At the farmer's market the head of cabbage was like the size of an over-bloated basketball. It seemed doable until I sliced it, shaved it really; the plan was to cut it paper thin and saute it with a little garlic and curry, and then pretend it was pasta. So far so good, but what I had was enough cabbage to induce colic in a Clydesdale, so the long of it is I've been eating cabbage, lots of it, for breakfast and dinner daily. I don't know if I'm even making a dent in the stuff, but so it goes.
Yesterday I thought a pork chop might help, so I got one.
Later yesterday, Max came in and decided this wine was poop, done, kaput, so naturally he offered it to me. We hung out a while, debated the course of action, and finally just opened the thing to find out. It was actually very good. We hung out some more, talked about Italy and cabbage, and it kept improving. Max suggested I throw some of the wine into the pan and do a reduction sauce for the pork chop, and this was just brilliant, it turns out.
While I let the pork chop rest, I deglazed the pan with a little bit of the wine, threw in some butter and garlic, let it reduce, and poured it over the top. The wine had continued improving this whole time and when it all came together it was amazing. Like, a-m-a-z-i-n-g. The kind of amazing that makes you glad to be alive and have that moment. All my cabbage woes were instantly transformed into cabbage pleasure, and the wine was just terrific.