton, and dip.

Key Words

Rim: the raised, rolled edge of a shaped bread that holds a filling in.

Brined cheese: a soft white cheese kept in salty water, which makes it tangy and crumbly.