Out here in far West Texas—drifting into Northern New Mexico too—cabbage isn’t just a garnish. It’s an event.
Most people reach for coleslaw like it’s potato salad. Soft. Predictable. This region prefers bite. Cabbage. Radishes. Drenched in something that wakes you up.
Back when I cooked my first book, I built a bridge between those worlds. Green cabbage meets sliced radish. The dressing? Poblano chiles whipping through buttermilk. Tangy enough to cut through grease. Sharp enough to demand attention.
Years later I was elbow-deep in research with East Coast food writers. A Texas media project. They wanted the real Texas. We headed for El Paso.
One of them found gold in a backyard barbecue. No plate. No napkin. Just a cabbage and radish salad that chilled her on a hot afternoon.
It was crisp. It was refreshing. It paired with hearty meats without asking for permission.
I hadn’t.
