The case was in the 1990s. The cabbage harvest that summer exceeded all possible records. And they roasted and roasted and marinated, except that they had not yet cooked. Throwing out is also a pity.

My grandfather, squeezing a little and scratching in the back of his head, took a wooden chair and put on it a cabbage good for a cabbage on the street, attaching a sign "FREE".

After an hour or two, the grandfather discovered all the cabbage good in full composition on the ground, and the chair as never before.

Halva, my dear ones, is a tricky thing.