Oh Hey! Let’s Talk About Braised Cabbage (And Why I Love It)

So, braised cabbage. Not exactly what you’d call glamorous food, but if I’m honest—it’s something I whip up when I want the kitchen to smell like Sunday afternoons at my gran’s place. She’d serve this with the roast (whole thing was an event) and the kind of gravy you only make once a year… or if you’re really, really craving carbs and nostalgia. My cabbage, though? It’s the weeknight version. Maybe a little less polish, but all the comfort and just as good with a crusty roll. Fair warning—your house will smell like cabbage for a bit, but in a cozy, homey kind of way, not “why does it smell like feet in here?” promise.

Why You’ll Love This (At Least, I Do…Most Days)

I make this when I want something fuss-free that feels like I’ve actually cooked. My family goes a bit bonkers for this because, for reasons I don’t totally understand, cabbage gets all sweet and buttery when you braise it long enough (not really what you expect from the stuff that usually sits in the fridge, looking sad). And if you’re feeling fancy, you can toss in bits of bacon—though admittedly, I sometimes skip it and just add a pat of butter extra. Or is it two? Don’t judge. (There was a time I tried to cheat and use the microwave—never again… trust me.)

What You’ll Need (But Honestly, Don’t Stress)

1 medium green cabbage (sometimes I grab red if that’s what’s moping in the veg drawer)

2 tablespoons olive oil—or butter, or heck, use bacon grease if you’ve got it. My gran would.
1 large yellow onion, sliced thin (or 2 small ones, or even shallots if you *really* want to impress someone)
2-3 cloves garlic, minced (not going to lie, I just bash and chop them)

Salt & pepper, as much as you like (I start with a teaspoon)
About half a cup of chicken or veggie broth; or water, if you don’t want to open a carton for just a splash
Optional: A splash of apple cider vinegar, for pizzazz (I learned the hard way that more is NOT better; start with maybe 1 tablespoon)

Handful of fresh herbs—dill or parsley, if I’ve remembered to buy them (if not, no worries)

Let’s Get Cooking! (Directions You Can Actually Follow)

First things first: Halve your cabbage and cut out that tough core. Chop the leaves into chunky shreds—I’m usually not neat about it. Thin, thick, whatever, it all cooks down.
Set a big skillet (something with a lid is ideal, but a bit of foil on top works if you’re improvising) on medium heat. Drizzle in your oil or drop in your fat of choice. When it’s shimmering, toss in the onion; give it a stir until it gets soft and—you know, sort of floppy; maybe 5 minutes.

Throw in the garlic; let that go for about 30 seconds (don’t let it burn or you’ll smell it all week.)
Now, in goes the cabbage. Heap it up. It’ll look ridiculous, but like magic, it melts down. Sprinkle over your salt and pepper, then stir everything around so it gets a bit glossy.
Pour in your broth or water. It shouldn’t be swimming, just a bit to keep things moist. Cover up (lid or foil, remember) and drop the heat so it’s gently simmering.

This is where I usually sneak a taste (careful; it’s hot). Leave it for 40ish minutes, stirring every so often so nothing sticks. If it looks dry, another splash of broth won’t hurt.
When the cabbage is silky-soft and sweet (sometimes I go longer if I forget about it), take off the heat. Drizzle on vinegar if you like, and a handful of herbs if you have them—or skip it, you do you.
Eat right away; but actually, weirdly enough, I think it tastes better the next day.

Notes From the Trenches (AKA, My Actual Kitchen)

If the cabbage still seems tough after 40 minutes, just keep cooking. Some heads are stubborn, I swear.
I used to pile in way too much broth and ended up with cabbage soup, which is good—but sort of not the point here.
Don’t get fancy with the onions; even the ones that are starting to sprout in the cupboard are just fine.

Variations I’ve Tried (Some Winners…Some Not)

Bacon—oh yes, actually fry up a few strips first, use the drippings for your cabbage, and crumble the bacon on top. It’s next-level.
Smoked paprika for a little color and a warm, earthy thing. Not for everyone, but I dig it sometimes.
Once, out of pure curiosity, I added raisins. Honestly, wouldn’t repeat (my kid said it tasted like “sweet coleslaw gone wrong”—he’s not wrong).

Sometimes I use red cabbage; the color is wild, but the flavor isn’t all that different.

Gear You’ll Need (Or Just Make Do, Like Me)

A big skillet with a lid is best. No lid? A baking sheet or some foil is fine—I’ve even once used an upside-down colander with a tea towel on top (wouldn’t exactly recommend it, but it worked).

Storing It (Assuming You Don’t Eat It All)

Just pop leftovers in a lidded container and stash it in the fridge. Keeps for 3-4 days, though honestly, in my house it never lasts more than a day! Reheat on the stovetop or zap it in the microwave.

Serving Suggestions (Totally Optional, Except For Me)

I usually pile it up next to mashed potatoes, but if you want a whole meal, try it with roast chicken or sausages. My uncle used to put a spoonful right on toast! A bit odd, but not bad, honestly.

Lessons I’ve Learned (The Hard Way—You Don’t Have To)

If you rush and keep the heat too high, you’ll just get scorched cabbage with a raw middle. Been there, regretted it because the kitchen smelled like burned socks for days.
Don’t overdo the vinegar. It seems boring at first, but the flavor sneaks up on you.

Let it rest for a good 10 mins off the heat—somehow it mellows out and tastes richer (maybe it’s science, maybe it’s just me).

FAQ – Real Questions, Real Answers!

Can I make braised cabbage ahead? Yep, and I’d even say it develops more flavor overnight (if you can resist). Just reheat gently—I usually just pop it back in the skillet for a few mins.
Can I freeze this? Well, you can, but when thawed, it’s mushier than I like. Still edible, but not winning any awards.

Which cabbage works best? I use plain old green, but Savoy is a bit fancier. Literally any will work—tried Napa once, not quite the same, but edible.
How do I make it vegan? Swap the butter and use veggie broth, done. Sometimes I skip the broth entirely—just water works. Easy as that.
Do I have to add onion? Not really, but… it’s better with. If you hate it though, go without!

What if I overcooked it? Happens to the best of us (more times than I care to admit). Just call it “caramelized.” No one will mind; truly.

Anyway, that’s my everyday braised cabbage recipe with all its quirks. Actually, I find it works better if you just relax and let the cabbage do its thing—you’ll see! Oh, and one last thing: if your dog camps out in front of the stove while you’re cooking, you’re definitely doing it right (well, that’s what happens to me, anyway).

Braised Cabbage Recipe