In October 2002, I invited my good friend David James to report on the making of Kapusta.
It seemed only fair that if he wanted some of my Kapustnica soup next year, he should take an active role in making the sour cabbage. He agreed with the proviso that he could watch the Slovakia v England soccer match, that happened to be on that night.
Please enjoy this Special recipe.
Vlado.
There now follows some photos showing each stage that was involved in making the Kapusta, with commentary from David:
Vlado had invited me to report on the making of Kapusta, the sour cabbage that is present in many of his recipes, most notably Kapustnica, my favorite Slovak soup.
I had been extremely busy recently and Vlado had kindly put off making the Kapusta until I had a free evening. We had agreed on a Saturday night in October, Vlado saying that it really couldn't be put off any more. It wasn't until a couple of days before the Saturday that it suddenly dawned on me it would be the same day Slovakia played England in the European Championships Qualifier. And that was a match I didn't want to miss!
I arrived at Vlado's house at about half an hour before kick off, and was led through to the living room, where about a dozen friends and family members were sat in front of a television waiting impatiently for kick off. I said hello, and was greeted with some cheers and laughter when they saw the blue England cap I was wearing and the red, white and blue t-shirt that had ENGLAND written on it in big, bold letters. However, I hadn't the temerity quite yet to get the two Union Jacks out of my bag and start waving them around.
As I was led through to the kitchen, I saw a big, white vat, in the corner of the living room.
Next to the vat was a bucket full of water, a towel and a chair. I noticed that the chair had a grandstand view of the television. Vlado saw me starring at the vat and grinned, then beckoned me into the kitchen.
Once in the kitchen, Vlado showed me to a table, where he had neatly set out all the ingredients for making kapusta. There was beetroot, apples, horseradish, onions, garlic, salt, peppercorns and, of course, cabbages - a lot of cabbages.
Vlado handed me a bottle of beer and then suddenly asked me how much I weigh. I made the conversion from pounds to kilograms, and came out with about 80. Fine, he said, in that case I have got a job for you. I reached into my bag for my digital camera, as if to show that I already had a job, and dutifully took a picture of the ingredients for the Slovakia - Heart of Europe web site. Vlado viewed the picture, and then asked me how to operate the camera, as he said that I probably wouldn't be able to take any more pictures tonight. I was intrigued.
Vlado began making the Kapusta at about the same time as the match kicked off. I sat in the chair next to the vat, which gave me both a good view of the television and also of the kitchen, where Vlado and his daughter had begun to slice up the hundred or so cabbages.
They used a sort of giant cheese grater, and pushed each cabbage back and forth over the blade, so that the sliced cabbage fell into a huge, blue tub below.
Once I had got the general gist of how they were cutting up the cabbages, I helped myself to another beer and settled down to watch the game. I could tell by the jovial mood of everyone around me that Slovakia must be doing extremely well. Meanwhile, England who were clear favorites to win the match despite being away from home, had had a poor start to say the least. In fact, England were so bad in the opening twenty minutes or so, that I turned my attention to what was happening in the kitchen.
While he and his daughter continued cutting up the cabbages, Vlado's wife began to add the sliced cabbage to the vat, the inside of which she had just smeared with an onion. Having added a layer of cabbage, she then added the horseradish, some of the beetroot and the apple quarters, a portion of the sliced onions and garlic, and a sprinkling of the salt and peppercorns. Once she had finished adding these ingredients, Vlado came over to inspect her work. Then he turned to me and told me that it was time that I began my job for the evening.
It was then that I found out that my 80 kg would be put to good use, for I had somehow been volunteered to press the kapusta. This would involve me standing inside the vat, and stamping up and down on the layer of cabbage, apples, beetroot etc., until it had been pressed enough for the next layer to be added. I could hardly refuse, as Vlado had gone to all the trouble of placing the vat so that I had a good view of the football, which Slovakia were continuing to dominate.
Before I begin treading the cabbage, I slipped off my shoes and socks and soaked my feet in the bucket of hot water. After a few minutes, I took my feet out of the bucket and dried them on the towel provided. As I was drying my feet, the unthinkable happened, Slovakia scored a goal. A huge cheer filled the room, then all eyes turned to me.
