One afternoon in the spring of 1980, I was standing on the Great Wall just north of Beijing. My tour guide was describing various aspects of the wall and its history: like the fact that you could see it from space. (Today, she would probably say that I could find it on Google Earth—which I can.) I don’t remember much of what she said about the wall’s history, but I do seem to remember her saying how the workers were fed sauerkraut—in French, choucroute—each day. I suspect that the sauerkraut of Qin Shi Huang—the first emperor of China and one of the early builders of the Wall who reigned from 247 to 210 BCE1—was different from the choucroute eaten today in France.

I suspect that the ancient Chinese preserved their cabbage just as the ancient Romans did, by pickling it in brine containing sour wine, vinegar, or verjuice along with salt, and not by anaerobic fermentation. The acidic and salty brine preserved the cabbage, but did not ferment it.2 The first description of cabbage being fermented as it is in modern choucroute dates back to 1607,3 but the first actual use of the word choucroute is much later. According to Hordé, “The bringing together of the French words chou and croûte transformed, in second half of the 18th century, the Alsatian [word] sûrkrût into choucroute. The Alsatian word initially was adapted as sorcrote in the Les Dons de Comus (1742) of François Marin and corresponds to the German [word] sauerkraut, ‘sour herb,’ ....”4

Hordé continues:

This concept of choucroute being health-giving was whole-heartedly adopted by the naval forces of Europe, whose ships were supplied large quantities of sauerkraut to ward off scurvy among the sailors.6 The sauerkraut-making process leaves intact the cabbage’s abundant vitamin C (36.6 mg/100g).7 But the opinion that choucroute was salubrious was not necessarily universal at that time. Jacob writes in Mémoires du Cardinal Dubois: “Quand je fus bien débarrassé de la choucroute, je me présentai chez le cavalier de Lorraine, …” (When I was well rid of the sauerkraut, I presented myself at the residence of the Chevalier of Lorraine, …),8 and “Ayant toujours sur l’estomac la terrible choucroute qui me donnait des nausées à chaque instant…” (I still had that terrible sauerkraut in my stomach that was making me nauseous at every moment…).9 But at about the same time as these statements were being published, a contrary opinion also made it into print:

A century or so later, one writer found that the problem lies not with the choucroute, but with the meats normally served with it.

Although choucroute may have been given a clean bill of health, the workshops where was produced did not fare as well.

The anaerobic fermentation that turns cabbage into choucroute is a two-stage process. Initially, the cabbage along with some salt is immersed in the juice exuded by the cabbage. The cabbage is totally submerged in the liquid so that it is not exposed to air. The naturally occurring bacteria Leuconostoc mesenteriodes flourishes in the absence of air. It consumes some of the cabbage by metabolizing the sugars in it. The process produces a number of antimicrobial byproducts including lactic and other acids, carbon dioxide, and alcohol. While this is happening, the structure of the cabbage is left intact.13 As the acid level in the choucroute rises, other bacterial species such as Lactobaillilus brevis and Lactobaillilus plantarum take over the process and contribute to the aroma and flavor of the final product.14

Curiously, the earliest description I found for the fabrication of choucroute failed to mention the use of salt:

A slightly later recipe, as well as all the others I found, does call for salt.16 One recipe from mid-19th-century seems to combine the new method of using primarily salt and cabbage with the earlier method of brining the cabbage.

The most detailed recipe of the period that I found was from Gouffé.

Choucroute can easily be prepared in a home kitchen, although you may wonder if it is worth the effort. I think it is. The process is quite simple and the result quite tasty. The method I use is similar to traditional methods but differs in some notable ways. First, I don’t make the large quantities that traditional recipes are sized for. I can prepare an adequate supply with an amount of cabbage that can easily ferment on my kitchen counter without taking up much space. Second, I integrate the salt with the cabbage rather than layering it. This speeds the start of the fermentation process. Third, I use a clear plastic container for the fermentation rather than a barrel or crock. This way I can watch the process as it is progressing.

My container has a total capacity of about 6 liters. From past experience I know that it will reasonably hold about 3 kilograms of shredded cabbage. Consequently, I try to buy just a bit less than 4 kilograms of cabbage. What the French recipes refer to as chou blanc is what my market calls green cabbage, or sometimes head cabbage. Your market may call it by a different name. I try to choose heads that feel solid and heavy. I look to make sure that the outer leaves are fresh, unblemished, and intact.

I work with each head, one at a time, all the way through the process of shredding and salting. To start the fabrication process, I remove the outer leaves from one head and discard them. I then place the cabbage on my cutting board with the stem end facing me, and I cut it in half directly through the core. Each half is then placed cut side down on the board with the stem pointed towards my cutting hand. I then cut each half so the core is split evenly in two.

Now working one quarter at a time, I place one on my cutting board so that one cut surface is on the board and the other is towards my cutting hand. I use a large knife to make a single diagonal cut to slice out the core, which I discard. The quarter is turned end for end so the stem end is towards my holding hand and the piece is resting on the triangular area produced by the last cut. I then proceed to shred the cabbage with a large knife. I use the flat side of the tip of my index finger on my holding hand to guide the knife. My goal is to make the shreds as narrow and as even as possible. They probably average about 3 millimeters in width.

After each section is shredded, I place the shreds in a large mixing bowl and remove any thick pieces cut from the stem end that feel too coarse. After all four sections are shredded and transferred to the bowl. I weigh the results and calculate how much salt to add. I use 3% salt, by weight. To determine the amount of salt, I multiple the weight of the cabbage, in grams, by 0.03 and round the answer to the nearest gram. I then weigh this amount of fine sea salt and sprinkle it over the cabbage.

