Japanese Cabbage Salad, How to Make it Literally Addictive

This Japanese Cabbage Salad with Garlic and Sesame is is called "yamitsuki," which literally translates to "addiciting," you won't believe that it only has a few ingredients and is so incredibly fast (5 minutes!) and easy to make! Shall we?

Explore More

• What is Japanese Cabbage Salad?
• Ingredients You Need for Japanese Cabbage Salad
• What Kind of Cabbage Should I Use for Salad?
• How Many Pounds is a Head of Cabbage?
• Instructions How to Make Japanese Cabbage Salad
• Best Cabbage Recipes
• Addictive Japanese Cabbage Salad recipe

What is Japanese Cabbage Salad?

This specific style of salad is called "yamitsuki" because once you taste the salty, savory, deeply umami-rich cabbage, you won't be able to stop eating what's on your plate in front of you, and you'll crave it when it's not. Izakayas, Japanese restaurants that are kind of restaurant/pub hybrid, serve it alongside richer grilled meats as a light, crisp counter-balance.

The traditional way of preparing yamitsuki is chopping or tearing cabbage leaves into large 1½- to 2-inch pieces, and that's great, but my preference is always to make things a little easier to eat, so I shred the cabbage. This Japanese Cabbage Salad with Garlic and Sesame might be a slight departure from traditional yamitsuki, but it's still so incredibly addicitive.

By the way, this Yamitsuki "Addictive" Cabbage Salad with Garlic and Sesame is different from another Japanese cabbage salad, which is made of very finely shredded, almost angel hair-like cabbage dressed with a mayo-based dressing.

Ingredients You Need for Japanese Cabbage Salad

for the Garlic Sesame Dressing:

• garlic, 1 large clove, grated
• toasted sesame seeds, 2 tablespoons ground in a mortar and pestle or small blender
• toasted sesame oil, 2 tablespoons
• sea salt, ½ teaspoon
• mushroom bouillon, ½ teaspoon

for the Cabbage:

• Cabbage, ½ head sliced into ¼-inch wide strips, 1½ pounds
• Toasted sesame seeds, 1 tablespoon for garnish

Optional: chile flakes, nori flakes, sliced green onions added for an extra flavor boost

However, any type of green or white cabbage, Taiwanese flat, Napa cabbage, cone-shaped hispi cabbage, works for this recipe. The nutritional profiles across the types are generally fairly similar. Some varieties are milder in flavor than others, but in this recipe, the differences are not noticeable because of the flavors of the other ingredients, namely the miso.

How Many Pounds is a Head of Cabbage?

Because cabbages come in different types, sizes, and density (how tightly packed the leaves are), it's better to "measure" cabbage by actual pounds, not by number of heads.

According to the USDA, an "average" cabbage weighs between 2 and 3 pounds, but what is this? The 1800s? Have you seen cabbages in grocery stores? They have gotten MUCH bigger, and the average green cabbage based on my own experience weighs more like 4-5 pounds.

Instructions How to Make Japanese Cabbage Salad

If you haven't already, remove any bruised or wilted outer leaves, and slice off the dried end of the core. Place half a head of cabbage cut-side down on a cutting board and slice into ¼-inch wide strips. Wash and dry.

Transfer the dressed Cabbage Salad to a serving bowl. Garnish with 1 tablespoon whole toasted sesame seeeds.

Best Cabbage Recipes

You're definitely not going to have leftover cabbage from this Cabbage Salad recipe, so you'll have to go out and buy another whole head. But since cabbage is so delicious and affordable and lasts forever in the fridge, why not grab a couple and make these recipes:

Food for Afterthoughts

I think it's time I finally talk about it here on The Delicious Life.

I've been seeing this guy now for, hm, maybe nine years? I don't know exactly, as I don't recall the details of the first time I ever met him, but I'll tell you, that first time must have been magical for me because we are both okay with it not being an official, regular "relationship." It's a convenience thing - "on" when it's convenient, "off" when it's not.

