As a nine year old I often slept at my grandparents' homes on weekends. My parents dropped my brother Lee and I at one of their houses, barely slowing down the car before tossing our overnight bags out with us.
It is not that they didn't love us. They needed a break and my grandmothers needed to feed us. Although I can't prove this, I believe they planned their meals days in advance. My grandmothers, Helen and Beatrice, each owned a cast iron roasting pan purchased on a trip to Europe, carried home on the plane beneath their seats for the purpose of baking stuffed cabbage.
Stuffed cabbage was more than meat rolled inside a lowly cabbage. It was a source of pride and a symbol of heritage. Our ancestors got their asses kicked by Cossacks in Kiev. They were chased out of Poland. So what happened? My great grandparents got on boats and came to America with next to nothing. Their children's children drive fancy cars and live in big houses but they eat hamburgers and cold cuts.
They can eat whatever they want(and both grandmothers approve of large quantities of food at every meal) but they like to remember where they came from. "We should eat what my mother made for me," said Nanny Helen.
My father's parents lived in a large Tudor house filled with antiques and fascinating knick-knacks. Lee and I played hide and seek in the many rooms and dressed up in my grandmother's gowns and hats from the fifties. Nothing was asked of us, except to have a hearty appetite at dinner.
My grandfather, Poppy, sat at the head of a long, oak table set with bone china and my grandmother's wedding silverware. Lee and I felt the formality of the moment and remembered not to put our elbows on the table.
My grandmother, Nanny Helen, dressed impeccably as always, carried in a pan of stuffed cabbage. Lee and I weren't picky eaters and our grandparents fondly watched us devour our food.
"So, how do you like my stuffed cabbage?" asked Nanny Helen, innocently.
"It is yummy," I answered with a mouthful of food. I felt I had to eat quickly. She didn't look satisfied.
"Have you tried Bea's cabbage?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
Bea was my other grandmother. She and Helen did not get along, although they pretended to in public.
"I don't remember," I said.
"You know I love Bea, but her cooking is a disaster," said Nanny Helen with a dramatic sigh. "Too much salt. She is going to give Lou high blood pressure. Do you know who taught your mother how to cook?" She paused for emphasis. "Bea taught Joyce and that is why you and your brother don't eat anything at home."
This wasn't a kind thing to say but she had a point.
The next weekend, my parents brought us to my mother's parent's house. Nan and Gramps had a huge backyard and Lee and I ran around the trees playing spies until it got dark and we came inside for dinner.
It was essential to work up an appetite because in Nan's house the plates had to be licked clean. If we couldn't eat everything we discreetly fed our leftovers to her dachshund, Little Dog, who waited patiently at our feet under the table.
Dinner was served in the kitchen, unless it was a holiday, and a small black and white T.V. was always on with the volume on low. Nan served us stuffed cabbage. My grandfather ate quietly, listening to the drone of the newscaster. Nan watched us with the intensity of a hawk who eyes a mouse in a field.
Convinced that we were underfed, she willed every morsel of food to pass to our lips. Fortunately Lee had a pudgy tummy so her attention was primarily focused on me. She was not shy about lifting up my shirt to examine my rib cage while shaking her head in disapproval.
Nan wasted no time. "I bet that tastes better than Helen's cabbage," she said.
Lee didn't answer. He was too young to understand what was going on. He and Gramps stared at the T.V..
"Yours is better," I said, hoping to satisfy her.
Nan had to speak her mind. "Helen's is too sweet. That is not how you are supposed to make it. All her cooking is sugar, sugar, sugar!" Nan scowled.
I couldn't help but think about Nanny Helen's lemon meringue pie and appreciate her ability to cook with sugar.
"I don't know how your father grew up in that house with her cooking! Hmmph. Maybe he only ate dessert."
Nan looked at me for agreement but I just nodded my head and changed the subject.
Here I was lying to my grandmother. Why? Because I felt pressured to judge their cooking. I was just a kid who was hungry. What did I know about Eastern European cooking? I didn't understand that this was about them and their need to feel superior to the other. It really was a battle.
Many years later when I was stuck in a college cafeteria looking a bowl of gummy turkey tetrazzini, I dreamed about stuffed cabbage. If only I knew how to cook it. The next time I was home from college I was ready to learn.
Nan's Stuffed Cabbage
1 large head of green cabbage
2 pounds of three meat blend (ground pork, beef and lamb)
1 medium onion, grated
2 garlic cloves, minced
2 t salt
1 t pepper
1/2 C raw long grain rice
Sauce:
2 T vegetable oil
1 large onion, chopped
1 15 oz. can of crushed tomatoes
1/2 C ketchup
1/2 C white sugar
1/2 C raisins
1 T white vinegar
1 t salt
1 T pepper
1. Boil the whole cabbage until the leaves are cooked but still firm
2. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees
3. Make the filling: mix meat, rice, onion, garlic, salt and pepper in a bowl.
4. Cook the sauce: saute onion in oil on low heat for five minutes. Stir in sugar, tomatoes, ketchup, raisins, salt and pepper and white vinegar. Cook for another five minutes.
5. Roll 1/4 C of filling in each cabbage leaf. Place seam side down in a roasting pan.
When all leaves are rolled, pour sauce over the cabbage rolls.
6. Cover pan with foil and bake for one hour.
7. Remove foil and bake for another 30 minutes.
note: Nan's three meat blend can be substituted for two pounds of ground beef.