There I was, with foot in hand, as a dozen Slovaks taunted me with cheers of "Jeden - nula" and "Slovensko, Slovensko !!!". I conceded that Slovakia well deserved their lead, and took another beer that was now offered, to help console myself.
With the first half drawing to a close, and England not showing any signs of improving, my attention turned back to the kapusta, and in particular the big white vat that I was just about to step into. I tentatively placed my right foot inside the vat, and felt my foot slowly sink into the cold cabbage, apples and beetroot mixture. Then I swung my left leg over the top of the vat, so that I stood on top of the kapusta, slowly sinking to about half way through the cabbage.
As it was now half time, the focus of attention turned from the television to the Englishman marching up and down on the cabbage in the corner of the room. I had been instructed by Vlado to imagine I was marching in a circle, and to apply particular pressure to the cabbage at the sides of the vat with my heels. I did as I was told, and after a short while I felt a cool liquid filling the bottom of the vat, as the juices were slowly squeezed from the various vegetables and fruit. After a while, the cabbage had been pressed down as far as it would go and the liquid had now risen to above my ankles.
I was told to get out of the vat, and placed my feet back into the bucket of water. Meanwhile, Vlado took a cup and started to bail out the liquid from the vat. The liquid was a light purple color, and after Vlado had drained a few cupfuls, he paused to have a sip. He then offered me the cup to taste, but I declined raising my bottle to show that I still had my beer. He proceeded to take another sip of the purple liquid and decided that a little more salt was necessary.
While Vlado and his wife began to add another layer of cabbage, apples and beetroot inside the vat, I joined in the discussion that was now taking place amongst the football fans, as to whether or not Slovakia would now be able to win the match.
Some of the more pessimistic Slovaks argued that they were bound to lose as Slovakia had missed too many chances already, England were riding their luck and the referee was clearly England's 12th man. The younger, more optimistic Slovaks among us claimed that Slovakia would now go on to score three or four goals and give England a real thrashing. I sat firmly on the fence, and said I thought it might end up a draw.
By the time the second half was underway, I was back in the vat, marching up and down on the cabbage. By now, I had developed my technique somewhat, so that it wasn't long before the purple liquid was high above my ankles again and Vlado was draining it with the cup once more. As I sat with my feet in the bucket of water, while yet another layer of cabbage was added inside the vat, I saw that England were now beginning to play better and were having an equal share of the play.
This coincided with a few of the decisions blatantly going England's way, which resulted in me learning a number of new Slovak expressions for how to describe a referee.
During my third stint in the vat, Vlado informed me that it was customary to toast the kapusta at this point.
He then proceeded to open a nice Chardonnay and pour out a couple of glasses. So I stopped my marching for a moment, my feet half sunk in sodden cabbage, clinked glasses, said "Na zdravie", and began to enjoy a rather fine, white wine. It was exactly at this time, that England scored an equalizer.
A fourth, fifth and sixth layer of cabbage was added to the vat in turn, which I dutifully stamped on, while all the time keeping my eyes fixed on the football match, which had at last become an interesting game. It was now end-to-end stuff, with both sides playing well, and having a fair number of chances. Then, nine minutes from the end, England scored what would prove to be the winner.
Groans filled the room, followed by some more expletives aimed at the referee.
As the final whistle blew, there was a somber mood, as the Slovaks present realized they would probably fail to qualify after this their second defeat in a row.
Meanwhile, I took little pleasure in England beating a team who had out played us for most of the game. The Union Jacks remained in my bag.
After the sixth and final layer of cabbage had been pressed, Vlado placed a heavy stone on a plate and put it on top of the kapusta, and we then carried the vat to a corner of the kitchen, where it would stay for the next six weeks to ferment.
I looked around the room at everyone, who were still ruing the missed chances, and blaming the referee. At least the evening hadn't been a total disappointment I thought to myself. After all, they had kapustnica to look forward to, courtesy of an Englishman.