Rich Cabbage Soup

I awoke with the deep sense of dread that millions of North Americans can relate to, the kind of dread that comes with not knowing how you are going to make ends meet, or survive through the end of the month, not to mention the down the road hysteria of knowing that I am more likely to die in a homeless shelter than I am to retire and enjoy my so called Golden Years. Sometimes I can function through the dread, and other days I just lie in bed hoping for either death or salvation, but neither have come for me yet.

Today was one of the former, and so I decided to try and do something about it. I slowly pulled my threadbare sheets down away from my chin and dragged myself out of bed. I haven’t worked in several months, don’t have any savings, and have been living off my credit cards in order to pay for only the most basic of necessities, but still it isn’t enough. I have put out so many resumes I have lost count, and have applied to several places more than once, and even though it feels hopeless most of the time I keep trying. However, today, I have a different idea. I recently read about people making a good income online by selling or renting out their possessions, and it occurred to me that I have a basement full of new and gently used items just waiting to earn their keep.

Granted, I don’t love going down to the basement. It is poorly lit and there is so much junk, (ahem, treasure) everywhere that it is hard to move around. But, that’s the point really. With a newfound enthusiasm to recover from what has become an unexpectedly difficult life, I flick on the lights, grip the handrail and walk down into the basement to sort through the world of lost and forgotten things.

I find a set of pots and pans that look brand new that I think might fetch a decent price, and a pair of roller skates that I don’t think will garner any interest at all. I sort through old yearbooks and knickknacks that won’t mean anything to anyone but me. Suddenly, while sorting through various memories and things I vaguely remember buying, I come across an old steamer trunk that I don’t recognize at all. I gently unlatch the clasp, and lift the lid to examine the contents of this beautiful trove. I pull out each item and examine it, and can’t think of when or how I would have ever acquired a jar of dried and ground hornets, a velvet pouch full of beetle eggs, or a glass vial containing 3 long strands of what the label purports to be wolverine hair. I wasn’t sure if I was horrified or curious, but I told myself “Elizabeth, you’ve come this far, you’ve got to see what else is in there.” I continue to pull out strange and fascinating items, including a silver letter opener, a small chest containing pieces of salamander skin, and a small black notebook. I start to think that this collection of creepy crawlies was not going to be my salvation after all. However, since I had already started on this journey, I decided that I might as well at least flip through the notebook, despite the fact that it appeared to be an ordinary notebook, and not at all disturbing like some of the other items in the trunk.

But the notebook would only open to one page, a recipe for Cabbage Soup. I’m not really a fan of cabbage, and it felt too warm out for soup, but it was getting close to lunchtime, and the heading for the recipe said “for use once per decade, and only for those in great need” which rather piqued my interest. I wiped the dust from my hands, ascended the stairs back to ground level, and went next door to ask my neighbour, Mrs. Kingsley, if I could pick some cabbage from her garden as she had mentioned before that I could take some vegetables if I was interested. She’s a kindly old lady who lives with no one other than her cat Simon, who grows significantly more than one little old woman can eat, or even possibly could in any single season.

Mrs. Kingsley asked “whatever do you want with a cabbage Lizzie? You’ve never been interested in my brassicas before.”

“Mrs. Kingsley, I found a handwritten recipe in a little black notebook in my basement. I think it may have been my grandma’s, so I thought I would give it a try. It’s been a rough few months, and I think I might have to start living off the land anyways” I said with dismay.

“Well dear, take whatever you need of course. You know I can’t eat all of this, but I sure do like to watch it grow.”

“Thank you so much Mrs. Kingsley. If I have extra, would you like me to bring you some soup later?”

“Thank you Lizzie, I would like that very much.” I wasn’t sure if I really wanted to come over later since I knew it would lead to a long conversation about soil nutrition and the ideal growing conditions for vegetables, and I’m not particularly interested in any of that. However, Mrs. Kingsley was nice enough to offer me access to her garden, and I do feel sorry for her living alone with just Simon to keep her company. I try to go over a few times a month anyways, so I might as well take her some soup when I go this time.

