Cabbage, Apparently

Why the most unassuming vegetable is having a moment

I did not expect cabbage to be the food trend of 2026. Of all the things we could collectively latch onto, cabbage feels almost like a joke. Pale. Dense. Unassuming. The vegetable you forgot about in the crisper drawer.

And yet.

Here we are, reading headlines about 2026 being the year of the humble cabbage. Chefs rediscovering it. Wellness writers praising it. Social media suddenly treating it like some kind of revelation. Which makes me think this isn’t actually about cabbage at all. It’s about what people are craving: comfort, kindness, and durability. Things that are in short supply.

There is a quiet practicality in cabbage. One head can become many meals. Slaw one night. Roasted wedges the next. Soup after that. Fermented into something that lasts when you have the time and energy, or skipped entirely when you don’t. It stretches without feeling like scarcity. It makes abundance feel possible without pretending everything is fine.

That matters in a moment when grocery prices are high, time is short, and decision fatigue is real. Cabbage is forgiving. You don’t have to get it exactly right for it to be nourishing.

There has been a lot of talk about gut health lately, and cabbage often gets pulled into that conversation. Fermentation. Fiber. Healing from the inside out. I’m not interested in turning this into a wellness sermon. But I do think there’s something to the idea that we need to build a little intestinal fortitude for what lies ahead.

Cabbage intimidates people for only one reason: its core. Dense, tough, unyielding. It looks like something you’re going to have to fight.

But with a sharp knife and a confident cut, the resistance disappears. You don’t hack at it or force it. You line the blade up with the core and apply deliberate pressure. The cabbage opens cleanly. The work is precise and satisfying. Controlled, not chaotic.

This is work that demands a sharp tool and precise pressure.

In a moment built to exhaust people, cooking is a quiet form of resistance. Pressure is being applied everywhere. On workers. On families. On immigrant communities. On people who are already carrying more than they should have to. When systems begin to strain under that weight, the instinct from those in power is to push harder. To add force. To demand endurance.

But force usually signals the wrong approach. Or the wrong tool.

This week in Minnesota, pressure has become impossible to ignore. On Friday, January 23rd, leaders, unions, and community groups are staging an economic blackout, sending a message about collective power and resistance to what they describe as an unprecedented attack on working-class and immigrant communities. Many local businesses, including restaurants, grocery stores, and other small shops, have announced they will close in solidarity.

An economic blackout is not chaos. It is not destruction. It is precision.

It’s the sharp knife. A clean cut instead of endless strain. A deliberate choice to apply pressure where it actually registers, rather than asking already stretched bodies to absorb more. Withdrawing labor. Withdrawing participation. Naming leverage instead of pretending it doesn’t exist.

It is a reminder that the economy is not an abstract machine. It is people. And people can decide when and how they engage.

That kind of action comes from clarity. From understanding where pressure belongs, and where it doesn’t. From choosing tools that do the work without doing unnecessary harm.

Back in the kitchen, cabbage rewards that same clarity. With the right knife and the right cut, it stops being intimidating. It becomes useful. Nourishing. Capable of feeding many people, many times over.

Precision matters. In cooking. In organizing. In how we decide to respond when something hard stands in front of us. In where we choose to spend our hard-earned money.

Sometimes the most effective thing you can do is stop pushing and reach for the sharp knife instead. Spend your money with businesses that show up for their communities. Buy food grown close to home, by people you can name. Check in on neighbors who may be feeling afraid or exposed. Use the tools you already have to apply care where it counts.

And maybe that is enough.