I broke a sweat on a recent evening while in the cellar.

Like most underground places, it’s a cool spot, even when the oil burner is humming.

But I was using a weighty wooden “stomper” to crunch and smash salted shreds of cabbage. For someone who spends most days sitting at a desk, this was strenuous.

Believe me, though, the resulting sauerkraut will be worth it.

October brings pumpkins, witches, chocolate candy (if you’re lucky) — and cabbage. Lots and lots of cabbage!

So when the month rolls around, I refer to a recipe — more like instructions — written by my late father. It was something passed on to him by my late grandfather, whose sauerkraut was so good that when he’d share it with the proprietors of a local butcher shop he’d be rewarded with “prime cuts of meat,” or so my mom says.

When I was a kid, Dad and I would start a batch each October.

We used Pop’s mandolin, an old and dangerous wooden contraption reminiscent of a guillotine. It shreds heads of cabbage quickly, almost violently, and definitely wouldn’t pass today’s safety inspections.

So it was good that Dad didn’t allow a 7-year-old me use that shredder (a sound parenting move because a decades-old me just sliced a middle finger with the “Tee-Dee Kraut Cutter”).

I’d watch as Dad cut the cabbage into slivers, anxiously waiting for him to accumulate a pile that I could salt and mix with my hands.

Once that was achieved, he’d grab the stomper, and hit the cabbage over and over, trying to extract as much water as he could.

We’d load the pulverized leaves into a crock, cover it and place something heavy on top.

While we had — and I still have — the stomper and shredder — what we didn’t have was Pop’s special “sauerkraut rock.” Rumor has it that he was strolling in the woods one day and came across the perfect-sized boulder to use for his kraut crock. He lugged it home, scrubbed off the dirt and pebbles, then put it on the stove to boil.

He’d boil that rock for hours each time he used it to weight down a new batch — and he swore that it played a major role in the success and popularity of his sauerkraut.

“Once those old timers got a good rock, it became almost as important as a kitchen utensil,” my Uncle Jack told me.

According to Pop’s instructions, which my dad copied onto a wooden board in our cellar (because that’s where we always made and stored our batches), you’d poke through the mixture from top to bottom after a few days. The key was to use a “clean stick.”

“Repeat every 2 - 3 days while fermenting,” he wrote.

Of course, when I’d help with the “clean stick” task, I’d prepare myself for the uncovering of the cabbage. As the days wore on, it would smell more and more tangy and earthy and definitely sauerkraut-y.

I’d hold my nose for effect, even though I was secretly thrilled that what we were making through this fermentation process was like something out of an episode of “Mr. Wizard.”

So, too, was the recipe’s note to “remove mold from top if it forms.” Talk about a science lesson!

When it sat long enough to turn into sauerkraut, we’d pack it in jars. We’d keep some for home — even though I didn’t eat it back then. Other jars went to friends and family, meaning that I was known as a “sauerkraut helper” in this small circle, and that made me happy.

Our last batch — number 8, recorded in my handwriting on that cellar board — was when I was 10. Dad would pass away unexpectedly the next year.

It wasn’t until I was older and started to eat sauerkraut that my good buddy, Ed Krout (yes, you read that right: His last name sounds just like the “kraut” in sauerkraut), handed me a jar of his homemade stuff.

And wow! Was it ever delicious.

I told him how I was a sauerkraut helper back in the day. I mentioned that I had the stomper and the shredder but not the rock. We’d also since lost the crock, which went missing when my mom decided to use it as a “porch decoration.”

Mr. Krout told me about a good replacement: a fermentation crock. It’s basically a set-and-forget container to make sauerkraut. I purchased one immediately because, heck, there’s no reason to use a clean stick, no reason to boil a rock (even if I COULD find the perfect one) — and no mold to skim. It does it all by itself!

Making sauerkraut this way is so easy (minus the stomping part).

The latest batch is together and will hang out in the cellar for a while. I’ll test it every now and again until it tastes just right.

I’ll save some for New Year’s Day, since many believe eating it on New Year’s Day brings good luck. And maybe it does.

What I DO know is that this kraut will bring good fortune — maybe not choice cuts of meat from the butcher shop, but the good memories of making it and the stories that we’ll recall about Pop and Dad.

Contact Jill Whalen at jwhalen@tnonline.com.