Rather than wait for the salt and cabbage to interact on their own, I massage them together until the cabbage starts exuding water and feels slightly soft. This only takes a minute or so. I set the massaged cabbage and any exuded liquid aside in the container that I’ll be using for the fermentation process and proceed to process the remaining heads of cabbage in the same manner as the first.

When all the cabbage is shredded, massaged, and added to the plastic container, it is easy to see that there is a slight difference in color between the different heads of cabbage. This can be because of color differences between the individual heads, but is more likely due to the heads being massaged different amounts. So I mix the cabbage so that the color looks even. Using the blade of a large rubber spatula, I press the cabbage down so it is below the exuded water. After each press, it floats up a little. My goal here is for it to be evenly distributed in the container and slightly below the level of the liquid.

At this point, it is possible to see that my shredded cabbage, which had a weight before salting of 3.2 kilograms, has a volume of about 31/2 liters. Instead of using a plate or a piece of wood to keep the cabbage below the liquid, I use a plastic bag filled with brine. I choose a bag that is slightly larger than the container and fill it with 2 liters of water mixed with 60 grams of fine salt. I use a brine so the cabbage liquid is not diluted in case the bag breaks. To date, I’ve never had a bag break. I heat seal the bag so I know it will not open accidentally. When the bag is placed evenly on its side on the surface of the cabbage, it is easy to see the cabbage liquid extend up the sides of the bag. Also, since the bag is clear, I can see that I haven’t left any significant amount of air sitting between the bag and the cabbage.

Finally, I place the lid on the container and set it aside on my counter. The lid does not form an airtight seal on the container. It is important that the gas created during the fermentation process can escape. The cabbage should be fermented in a room with a temperature of 24 °C or less. My kitchen is usually about 21 °C. The fermentation can be done at a much lower temperature, but it will take longer. Some people prefer a slower fermentation saying that it produces a better tasting choucroute, but I am satisfied with my results. I also don’t worry about the cabbage being exposed to light, although it is only exposed to ambient room light, not sunlight.

After a day or two, gas bubbles produced by the fermentation are noticeable in the cabbage, and the color of the cabbage is turning from green to yellow. At first there are just a few bubbles but during the first week there seem to be many. Every day or so, I remove the plastic bag of water and press the surface of the cabbage gently with the spatula, as I did in the beginning. This causes the gas bubbles to rise up through the cabbage and escape. When I remove the bag, I place it on the inside of the lid of the container so the bag does not become contaminated. One of the advantages of the clear plastic container is that I can see the bubbles of gas clearly during the fermentation process.

Almost all recipes that I have found suggest that any scum that floats to the surface is skimmed off and discarded. I have never seen any scum when making choucroute with the method that I use.

I also taste a little of the cabbage each time I remove the bag. I do this to see how the flavor is progressing. Initially, the cabbage tastes a little of salt, but as the fermentation progresses, the salty flavor disappears. Also, the aroma changes during the process. It gets stronger as the fermentation advances, but it is never unpleasant.

After about two weeks, no new bubbles are being produced and the choucroute seems to be ready. The color is now a dull yellow and the fragrance is delightful. At this point, the cabbage can be packaged—I use glass jars—and refrigerated until it is used. The choucroute will last a number of months in the refrigerator. But my refrigerator is small. So except for a portion or two, I put all my choucroute through a canning process so that it is shelf-stable.

I put the choucroute up in glass canning jars with two-piece lids. Any heat-processed canning system will work. I first pack the choucroute into clean jars. Then I use the end of a wooden rolling pin to firmly tamp the cabbage into the jars so there is only enough juice to barely cover the cabbage. Before placing the lids on the jars, I wipe the rims clean and dry. For this particular batch, by the time every jar was packed, I still had 600 milliliters of juice remaining. Some people drink this juice, claiming it is healthy. I don’t particularly like the flavor, so I discard it.

The jars are placed in a large stock pot and covered with warm water. The pot is placed over high heat and the water brought to a boil. I process the jars for 20 minutes past the time the water comes to a boil. I usually use small jars that only hold about two portions, but if I were to use a jar with a capacity larger than 1/2 liter, I would increase the process time to 30 minutes. After the jars are processed, I remove them from the water and set them aside to cool. Much of the liquid that was in the jars is now gone! I store the processed choucroute in a cupboard until I use it.

When prepared as just described, the choucroute is still raw and is sometimes referred to as choucroute crue. Occasionally, choucroute is served almost raw, but most often it is cooked for a significant amount of time before serving. It is in the raw form, already fermented, that most people purchase choucroute. It is still available from charcuteries, but it is also easy to purchase at local marchés and supermarchés throughout France. A century or so ago, at least one cookbook specifically instructed its readers to purchase their raw choucroute rather than making it themselves.

The author of the above recipe cooks the choucroute for three hours—a time I find a bit long. But Gouffé outdoes us both by cooking his choucroute for a full eight hours.

My recipe for choucroute is simple and tasty, and requires much less time to prepare. The following recipe will prepare enough for about two portions.

I heat a saucepan over medium heat. To this I add 1 thick slice of bacon that has been diced and an equivalent amount of finely diced yellow onion. I sweat the onion and cook the bacon without allowing either to take on any color. I then add about 300 grams of rinsed and drained raw choucroute and enough wine to moisten everything. When the liquid comes to a boil, I lower the heat, cover the saucepan, and cook the choucroute until tender, about 45 minutes. I stir the contents of the saucepan occasionally and add more wine if it become too dry. Before serving, I taste the choucroute and add a little salt if necessary. Sometimes I’ll sprinkle a little black pepper over it as well. I usually serve choucroute as a side dish with my homemade smoked sausages and hams.