07/02/2026
Having some Internet issues with our blog. But our latest column is below. A tome on the shrinking waistband in marriage.
https://tryondailybulletin.com/2026/06/29/love-resized/
Love, Resized
Marriage, I had been led to believe, was supposed to make one’s waist band, and by extension, wedding band tighter over time.
This is not cynicism. It is an actuarial observation. Between birthdays, holidays, vacations, stress, and my own deeply held commitment to butter, cream, and second helpings, I assumed our rings would slowly become permanent fixtures, rather like load-bearing jewelry.
And yet, through some clerical error in the metabolism department, the Lady of the Manse and I have lost enough weight that our wedding bands now require resizing.
This is wonderful news, naturally. Infuriating, but wonderful.
One does not like to complain about improved health, better-fitting clothes, and the comment of friends stating “I didn’t even recognize you.” Still, I did feel personally betrayed. I have cooked sumptuous meals. I have roasted, braised, sautéed, glazed, and deep-fried with devotion. If marriage is a duet, I have been singing harmony in caloric abandon.
And still the rings became loose.
Such matters cannot be entrusted to a mall kiosk, a phrase that hearkens back to the Dark Ages of the 80’s . So we took our diminished fingers and their sliding symbols of matrimony to Frederick’s Jewelers to see Fred and Alexandra.
Frederick’s, as many know, has been in business for over thirty years, earning the title of oldest retailer in Tryon. This is no small thing. Retail years are like dog years, only with more stress and less mercy. To survive three decades in a small town requires skill, taste, and the ability to treat the latest Mrs. candidate like the first.
Technically, Frederick’s is a jewelry store. This is rather like saying Versailles is a house with mirrors. Yes, there are rings, watches, bracelets, and glittering baubles arranged with professional aplomb. But look around and the shop begins to reveal itself as a museum with a cash register.
There are statuary bronzes worthy of a quiet corner at Brookgreen Gardens. There is a copper alcohol pot once belonging to a Scandinavian baron who made his home in Tryon during the 1940s and 1950s, because apparently we used to import aristocracy along with silverware. There is even an antique mass calibration set that warmed the cockles of my nerdy engineer heart, lurking just below the skin within me. The missus saw me salivating, and cast her eyes towards the heavens, no doubt seeking divine assistance.
In a corner, I spied a copy of Yachtsman magazine from 1935, chock full of ads for wooden cruisers of Gatsby-ish dreams. Yes, even in the throes of the Great Depression, there was evidently a market for wishful thinking in a rakish captain’s hat.
Fred, naturally, handled the rings like a bejeweled firefighter who has seen every variety of romance, panic, anniversary, apology, and delayed birthday gift. He would not return them until he had polished them to a brilliance they had not enjoyed since the day we said, “I do.”
There is something daunting about seeing your wedding band restored to youthful radiance. One begins to suspect the ring is aging better than its owner.
Meanwhile, the Lady of the Manse had drifted over to study the diamond Morris the Horse necklace fob like a hedge fund planning a hostile takeover.
“I’m not asking for anything,” she said.
“Of course not,” I said.
“I’m just saying it’s pretty.”
“My dear,” I said, “Connubial bliss has taught me many things. One is that ‘just saying’ is never just anything.”
She smiled, set it back on the case, and let the silence do the rest of the negotiating.
Marital diplomacy, it turns out, has many dialects.
But the real jewel of the visit, in my opinion, was not under glass. It came from Alexandra, whose culinary heart, despite her Southern geography, beats with a Polish cadence. She learned Polish cooking from her beloved grandmother and speaks of stuffed cabbage with the kind of reverence usually reserved for oversized refrigerators and very reliable plumbers.
Now, I love cabbage. Caramelized, creamed, roasted, slawed, braised into submission. Cabbage is an underrated vegetable, mostly because it is cheap and foisted on us boiled to death with pitiful portions of smoked sausage. But stuffed cabbage is another matter entirely. It is cabbage elevated by purpose. A humble leaf wrapped around meat, rice, onion, tradition, and familial love.
When Alexandra makes it, she makes enough for family, friends, and, if providence smiles, the lucky customer who happens to breeze in when she brings some to her father. That is not commerce. That is a benevolent ambush.
Jewelry marks the vow. Food proves that you mean it, day after day.
So we went to Frederick’s because love had become loose on the finger. We left with sized and polished rings, a glimpse of Tryon history, and a recipe capable of undoing our recent progress.
Which seems fair. Marriage, after all, is all about compromise.
She gets a ring that says “I love you”
I get a recipe that says the same thing, in another language.
Along with a diamond encrusted idea for a birthday present.
Polish Stuffed Cabbage for 10
Gołąbki, adapted for a generous table
Ingredients
1 large head green cabbage
1 lb ground beef
1 lb ground pork
2 C. cooked white rice
1 large onion, finely chopped
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 eggs, lightly beaten
2 tsp kosher salt
1 tsp black pepper
1 tsp sweet paprika
1 tsp dried marjoram
2 Tbsp butter
1 large can crushed tomatoes
1 can tomato sauce
1 C. beef broth
1 Tbsp brown sugar
1 Tbsp lemon juice or apple cider vinegar
Sour cream, for serving
Directions
Core the cabbage and simmer the whole head in a large pot of salted water, peeling away leaves as they soften. Set leaves aside to cool. Trim thick ribs so they roll easily.
In a skillet, melt butter and sauté onion until soft. Add garlic and cook briefly. Cool slightly.
In a large bowl, combine beef, pork, rice, onion, garlic, eggs, salt, pepper, paprika, and marjoram. Mix gently.
Place a spoonful of filling in each cabbage leaf. Fold sides in and roll tightly.
In a bowl, stir together crushed tomatoes, tomato sauce, broth, brown sugar, and lemon juice.
Spread a little sauce in the bottom of a large baking dish. Arrange rolls seam-side down. Pour remaining sauce over top.
Cover tightly with foil and bake at 350°F for about 1½ hours, until cabbage is tender and filling is cooked through.
Serve with sour cream and a quiet appreciation for grandmothers everywhere.
Steven W. Siler is a chef, firefighter, and author of the Signature Tastes cookbook series. Reach him at [email protected]. Explore more stories and recipes in our Tastories collection at www.SignatureTastes.com.