Our moments are our own, so I don't ask about others, or even if there are others. To be quite honest, I don't really care. I mean, I suppose I could drive myself crazy wondering how he tides himself over when it isn't me, but that kind of feminine jealousy works on Venus and Mars, not in this warped, twisted galaxy of mine called the Delicious Life. Besides, he, like me, can take care of himself. We never talk about stuff like that. Never have. Never will. In fact, we don't really talk much at all.

It is, I guess, highly irregular, especially in times like these when most people have someone they see regularly. There are times when I think I don't need him. I go for weeks on end without seeing him. Not face to face, not even an attempt that I end up cancelling later, no, not even a phone call. But then I'm twisted, banged up, something horrible happens and I go crawling back to him. He never ever turns me down.

In public, we exchange quiet perfunctory "hello"s and "how are you"s before he gently whisks me away to his room. He turns down the light for me because, well, many of us are shy about ourselves under full light.

No person, man or woman, touches me the way he does. He has the delicate touch of a girl, which sounds gay, but he has the brute force of a man twice his size, and he is, well, a very tiny Asian man. Yes, I said tiny Asian man. It seems strange, as I have always been more accustomed to big burly European men with big muscles, big hands, just big. He is a small Asian man; small, but certainly not weak. He is tight, fit, strong. That is what makes him better, I think.

After three years, he knows me. He knows exactly how to work me. He always starts off slowly. His smooth, soft hands glide all over my skin like silk on silk, pushing, pulling, stretching, warming me up. He knows where my soft spots are, where he has to be tender. Halfway there, and he starts to press hard, using a lot of pressure, digging deep, deep deep, and just when I think he won't go deeper, he does. Every muscle, every fiber every tendon from my scalp down to my toes is wound up so tightly that I could light the entire Vegas strip with the k= ½mv2 that's built up in my body. He's right there, he's found the spot and he's working it. He's almost there. My face is smashed into the sheet and between each rhythmic, forceful pound, I haltingly squeak out a breathless "Can you *breath* do it *breath* a little *breath* harder?"

He knows when he's finally found that one spot because he can sense it in my body's reaction. He just punches into it over and over and over, until I'm right at that tenuous line that takes an eternity to get to. In one last final pound, I'm blasted across that line in an all-too-ephemeral moment, and like a knot that unravels all by itself, the tension dissolves all over me. Finally I can exhale. I'm weeping, black mascara smudges all over the sheet, not because it hurts, but because...it hurts.

No one does a deep tissue massage for $95 better than Thanh. No one.

The place where Thanh works his magic is bare bones. There's no trickling waterfall, no dim serenity with flickering candlight and no complimentary cucumber essence water, and yet, in its stark austerity, it is absolute zen. I swore to myself I would never ever blog about this little indulgence of mine, my weekly deep tissue massages with this tiny Asian massage therapist named Thanh. (I think he's Vietnamese, but you know how all those Asians look alike.) I didn't want to admit that I actually do pamper myself once a week (I'm not a princess, I swear!), and I certainly didn't want to give away the secret that it's only $95. What if I told everyone and then they all call Thanh for a massage and he doesn't have time for me anymore? This is my moment of therapy. Mine! Some people pay $65 an hour to talk to a therapist. I pay $65 an hour so I don't have to unless I want to. Sometimes a full hour will go by and the only words I utter are "thank you" at the end, and sometimes, I chatter on about how much I love/hate being unemployed. I'm pretty sure that he can't understand a word I'm saying. Is that horribly racist? No. It's exactly like the dentist who nods and smiles in complete understanding when he's got his two fists wadded up inside your cheeks. Thanh just responds to my muffled ramblings with an occasional "mm hm." It's very therapeutic.

When I gave my cabbage a full rubdown with sesame oil, miso, and garlic I'm sure that a head of cabbage felt nowhere near as relaxed as I do. I could have just tossed the shreds with the sesame miso dressing, but for some reason, I felt the need to really get down in there between the cracks and crevices of each leaf. After a few minutes, the cabbage is as soft and tender as my trapezoids after a full hour with Thanh.

And much tastier.