Bratwurst, purple cabbage, mashed potato

Braising means cooking something for a long time in shallow water and covered so that it creates a contained environment in there where the moisture keeps raining down on itself and coating itself over and over, for hours sometimes, but that can be speeded considerably with pressure. 

And something happens to sausages that transforms them, their natural casing dissolves to a flavorful goo and the meat with its added ingredients blend to a delicacy that is unmatched by grilled sausages, or blanched and grilled, or by any other method. 

This cabbage is old. Apparently it has a half-life of a thousand years. I did not realize they last so long.

I served this to bratwurst-lovering type people, skiers and such, who pile on sharp sauerkraut and slather on mustard and plunk a crackling grilled bratwurst onto a steamed bun, those guys, and they said,

"Damn. I didn't know bratwurst can be this good."

They never had it so tender, so mouth-meltingly splendid before. They hadn't had cabbage that tasted confusingly sour and sweet at the same time, which is actually ordinary.

That then was wedges of regular savoy cabbage and braised  the usual way for well over an hour.