Serbian Sarma: Cabbage That Holds Its Own

The cabbage makes a difference

In Turkish, sarma simply means a wrapped thing. The word names the method, not the wrapper, so vine leaves and cabbage can both answer to it. The vine-leaf rolls had been pleasantly tart and comparatively light; the name alone had given no warning of this.

In shape and preparation, it was closer to the cabbage rolls I knew from Japan: minced meat wrapped in cabbage leaves and simmered until tender, usually without rice in the filling. The Japanese version used unfermented cabbage. For this kind of sarma, the leaves are fermented before they are filled and cooked, bringing their own sourness to the pot. In Serbia, whole heads are traditionally soured in barrels as the weather turns cold, ready for winter. I was eating it in early January.

The filling had a deep, concentrated meat flavour, with rice mixed through it. Between the generous rolls and the sausage, this was a decidedly hearty meal. Yet the cabbage’s acidity came through clearly, standing up to the richness and giving each mouthful a little freshness. The leaves had not managed to hold all the meat, but they held their own.