Cabbage Vegetable Soup

New Year's Eve. 2019 becoming 2020. Marvin was asleep by eight-thirty. Earlier every year. The disease is a thief of hours — it takes the evening hours first, then the afternoon, pulling the window of wakefulness smaller and smaller until the man I married is awake for a few bright hours in the morning and then retreats into a sleep that is both rest and escape. I do not begrudge him the sleep. Sleep is the one place the disease cannot follow. In sleep, Marvin is Marvin. In sleep, his mind is his own.

I sat in the kitchen — my midnight post, my annual vigil — and made the cabbage soup. The tradition. The superstition. The soup that Sylvia believed brought good luck, and I have been making every New Year's Eve since she died, and the luck has been variable but the soup has been consistent, which is, in the end, the more important thing. Consistency. The soup is consistent. The recipe is consistent. I am consistent. In a year where everything has been eroding — Marvin's memory, my certainty, the solid ground we built our life on — the soup holds. The cabbage holds.

I wrote in the journal. The clinical one. I documented the year: the wandering, the car keys, the increased confusion, the moments of clarity that break through like shafts of light through a window that is slowly closing. I documented the medication adjustments, the neurologist visits, the support group I attended once and left because sitting in a room full of other people's grief when I had so much of my own felt like drowning. I documented the grandchildren: Ethan (five), Sophie (three), Noah (nine months). I documented the blog: still writing, less frequently, shorter posts, but still writing. The writing is the breathing. When I stop writing, something is truly wrong.

At midnight, the Goldsteins' television. The distant pop of fireworks. The sound of a year ending. I said, "Happy New Year, Marv," to the sleeping man in the recliner. I covered him. I kissed his forehead. He smelled like he always smells: soap and the faintly sweet scent of his aftershave, which he still applies every morning because the ritual of aftershave is muscle memory and muscle memory is the last to go.

2020. Whatever it brings. The soup is made. The husband is sleeping. The kitchen is clean. The candles from Hanukkah are put away. The new year is here. I do not know what it will hold. I know what I will hold: a ladle, a pen, a hand. The three instruments of my survival. Let the year come. I am ready. I have soup.

This is Sylvia’s soup — or my version of it, the one I’ve been making since she left it to me. I don’t know if it brings luck. I know it brings steadiness, and in a year like this one, steadiness is the only currency that matters. If you find yourself at a kitchen counter at midnight, keeping watch over someone you love while the world makes noise outside, this soup is for you — humble, bracing, and honest, like all the things worth holding onto.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 45 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour | Servings: 8

Ingredients

2 tablespoons olive oil
1 large yellow onion, diced
3 cloves garlic, minced
3 medium carrots, peeled and sliced into coins
3 stalks celery, sliced
1 medium green cabbage (about 2 lbs), cored and chopped into bite-sized pieces
1 can (14.5 oz) diced tomatoes, with juices
6 cups low-sodium vegetable broth
2 cups water
1 teaspoon dried thyme
1 teaspoon dried parsley
1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
1 bay leaf
Salt and black pepper to taste
1 tablespoon apple cider vinegar
Optional: 1 can (15 oz) white beans or kidney beans, drained and rinsed

Instructions

Build the base. Heat olive oil in a large heavy-bottomed pot or Dutch oven over medium heat. Add the onion and cook, stirring occasionally, until softened and translucent, about 6 to 8 minutes. Add the garlic and cook for another minute until fragrant.
Add the vegetables. Stir in the carrots and celery. Cook for 4 to 5 minutes, letting them soften slightly and pick up a little color.
Add the cabbage. Add the chopped cabbage to the pot — it will look like a great deal, but it wilts down considerably. Stir to combine everything and cook for 3 to 4 minutes.
Add liquid and seasonings. Pour in the diced tomatoes with their juices, the vegetable broth, and water. Add thyme, parsley, smoked paprika, bay leaf, and a generous pinch of salt and pepper. Stir well.
Simmer. Bring the soup to a boil, then reduce heat to low. Cover partially and simmer for 30 to 35 minutes, until the cabbage is fully tender and the broth has deepened in flavor.
Finish. If using beans, stir them in during the last 10 minutes of cooking. Just before serving, remove the bay leaf and stir in the apple cider vinegar — it brightens the whole pot. Taste and adjust salt and pepper as needed.
Serve. Ladle into deep bowls. This soup keeps well and is even better the next day.

Nutrition (per serving)

Cabbage Vegetable Soup — The Recipe That Holds When Everything Else Erodes