I collected two large heads of cabbage, one green and one red, and went back into my house to make the Cabbage Soup. A handful of the ingredients were regular pantry staples, like vegetable stock, onions, carrots, salt and pepper, but I quickly realized that I would need to use the strange items I found in the trunk along with the book. It certainly had never occurred to me before to include items like bumblebee wings or powdered adder’s tongue in what would generally be thought of as a vegetarian dish, but I’ve never claimed to be a vegetarian, and I like to think that I’m willing to try new things, at least in when it comes to food, although that concept was looking better as just a theory rather than a real life practice.

I don’t cook a lot, which made this recipe particular recipe seem incredibly complicated and specific. It instructed to cut the cabbage into rectangular pieces that were 15 cm by 7 cm, and to ensure the you only use include 12 of the whitest, not cream coloured, beetle eggs. I had to sort through the bumblebee wings to ensure that none of the 8 wings had any tears or holes, although despite being fairly well preserved, they are also quite delicate, and I did end up tearing a few. The single wolverine hair I needed was to have no less than 3 barbs, but could not exceed 5. To be completely honest, I wasn’t sure if I could bring myself to taste the soup after learning that there was going to be wolverine hair and beetle eggs in it, regardless of how many barbs on the hair, or the clarity of the colour of the eggs. I have a hard time with blind faith in most things but decided that during desperate times pretty much anything is worth a shot. In fact, I was already putting so much blind faith in a recipe that sounded rather grotesque, that I got out a tape measure to measure the exact size for the cabbage leaves. I cut out precisely 100 pieces of 15 cm by 7 cm cabbage, and completely removed all of the hard center veins. It was a long and tedious process, but I felt like since I had already come this far in sorting through the bumblebee wings and slicing the adder’s tongue with the silver letter opener, that I might as well persevere and finish making the bizarre concoction.

Once I finally had everything ready I started to assemble the soup. First I had to add and sweat the onions, followed by the rest of the ingredients, individually, stirring counterclockwise 5 times after each addition, and waiting 6 ½ minutes prior to incorporating the next ingredient. By the time I added half of the cabbage by swirling each leaf in the broth clockwise twice I was starting to run out of patience, but I was afraid that even a slight variation might ruin the soup and I already had far too much invested in this soup to let that happen. My eyes were starting to sting from the heat and the onions, and a funky steam that was emanating from the pot, possibly caused by a slight ooze that had formed on the salamander skin, and I started to cry. Before I could rub my sleeve across my eyes, two large tears gushed into the pot and I wailed with the thought that it was probably ruined and I had put in all this effort for nothing. My worst fears appeared to be coming to fruition as the contents of the pot turned an inky black and a sludge started to form around my wooden spoon. I cried harder and could feel myself losing any sense of control I may have had left.

The room started filling with smoke and I started to have difficulty breathing between the stench of the smog and from choking on my own tears. Nothing was going right in my life. I had lost my job, I was going to default on my credit card payments, I couldn’t pay my rent, and it appeared that I couldn’t even follow a (maybe not so simple) recipe to make the soup that I was convinced was my only hope for salvation. I collapsed on the floor in a puddle of mucous and tears and pulled my knees to my chest. And then, the smoke turned brown, and then purple, and then green, and then blue, before clearing altogether. As I looked up into the beautiful rainbow of smoke, I saw what appeared to be the smiling eyes of an old woman looking down on me. I grabbed onto the edge of the counter and pulled myself upright to look at what was left of the soup on the stove. As I peered inside, I noticed that the cabbage was no longer cabbage. I could see $100, $20, $10 and $5 bills where the cabbage used to be. I couldn’t believe it. There was money in the pot! How on earth had this happened? How could my luck have changed so completely? There had to be at least $20,000 floating in the pot.

I turned the stove off and tried to grab at the money without even thinking about how hot the soup ought to be, only to realize that it was more like warm bath water than scalding soup. In fact, it felt incredibly comforting swirling around my fingers. I spent several minutes scooping out every precious banknote and wiping them dry on a dish towel. I was so excited and I couldn’t wait to share my good fortune.

I ran next door with a handful of money and knocked ecstatically until Mrs. Kingsley’s answered. I shouted “Mrs. Kingsley, Mrs. Kinglsey! The soup is completely inedible, but would you be interested in going out for dinner with me instead? It’s my treat!”

Mrs. Kinglsey smiled knowingly and said “of course dear. We knew you could do it.” She turned slightly to grin at Simon, grabbed her gnarled looking walking stick in her left hand, and tucked her right hand into the crook of my elbow to let me lead the way.