#cabbage

[barelylivingooze]

Cabbage man thinking great thoughts.

[taffywabbit]

ravenous rabbit (bunstoppable, do not attempt to impede)

[weepingwidar]

Magdalena Shummer-Fangor (Polish, 1930) - Dwie Kapusty (Two Cabbages) (2011)

[daily-deliciousness]

Smash dumpling tacos

[bowelfly]

I feel like the monastery friends will be equally charmed as I am by Gerald Stratford's 15 pound purple cabbage and matching cabbage hoodie and wanted to tell you about its magnificent rotundity

nobody was sure what exactly went wrong with the robe dying vat that day but there was one monk who was more than pleased with the results

[blondebrainpowered]

Jadeite Cabbage with Insects - a piece of jadeite carved to look like a bok choy with a locust and a katydid hidden amongst its leaves. Originally a gift to the consort of the Qing Emperor, Zaitian in 1889, it is housed in the National Palace Museum, Taipei, Taiwan. 

[foldingfittedsheets]

I’m remarkably bad at food in general. I didn’t come from a household of cooks and my family doesn’t do food in a wholesome way. Food ends up being fuel that’s tiresome but necessary for the most part.

There’s also not like easily accessible classes or ways to really learn about food. So I really feel like I can’t be blamed for this one instance when I was living in Arizona.

I had moved there to be with my then-girlfriend. I ended up doing more of the shopping because she was working 11pm-4am shifts at the radio station and her sleep schedule was disastrously not conducive to daily tasks.

She requested lettuce for her lunch sandwiches. The morning after shopping I awoke to her standing over me in bed.

I sleepily greeted her and she said, “I’m not mad, but did you buy cabbage?”

My tired brain processed this. What was the difference between cabbage and lettuce? Lettuce was round. Was cabbage? I didn’t think cabbage was round. Wasn’t it purple? “No,” I said decisively.

“Come look at this.”

I dutifully got up to follow her to the kitchen. She pulled out the vegetable I’d bought. It still looked vaguely lettucey but I was starting to feel a tingle of uncertainty.

“It’s lettuce,” I stated, proving once again that just saying something doesn’t make it so.

“I ate a whole sandwich with it. It didn’t taste like lettuce.” Folks. It was cabbage. She’d eaten several leaves of raw cabbage. But in my defense why didn’t she know better?

“No, it’s definitely lettuce.” An undercurrent was forming between us. She knew I no longer believed this was lettuce. She’d eaten raw cabbage leaves rather than question me sooner about the purchase. But I was clearly willing to die on this hill.

“Where the receipt?”

What followed was an instantaneous mad dash across the kitchen to secure the receipt first. We flailed and squabbled at each other, both desperate to have our way with the truth of the matter.

My grubby little hands found it first and we wrestled down to the ground over the unassuming slip of paper. I was wily and quick, but she was stronger, and we tussled with our whole hearts over the inconsequential thing.

When it was clear she was moments away from overpowering me I shoved the whole receipt into my mouth like a frantic little Pac-Man, undeterred by the toxic bitterness of the receipt paper.

We ended up in stitches on the ground as I laughed and choked on the wretched thing. I spat it into the garbage and thus won the right to my fiction. It was lettuce.