The exquisite itch

I may not be able to cook but I can follow a recipe . . . usually!

Due to H's sensitive nose I'll refrain from cooking things as revolting as cabbage while she's home but since her and thefeline are out together tonight I decided that while the cat's away the mouse can cook up some damn cabbage and who's to say Boo! if the house smells like socks? I found this recipe from a book by Margaret Johnson, that she brought home from the library. And it looked really good - if you're into that sorta thing . . .

I had to fudge a couple of the ingredients, like using beef broth instead of spending an hour looking further for the since hidden chicken broth, IPA instead of Magner's cider, dried parsley rather than fresh. I mean, contrary to popular belief, it didn't suck. It's just not fulfilling in that life-limiting sense that this ( recipe I got ) from J-Me. He's a Daughter of the Confederacy, or some shiet . . .

So, if your ol' lady won't run you out of the house cook up a batch of cabbage, or two! Hell, make 'em both and judge for yourselves which one's better less offensive; if you're into that sorta thing. It's cabbage . . .

. . .you can eat it!