L.A. dishes that demonstrate the magical powers of cabbage

Brussels sprouts had their moment, propelled into culinary celebrity by the gastropubs of the 2000s. Cauliflower continues its reign as the go-to cruciferous substitute for meat-centric and carb-heavy favorites. Kale invaded the chip aisle and salad section of menus years ago.

I’m here for all the brassicas, but I’m looking forward to the cabbage glow up. It’s been a slow but steady road for cabbage, often relegated to a supporting role in the form of slaws and side dishes. It’s not often given the star treatment. When it is, I can’t get enough of it.

I started eating cabbage for dinner when Josiah Citrin introduced diners to his charcoal-roasted cabbage at Charcoal restaurant in 2015. The late Jonathan Gold decided it was the best dish at the restaurant in his 2016 review. I don’t know that I’ve ever visited the Venice or newer West Hollywood Charcoal without a charred wedge on the table.

“It’s a magical ingredient,” says Klementine Song, chef de cuisine at Tsubaki restaurant in Echo Park. “What you can get out of it without barely touching it is pretty impressive. I can’t say that about all vegetables.”

Kyabetsu miso-kushiyaki from Tsubaki

Kyabetsu miso-kushiyaki cabbage skewers with caramelized onion and miso butter from Tsubaki in Echo Park.

(Jenn Harris / Los Angeles Times)

Last week, from my corner seat at the Tsubaki bar, I marveled at Song’s kyabetsu miso-kushiyaki. It was presented as two skewers of grilled cabbage over a pale beige sauce. Simple and straightforward, it was also the cabbage glow up I’d been hoping for.

The green cabbage leaves are cut into precise squares, packed tightly onto skewers and grilled on a hibachi with salt and olive oil. The skewers are a mix of every layer of the cabbage, with varying degrees of firmness. Some parts are thick and still crunchy, while others are wilted and almost creamy.

Song cooks the cabbage on the hottest part of the grill for maximum char, leaving the edges black, frizzled and tasting faintly of smoke.

For the dipping sauce, she caramelizes some chopped Tokyo negi onions in oil, then adds sake and mirin to the pan. She emulsifies the mixture in a blender with sweet white miso and melted butter until a smooth paste forms.

I took my time plucking the leaves from the skewers, interchanging bites of plain cabbage with those I swiped through the sauce underneath. A few drops of juice from the provided wedge of lemon sharpened the miso-negi butter and made the flakes of salt pop.

Song says the skewers are a play on a grilled and marinated cabbage dish that was available when the restaurant first opened in 2017. Despite its popularity, the preparation used to smoke out the kitchen, and it was removed from the menu. She reworked the dish as skewers, and introduced them during the restaurant’s 7-year anniversary event earlier this year.

“I’m genuinely surprised by how well they sell, but it’s one of the top sellers,” she says. “Grilled cabbage on its own is so delicious with a little salt and oil.”

I’d have to agree, and would happily eat the skewers on their own. But I’m greedy with the miso-negi butter, and the plate returns to the kitchen neatly scraped.

Charred ‘Cobb’age from Agnes Restaurant & Cheesery

The Grilled “Cobb”age from Agnes restaurant in Pasadena features hunks of grilled cabbage in a play on the Cobb salad.

(back of house creative)

At Agnes in Old Pasadena, Vanessa and Thomas Tilaka Kalb are serving one of the most joyful menus in town. Caramelized spring leeks, spinach and raclette cheese come together for a hot and melty dip alongside wonton chips dusted with Kool Ranch seasoning. On Thursdays, they stuff fried Kaylin + Kaylin honey mustard pickles into a patty melt. They’re also dressing up grilled cabbage like your favorite Cobb salad.

It looks like a Cobb. It eats like a Cobb. But instead of crispy iceberg, or maybe romaine, there are hunks of grilled, charred cabbage serving as the base of the salad.

“We just love cabbage,” says Kalb, who developed the dish with sous chef Sharon Samosir. “We wanted to make it summery and link it to the Cobb salad.”

The cabbage undergoes a laborious preparation that involves salting the vegetable to leach the moisture, then tossing it with Old Bay seasoning. It’s submerged in a garlic confit oil, slow-braised until soft, then grilled for service on the hearth.

The garlic oil permeates each of the leaves, sweetening and mellowing any of the astringency sometimes associated with raw brassicas. The exterior is just shy of burnt, with various crispy bits along the edges. The insides remain soft and custardy.

It’s generously dressed with a blue cheese dressing that’s full of Maytag blue crumbles and studded with fresh chives and parsley. In place of the traditional Cobb bacon, there are prosciutto crisps that shatter on contact. Gold cherry tomatoes and sliced red onion offer some freshness. And in place of the chopped egg, Kalb salt-cures egg yolks, then grates them over the salad for a little extra salty umami.

Like any good Cobb, the “Cobb”age is suitable as a meal, impressive in presentation and filled with enough texture, whimsy and zest to be more compelling than every other salad on a menu.

Beyond the “Cobb”age, Kalb plans to introduce a stuffed cabbage this winter. And he wants to “lean into borscht flavors” with a possible beet stuffing and crème fraîche.

“Everybody kind of thinks cabbage is just for a simple slaw, but it’s pretty versatile,” he says. “I love it.”

Me too.