This year's quest for failure was Red Express cabbage. Sown March 30, planted out May 6, narrowly escaping an avian abduction May 18, one of the plants became the jewel of the garden. I soon began referring to it as "my prize cabbage" and wondered if there was indeed a contest it could enter, a beauty pageant for vegetables.
The Hope Seeds catalogue declared that the cabbage should be ready for harvest 65 days after transplant. The above photo was taken several days past that point. I still thought it might want to grow a little more. Plus, I was deriving so much pleasure from the sight of it, it was hard to imagine that eating it could be any better. Ironically, the only way we could ensure those fabulous unblemished leaves was to keep the cabbages under row cover fabric.....opaque white row cover fabric. But then I did not become habituated to its beauty, and I gasped with delight each time the cover was removed for watering or weeding.
Weeks passed. Cabbage moths had gained entry. The row cover fabric that had sustained minor hail damage in June was now strained by the upward mobility of several stout broccoli stems. Who knew they would grow so tall? Holes were enlarged enough for a determined butterfly to pass through and the fabric was just barely wide enough to reach down to both sides of the bed. Fat green cabbage worms were having a feast on the smaller cabbages. There were a few holes in the outer leaves of the prize cabbage, but the head seemed too solid to penetrate. Nevertheless, even if it was safe from chewing, it might not be wise to leave the cabbage in the garden much longer.
The summer has been hot and dry. Not exactly cabbage weather. I have read of cabbage heads splitting and bolting, which sounds very dramatic and I would like to witness it, but not occurring in this particular individual. Even if it didn't bolt, what might be going on chemically? I much prefer my cabbage cool, and did not want to be confronted with the burning sensation that has put me off cabbage before. My fear that it might go to waste helped me to do what had to be done. On August 24, with the head in my left hand and the secateurs in my right, I slaughtered my prize cabbage. The experience suggested to me that maybe I should not raise animals for meat.
Fortunately, once all the outer leaves were removed and the plain bald purple head was left bare, it was less familiar to me. There was no hesitation when it came to cleaving the head in half with a kitchen knife.
The inside was as perfect as the exterior. Tight folds of white and purple, crammed together by forces I could not fathom. How do the leaves get packed so tightly by only the force of other leaves?
The entire head was shredded for coleslaw, on quarter at a time. Delicious. None of the heat I was worried about; just sweet and tender, for days and days. This cabbage gave me a lot of joy this summer. It will be remembered fondly.
