Rotkohl

Rotkohl belongs beside the roast: Christmas goose, Sauerbraten, duck, pork shoulder, the Sunday plate that needs something sharp against the fat. In Saxony and Thuringia it comes dark, glossy, and a little sweet with apple; in the north they say Rotkohl, in Bavaria and Swabia they say Blaukraut, and the pot argues back. More vinegar, redder cabbage. Less acid, a bluer shade. Im Norden anders, im Süden anders.

I cook it as the eastern table understands it: fine-sliced cabbage, onion, apple, vinegar, a little sugar, clove, bay, and time. The technique that decides it is the early acid. Put the vinegar in before the cabbage has collapsed, because the acid fixes the anthocyanin pigment and keeps the colour ruby. Leave it until the end and the cabbage can drift dull and blue-grey. Then no one is saved by a pretty bowl.

This is larder cooking. A tight winter cabbage, a stored apple, a splash of vinegar, a spoon of fat. Nothing fancy, nothing from a jar. The cabbage must first soften in fat so the edges go glossy, then braise covered until it gives up its bite without turning to mash. Stir now and then, and taste at the end: sweet, sour, salt, fat. Würzen, Fett, Salz zum Schluss.

Make it the day before if you can. Rotkohl is one of the dishes that improves by sitting; the vinegar calms, the apple disappears into the pot, and the cabbage eats deeper the next day. Das braucht seine Zeit.