Blaukraut

100g of butter and lard down to 25g olive oil

That mountain of dairy and rendered pig is the first thing to shrink. I use just a bit of olive oil - yes, I know, not remotely Bavarian - to start the cabbage and onions, keeping some gloss without the heaviness.

What it costs you. The mouthfeel takes a hit. Olive oil won't give you the same richness or that round, farmyard note lard brings. The dish has a lighter finish and you might notice you don't need a nap after lunch. It isn't all bad, but you'll miss that velvet coat on your lips.

80g sugar down to 30g

German red cabbage leans surprisingly sweet. That's great at Christmas, but less ideal if you don't want a dessert on the same fork as your roast. I keep just enough sugar to balance the vinegar, leaving the rest to the apples.

What it costs you. It loses the pudding-like feel. If you want the classic, sticky-sweet cabbage, this isn't it. But I promise you don't need 80g of sugar to taste the apples.

Add 300g puy lentils

You didn't see that coming, did you? Lentils are the third thing to go into the pot. They soak up all the braising liquid, cling to the cabbage and quietly shove the protein up without changing the flavour much.

What it costs you. Nobody outside a Berlin vegetarian cafe would ever add lentils to Blaukraut. If you're looking for strict tradition, you'll hate me for this. But you'll notice it keeps you full for actual hours. That's worth more than another spoonful of sugar.

Cut red wine to 100g, up vinegar to 60g

The usual deep glug of wine brings body and colour, also a lot of sugar and booze. Cutting it back just a bit and nudging up the vinegar keeps the classic sharpness and gives the lentils a fighting chance at soaking up flavour.

What it costs you. You get a brighter, more vinegar-forward cabbage, a bit less depth. It isn't a dealbreaker, but don't try to drink the braising liquid like soup.