Every year I plant a few cabbage plants, just because that’s what you do when you have a garden. I don’t do anything with my cabbage, no freezing or canning or sauerkraut-making, but I like to have it on hand to eat, though I usually don’t end up really eating all that much of it. No one else in my family is crazy about dishes that star the bald-headed veggie, and most days I’m not one to cook extra food just for myself, but for some odd reason I persist in the belief that cabbage must be planted every year, picky eaters or no.

This year my cabbages are looking rather pathetic even though Mr. Handsome sprayed them a couple times—they are riddled with worms, the outer leaves falling away, the bugs spilling out. They look more like something that belongs in the compost pile than something that I would want to bring into the house.

But the other day I went out and chopped off the biggest head. I cut away the outer leaves, and then I cut away some more outer leaves, and soon enough I had a fairly decent firm head of worm-less cabbage. I sliced it up, added some onion and a carrot, chicken broth, olive oil, red pepper flakes, and salt, and then I braised it for two hours, at the end of which my oven element caught on fire so I missed out on the final fifteen minutes of high temperature braising time. But that was okay, since the bottom of the cabbage had already turned all caramel-y sweet.

I know it doesn’t make much sense to braise a cabbage in an oven for a couple hours in July, but the cool weather we’ve been having doesn’t make much sense either. If it’s hot where you’re at, wait a few more months before making this dish, but if you’re having some cool dreary weather like we are, then I strongly urge you to go lop off a head of cabbage, hack it into wedges, cover it with foil, and give it a long, slow bake in the oven. It is so worth it.

As for me, my old oven has a brand-spanking-new heating element and four more mangy heads of cabbage are still residing in my garden. I think I know what I’m going to do.

Braised Cabbage
A Hardly-At-All Adapted recipe from Molly’s blog.

This cabbage would be a great accompaniment for any pork or beef dish, but I like it on its own or with potatoes (in any form) on the side. The first night I made this we ate it with mashed potatoes and fresh green beans, and since then I’ve been eating the leftovers with whatever else I’m pulling out of the garden—once with buttered beets and another time with potato salad.

1 green cabbage, outer leaves discarded
1 onion
1 carrot
1/4 cup chicken broth
1/4 cup olive oil
coarse sea salt
black pepper
1/8 teaspoon red pepper flakes

Slice the cabbage into 8-10 wedges, leaving enough of the woody stem to help keep the pieces mostly intact. Lay the wedges on their sides, in a single layer, in a 9 x 13 baking pan.

Slice the onion in half from top to bottom and then into thin wedges; sprinkle the onion over the cabbage.

Peel the carrot and slice into 1/4-inch thick pieces; arrange the pieces over the cabbage.

Pour the broth and oil over the cabbage, sprinkle the whole mess with salt and both peppers, cover the dish with foil, and bake at 325 degrees for one hour. Remove the pan from the oven, carefully turn over each piece of cabbage, replace the foil, and bake for another hour, at which point, if your oven element hasn’t burned up, you can remove the foil from the pan, turn the oven up to 400 degrees, and bake it for another fifteen minutes, or until the cabbage begins to blacken in places.

Serve hot.

One Year Ago: Mowing the lawn.

Now that I typed that title I realize the phrase sounds less like a description of a tricky dish (sliding a partly raw frittata out of the skillet onto a plate sounds way easier than it really is) and more like the name of an exotic dance (Hey, babe, let’s you and me hit the dance floor and do the Frittata!).

Maybe making a frittata is kind of like a dance, a kitchen dance complete with knife cha-cha–chops, spatula jabs, wrist jerks, pan flips, and the grand finale, the fork scoop-n-slide as you gobble up the savory frittata, moaning contentedly with every single bite.

Yes, now I’m convinced that frittata-making is a dance, in this case a dance called El Baile Frittata de Zucchini. And as if the dish wasn’t already tempting enough, it becomes unbearably so when the title is spoken with a Spanish accent. Ooh-la-la!

Seeing as it’s so irresistible, it’s a good thing this frittata is healthy and economical. If only all tempting things were this guilt-free!

Come on, dance with me! Let’s cha-cha-cha la frittata-ta-ta!

Zucchini-Parmesan Frittata
Adapted from Molly’s recipe

The smaller the zucchini, the better. I used a red onion, but any kind will do.

Use a skillet with sloping sides. Last night when I made this for supper, I used my 12-inch cast-iron skillet and had a lot of trouble flipping it in one piece (which is the polite way of saying that it totally fell apart). This morning I halved the recipe and made it in my stainless steel 6-inch skillet, with much better results (which is the polite way of saying that it only fell apart a little). In either case it was delicious.

Serve this frittata as the main dish for any meal. With a piece of fruit and coffee, it is breakfast; in a pita, or sandwiched between two pieces of toast, it is lunch; and with a green salad and a crusty loaf of bread, it is supper.

1 ½ pounds zucchini
1 onion
2 tablespoons fresh basil, chopped
salt
black pepper
6 eggs
½ cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese
olive oil

Slice the zucchini lengthwise into two pieces and then cut each piece into eighth-inch thick half-moons (if the zucchini is small, don’t bother with cutting it lengthwise). Slice the onion in the same manner.

Heat a 12-inch skillet on medium-high heat, add a couple tablespoons of olive oil and the sliced onion, and cook till wilted and slightly brown, about five minutes. Add the zucchini slices and saute for another 10 minutes, or until tender. Add the fresh basil and remove the pan from the heat. Transfer the vegetables to another container, or if they are watery (mine never were), to a colander to drain.

Crack the eggs into a different bowl, whisk them well, add the salt, pepper, and cheese and whisk a bit more. Add the vegetables and stir to combine.

Return the skillet to the burner and turn the heat to low. Pour a tablespoon of oil into the pan. Gently add the vegetable-egg mixture, using your fingers or a fork to evenly spread them out. Cook the frittata for 15-20 minutes.

When the frittata has set up, but is still moist on top, begin the process of loosening the frittata. Gently jab around the sides of the pan with a heat-proof rubber spatula, then, using a metal spatula, run it under the frittata from all sides until the frittata no longer sticks to the pan. Carefully slide the frittata from the skillet to a dinner plate. Position the skillet upside-down over the frittata and using your (hot-pad protected!) hands to hold both the skillet and the plate, flip the whole thing over so the frittata ends up in the pan, uncooked side down. Allow the frittata to cook for another 5 minutes or so before transferring it to a serving dish.

Eat the frittata hot, warm, or cold.

Yield: four servings

About One Year Ago: Salvation’s Chocolate Chip Cookies. Last year Molly unwittingly betrayed me; today (as well as many other times) I sing her praises. Harry Chapin speaks the truth: All my life’s a circle/sunrise and sundown….