Hats off to Hipsters

Fermentation is all the rage at the moment. From Brooklyn to Bangkok, the shelves of trendy organic co-ops heave with charmingly retro Mason jars of artisanal pickles and lacto-fermented vegetables. Hats off to the hipsters for bringing into vogue one of Russia’s venerable food groups!

Long sidelined by other global cuisines, the humble Brassica oleracea (cabbage) has played a starring role in Russian cuisine for centuries. The long days of Northern summers are particularly conducive to growing large heads of cabbage, just as Russia’s long winters provide the perfect conditions to store these heads in a root cellar.

Packed with vitamins and minerals, cabbage has long been recognized in Eastern Europe as not only a nutritional staple, but also as a potent medicinal aid for digestive disorders, rheumatism, and even melancholy. The high content of folic acid in cabbage explains why pregnant women, nursing mothers, and wet nurses were forced to eat huge amounts of salted cabbage in pre-revolutionary Russia.

Before the revolution of 1917 brought atheism, refrigeration, and processed food to Russia, three powerful forces shaped the national diet: the severity of the climate, socio-economic conditions, and the rigorous obligations of the Russian Orthodox Church. The overwhelming majority of the population was poor agricultural laborers who survived the long Russian winters on what they had managed to grow and store through the short but intense growing season.

While meat was relatively affordable in many parts of the empire, it was not always available, particularly in the winter months, during the gestation of domestic farm animals, which also ruled out fresh dairy products. Thus Russian peasants often subsisted by necessity for much of the long winter on a vegetarian or pescatarian diet, which relied heavily upon winter stores of root vegetables and grains.

Propping up the virtues of the ascetic diet was the Russian Orthodox Church, which celebrated over 200 fast days throughout the liturgical year, during which meat, fish, dairy, oil, and eggs were prohibited.

Is it any wonder then, that the Russians elevated cabbage into an art form? Russia’s appetite for cabbage has not abated, despite the post-Soviet access to all manner of ingredients: Russia remains one of the world’s major cabbage growers, with a crop yield of over three million tons a year (about three times US annual consumption, by one estimate). And sauerkraut, or kvashenaya kapusta, has remained a firm favorite with Russians through the ages.

From the tenth century, we have evidence of Russians preserving cabbage in salt, which bunks an alternative theory that they learned the art of fermentation from the Mongol-Tatars, who occupied the lands of Rus in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries.

However they learned how to do it, “salting cabbage” became an essential domestic art form, often a communal undertaking by all the women of a village. To this day, kvashenaya kapusta still takes pride of place in a classic groaning table of zakuska, where its tangy-sour taste provides the perfect coda to a shot of ice-cold vodka.

Unlike its German cousin sauerkraut, kvashenaya kapusta is usually paired with carrots or even radishes. Often a sweet element is added such as the recipe here, which adds Russian cranberries for an additional layer of flavor and a sweet undertone to the cabbage.

Once the lacto-fermentation has taken place, kvashenaya kapusta makes a myriad of appearances in Russian dishes. Added with its juice to soups such as borscht, solyanka, and shchi, kvashenaya kapusta provides these Russian classics with their essential tang. Tossed with oil and a little garlic, kvashenaya kapusta can make an appearance as a garnish or salat, although this is a relatively late innovation, introduced to Russian cuisine by French chefs in the nineteenth century.

Usually, however, kvashenaya kapusta stands on its own fine merits, alongside those other three staples of the Russian diet: a potato, black bread, and vodka, and provides just the culinary kick these separate foods need to come together as a meal.

Sauerkraut with Cranberries

6½ pounds of white cabbage

1 pound of carrots

½ pound of raw cranberries

3 tablespoons of sea salt

Wash the cranberries, then pat dry with a paper towel.

Peel the carrots and cut them into thin matchsticks or grate. Peel the outer leaves from the cabbage, then slice thinly on the diagonal.

Toss the cabbage and carrots with the salt, kneading gently with your hands.

Let stand for 1 hour, then toss again.

Layer the cabbage and carrot mixture with the cranberries in a glass container, pressing gently down on the layers to pack them tightly and release the air bubbles. The final layer should be cabbage.

Place a lid on top of the cabbage mixture that is slightly smaller than the opening of your container; weight it down with a tin or bottle.

Let stand at room temperature for 3-5 days. Twice a day, pierce holes in the layered cabbage right down to the bottom, using a wooden chopstick. This will release any additional gas.

On the second day, the cabbage should have leeched enough liquid to cover the top. If this is not the case, weight the lid atop the cabbage down with a heavier object.

After 3-5 days, the fermentation process should be complete. Transfer the contents into lidded containers and store in the refrigerator.

Recipe and photography

by Yulia Ataeva.