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Inside-Out Stuffed Cabbage — The Kind of Recipe You Hand Down, Not Just Hand Over

May 2022. Spring in Memphis, and I am 63, watching the azaleas and dogwoods bloom along my neighborhood walk, the annual resurrection that makes the winter worth surviving. The smoker wakes up in spring the way the whole city wakes up — slowly, with a stretch, then fully, with purpose.

Rosetta beside me through the week, steady as ever, the woman who runs this household with the precision of a hospital ward and the heart of a mother who has loved fiercely for 38 years of marriage.

I experimented this week — smoked pork belly burnt ends, cubed and re-smoked with sauce and butter until they were sticky, caramelized, and indecent. The kind of food that makes Rosetta say "Earl, your arteries" and then eat three more pieces, because even nurses have limits, and the limit of smoked pork belly burnt ends has not yet been found by human science.

I sat in the lawn chair next to Uncle Clyde's smoker as the dark came on, and I thought about what I always think about: the chain. From Clyde to me. From me to Trey, maybe, or Jerome, or whoever comes next with the patience and the hands and the willingness to stand next to a fire at three in the morning and wait for something good to happen. The chain doesn't break. The fire doesn't stop. And I am here, 63 years old, in a lawn chair in Orange Mound, Memphis, Tennessee, watching the smoke rise, and the rising is the living, and the living is the gift.

The burnt ends were the showpiece this week, but what I kept coming back to in that lawn chair — what I always come back to — is the food that doesn’t need a smoker or a fire pit, the food that just needs somebody who cares enough to stand at a stove and do it right. Inside-out stuffed cabbage is that food for me: humble, filling, the kind of dish Rosetta’s mother made and that I want Trey and Jerome to know how to make someday, not from a video, but because somebody showed them. That’s the chain I’m talking about. That’s the dish.

Inside-Out Stuffed Cabbage

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 45 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour 5 minutes | Servings: 6

Ingredients

  • 1 1/2 lbs ground beef (80/20)
  • 1 medium head green cabbage, coarsely chopped (about 8 cups)
  • 1 medium yellow onion, diced
  • 3 cloves garlic, minced
  • 1 can (14.5 oz) diced tomatoes, undrained
  • 1 can (15 oz) tomato sauce
  • 1 cup long-grain white rice, uncooked
  • 1 1/2 cups beef broth
  • 1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
  • 1 teaspoon smoked paprika
  • 1/2 teaspoon dried thyme
  • Salt and black pepper to taste
  • 1 tablespoon olive oil

Instructions

  1. Brown the beef. Heat olive oil in a large, deep skillet or Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Add ground beef and cook, breaking it up, until browned and cooked through, about 8 minutes. Drain excess fat.
  2. Build the base. Add diced onion to the beef and cook until softened, about 4 minutes. Stir in garlic and cook 1 minute more until fragrant.
  3. Add the cabbage. Fold in the chopped cabbage in batches, stirring to combine. It will seem like a lot — keep going. Cook until the cabbage just begins to wilt, about 5 minutes.
  4. Add liquid and rice. Pour in the diced tomatoes, tomato sauce, beef broth, and Worcestershire sauce. Stir in the uncooked rice, smoked paprika, and thyme. Season with salt and pepper.
  5. Simmer low and slow. Bring the mixture to a boil, then reduce heat to low. Cover and simmer for 25–30 minutes, stirring once halfway through, until the rice is tender and has absorbed most of the liquid.
  6. Rest and serve. Remove from heat and let sit covered for 5 minutes. Taste and adjust seasoning. Serve hot, straight from the pot.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 420 | Protein: 28g | Fat: 16g | Carbs: 38g | Fiber: 4g | Sodium: 680mg

Earl Johnson
About the cook who shared this
Earl Johnson
Week 319 of Earl’s 30-year story · Memphis, Tennessee
Earl "Big E" Johnson is a sixty-seven-year-old retired postal carrier, a forty-two-year husband, and a Memphis BBQ legend who learned to smoke pork shoulder at his Uncle Clyde's stand when he was eleven years old. He lost his daughter Denise to sickle cell disease at twenty-three, and he honors her every year by smoking her favorite meal on her birthday and setting a plate at the table. His dry rub uses sixteen spices he keeps in a mayonnaise jar. He will not share the recipe. Not even with Rosetta.

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