Give me some salted cabbage, no sauerkraut!

I bought the December issue of Хлеб*Соль (Bread*Salt) because it advertised an interview with Valery Syutkin, whose music makes me feel happy and nostalgic. What's that tower of veggies on the cover? It's салат оливье (Olivier salad), the eternal "company's coming" dish made of finely diced potatoes, carrots, pickles, hard-boiled egg, green peas and the meat of your choice, all dressed with mayonnaise and lots of fresh herbs. That may not sound fantastic, but I've had iterations that were very tasty. My friend and mentor Alla Kornibad always added diced green apple. My mother-in-law dresses the salad with sour cream instead of the hated mayonnaise, which she claims is an urban abomination particular to Muscovites. All the wonderful advice I've received about rescuing Olivier from its many pitfalls is for naught - I won't be making it for New Year's or any other holiday.

I do, however, want to make квашенная капуста (salted cabbage). It's nothing like the sauerkraut I remember trying sparingly at church suppers and German-themed festivals in Texas. Russian salted cabbage contains nothing but finely sliced white cabbage, julienned carrots and salt (non-iodized). I've even got a special cabbage knife that produces paper-thin strings of cabbage. You put it all together in a big jar or pot, cover it, and poke holes in it every few days until it tastes done. It isn't really done, however, until you dress a bowl of it with unrefined sunflower oil and add fresh cranberries and chopped green onion. Then you're in heaven (if that's your kind of thing). There's a good article in this issue of Bread*Salt about salted cabbage. From it I learned the word крошиво (kroshivo) - salted cabbage made from the tough outer leaves of the head, plus rye flour.