it's because of the paprika

I'm conveniently Hungarian when the occasion requires.

(Such occasions include clothes shopping and hefting anything remotely more weighty than a loaf of bread. My sturdy Eastern European build means that I cannot fit into anything that's narrow at the hips or in the shoulders or has buttons over the bust. It's a broad generalization, and I'm sure there are many women of Eastern Europe who are lithe and lovely (and also lucky bitches), but a brief glance at the remaining photos my mother has of her family in Hungary, and you'll understand why I've taken to calling myself a strong Hungarian woman whenever I lug groceries or work out. I've got shoulders to bear a heavy load and hips to bear babies.)

There are other times when it strikes me completely unbidden--my affection for soups, which I inherited from my mother, is a Hungarian one. I've long thought that my taste for red onions, beets and other rooty vegetables come from that side of the family, but I've no idea if that's true. It's something my mother has said, when I reach for the creamed onions or put mushrooms in just about anything: "Your grandmother would be proud." (Honestly, my knowledge of Hungarian culture and cuisine is limited to my own household and my week-long visit there a few years ago. I aim to read a bit about it this year to educate myself.) One particular craving I've never had, historically speaking, has been for cabbage. That may not be the case anymore.

My mother went with me on my weekly grocery trip on Saturday, due to a bad case of the dizzies on my part, and one of the first things we saw when we walked in was a huge crate of heads of cabbage. And they were beautiful cabbages. They were lovely: big and leafy, invitingly just tinted green and white at the base. They even smelled good, mellow and smooth, somehow. I had to have one, and I knew only one way that I could have it: stuffed, just like my mother makes.

I'm sure--and I'm sure that my sister can attest to this--that stuffed cabbage was not necessarily something I clamored for growing up. Mom didn't make the stuffed cabbage as often as she made the stuffed peppers, which featured the exact same stuffing and topping. When she made either, she made a load of the stuffing and kept it separate, I remember, and that was probably for mine and Sissy's benefit. We loved the stuffing, how sweet and creamy it was. As we shopped, I made Mom pick out all the ingredients for me, choosing the perfect head of cabbage, the sauce, and the paprika.

We didn't end up buying paprika at the store that day--they had the generic paprika spice, but when aiming for anything made with paprika, I strongly advise you (and by you, I mean more specifically, my sister with her CVS brand spice!) to choose the more expensive, Hungarian brand. Go for the authenticity; it's not just a fancier spice, it's an imported one, and it's worth the extra coin. There are two kinds, hot and sweet, and while I could have used the hot sparingly in this dish, I wanted it for the sweetness I remembered. Mom had an extra cannister at home, and I filched it.

I googled the recipe today out of curiosity, and it turns out that Mom's recipe is fairly close to the "traditional" ones teh internets have to offer. Hers is just much simpler, lacking egg and onion. As I said, it's great for stuffed peppers as well, and I've a hankering to try it with mushrooms. Just out of curiosity.

For stuffed cabbage (of which I do not have a picture due to: dizziness, flickering electricity, and the fear that it had come out completely wrong):

Head of green cabbage
2 (8oz) cans Hunts no-salt added tomato sauce*
1/2 to 1 lb. ground meat, depending on how many you intend to feed and your preference; we've always had it with ground beef, and my mom suggested ground sirloin, but you can also make it with ground turkey if you don't do red meat. I made mine with a half pound of ground buffalo meat. It's very lean and has a very rich flavor.
1/2 to 1 c. white rice (uncooked)
sweet Hungarian paprika, to taste**
salt and pepper, to taste
sour cream***

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Peel individual leaves from the head of cabbage and trim them; you want the tough, white base that makes up the spine of the leaf to be removed. I found a large V-cut out left me with as much of the leaf as possible and made for easier folding as well as getting rid of the part you don't want to eat, because it's gross. Blanch cabbage leaves in boiling water (and a touch of vinegar, if you have it handy; I did not, and they blanched just fine) until limp and bright green. Lay them on paper towels to dry.

Cook rice according to package instructions. For a half pound of meat, a half cup of uncooked rice makes just the right amount. It's easy enough to double up on both. Brown the meat and drain.

Combine rice and meat and douse with as much paprika as you care to. Taste as you go, especially if you don't usually cook with paprika, as it is very sweet. The rice and meat will take on the rust color of the spice. Add salt and pepper to taste.

Spoon rice and meat mixture onto individual cabbage leaves and roll or fold them closed. Place each roll seam-side down in a casserole or baking dish.

When all rolls are assembled in the baking vessel, smother them well with tomato sauce. Add a dollop of sour cream to each.

Bake 30 minutes with a pierced foil cover over the dish. Remove foil and bake 10-15 minutes more.

Let cool, and stuff face.

*Honestly, I know that this sounds like making meatloaf with ketchup, but the paprika does all the work for this recipe, and the sauce, plain and as is, is a good pair with the way the rice makes the stuffing a little creamy, as well as the sour cream.

***I recommend not using a fat-free sour cream, which I did, and which frightened me. The sour cream does congeal a little, according to my mom, but the fat-free kind seemed unnaturally caked where it was and didn't bleed into the tomato sauce the way I'd hoped it would. It basically doesn't add as much to the dish as it should have. The little bit of fat will make all the difference.

**Get this:

Promise me. And if you don't, please, please don't tell me.