As you step outside, the frosty air hits
you, and then-without warning-it just overwhelms you; you can feel it filling
up your lungs and spreading over your entire body.
Coming from the sweltering heats of Uganda, where yellow grass covers
the hilly landscape, the Serbian winters left me in complete awe. The cold was
refreshing, like a sweet iced drink that leaves your whole mouth tingling. And the sight
of the white, white snow—now that
left you tingling throughout. It was as if a sparkling white carpet had been
spread over the entire city. Belgrade is my hometown, and maybe for this reason
it has remained to me the most beautiful place in the world. The last winter
I spent back home is the only one I can remember; my mom, sister, and I had
returned to Serbia for six months and although the time was short-lived,
Christmastime and the sarma we ate one night, remains vividly in my memory. My dad had come
back from Uganda for Christmas, and our whole family sat around the dining room
table, chattering away, laughing, and listening to the mellow music that played
in the background.
It
was snowing outside but amidst the darkness, lights peered through and I could
still see the white sparkle that had fascinated me so much as a child. A light green,
slightly transparent roll sat on my plate; surrounding it was a brown sauce. I cut through
the piece of sarma, and I took my first bite. The taste was tangy, sweet, and salty
all at the same time. I was wrapped
up in scarfs yet the sarma offered such warmth in the cold winter. The gentle
chatter coupled with the lights, snow, and sarma was of much comfort, and in
that moment, everything seemed perfect. We returned to Uganda only a couple of
weeks later and since, I have not spent another winter in Belgrade. Sarma however,
will forever remind of home, family, and that Christmas of 1997. My mom
continues to make sarma every year for Christmas, Easter, and Slava, as part of
the Serbian tradition, and in some way, this takes me back home for the
holidays. Serbs eat sarma for special occasions (most often religious) but even though
sarma is closely associated with Serbia, the food originates from Turkey and
variations are found throughout the Mediterranean/Balkan region, making sarma a
dish that transcends cultural and religious barriers.
Growing up overseas, I sometimes had
difficulty relating to Serbs, Serbian culture, and even my hometown. Over time,
I became very aware of how different things would have been had my parents chosen
to stay in Belgrade, and I often wished that they had; the concept of ‘home’
had become so foreign to me that I could not refer to either Serbia or Uganda
as ‘home’. However, returning
to Serbia during the summer would bring me such joy; hearing Serbian made me
happy, and being in my hometown felt great. I wanted more than anything to feel a
part of the culture with which the rest of my family identified. As I got
older, I realized that amongst other things, food enables me to connect to home. Having sarma
with my family for Christmas, Easter or Slava is something that I have always
been able to share with other Serbs, and has become one of the few Serbian
traditions that I can be a part of even abroad. As such, I grew up with the
preconception that sarma was a Serbian dish and that the word “sarma” was in
fact Serbian. I was therefore somewhat surprised when I learned of its Turkish
origins. Many common Serbian dishes and drinks are from Turkey: baklava,
Turkish coffee, and burek. It never occurred to me however, that sarma too came
from Turkey. Turkish culture has for a long time now been prominent in Serbia
and has become a part of Serbian culture itself. Tsar Lazar stood against the
Ottomans at the Battle of Kosovo in 1389 and as a result, the Southeast portion
of the Serbian Empire fell under Turkish rule. By 1459, Serbia was annexed and the
territory that is now the Republic of Serbia was part of the Ottoman Empire
throughout the Early Modern period. Ottoman culture significantly influenced
the region, in architecture, cuisine, linguistics, and dress. One of the many
foods that the Ottomans brought into Serbia was sarma. Sarma means “a wrapped
thing” or “something wrapped” in Turkish while the verb “sarmlak” means “to
wrap” or “to roll”.
There
are other variations of the word in other Balkan regions in which the Ottomans
had significant influence. Bulgarians
refer to sarma as “surma” and Romanians call it “sarmale”(Alderson). While Serbs eat
sarma on special occasions Turks consider sarma an ordinary dish and often
prepare it the ‘short’ way (with grape vine leaves, or fresh cabbage instead of
sour cabbage).
Serbs say that to make the perfect
sarma, one must steal a stone from the century old pile by the parliamentary
building. The stone will
be perfect in every way: size, density, ‘smoothness’, and shape. At the end of
autumn, families in Serbia traditionally collect rocks from the cobblestone
streets to prepare the sour cabbage for sarma-making and this officially marks
the beginning of the ‘sarma season’ (Milisavljevic) These rocks are used to
hold down entire heads of cabbage under water in oak barrels; the cabbage soaks
for weeks and the longer, the sourer. Making
sarma the ‘short’ way often means buying the sour cabbage from a store or
market. I grew up learning
however, that store bought cabbage does not do sarma any justice, and that the sour cabbage must be homemade. My
grandma used to say, “All it takes is stones, buckets, and salt...It’s hardly cooking.” Indeed, there is
an old tale that says that the stones from the parliamentary building produce
the best sour cabbage and every year, kids pull pranks and attempt to take the
parliamentary stones. The winter of
1997, I remember my grandma taking out the cabbage that had been stored away
for weeks.
The
smell took over the entire kitchen but overtime, as my mom and grandma began
making the rice and meat, the odor became pleasant and tasty. Everyone knew
that the better the smell, the closer the holidays were. Because there
are no seasons in Uganda, my mom usually waits until the end of November to begin
preparing the sour cabbage. Our ‘first sarma’ of the year is for Slava: the
celebration of our family’s patron saint, Saint Nicholas (nineteenth of
December). Slava is a Serbian Orthodox tradition of the celebration and veneration
of a family’s own patron saint, and is celebrated on the patron saint’s feast
day (of course, many families share the same patron saint). In the days coming
up to Slava, families spend their time preparing food and getting the house
ready for guests. On the day,
starting early in the morning, guests show up with gifts (chocolates, flowers,
wine), and they share food, drink wine, listen to music, and enjoy the company. The affair can
last up till the early hours of the morning and the hosts must continue serving
food and socializing until the last guests leave. Most importantly, people can
show up as they like: there are no invites and everyone is welcome. Sarma has
been the main dish for Slava since the eighteenth century, and where there is a
Slava, there is sarma
(Milisavljevic)
The two come hand in hand, and as such, sarma has become an important dish in
Serbian culture.
Sarma
symbolizes festivity, family, and friends. Not only do we prepare sarma for Slava
but also, for Christmas (the ‘second sarma’) and Easter (‘the third sarma’). It is strange though,
that sarma, a dish that defines Serbian holidays and cuisine, has little
meaning in Turkey from where the dish originates.
The parliamentary building, Belgrade.
For Serbs, sarma became one of those
‘special occasion meals’ because of its long preparation (Milisavljevic). Growing up in a
Serbian household, I learnt that preparing food is almost as important as
eating the food itself, especially during the holidays. Preparation gives
time for families to share stories, to bond, and to spend time together. Sarma-making
begins in autumn (preparing the sour cabbage) and continues through to Christmastime (most
Slavas are within this period, however some are in the middle of the year and
preparation patterns do vary by family). Even though making the sour cabbage
takes the longest time, other preparations take almost twenty-four hours
collectively. Making the rice
and meat filling takes approximately three hours to mix and fry, and the
stuffing process takes another two hours or so. Pork chops must also be
prepared and seasoned (they are placed between layers of sarma). Then, the
rolls must simmer for up to seven hours on low heat. Because Serbs prepare
sarma in stages, and over such a long period of time, families spend time
making sarma together. The complex process means there is a task for everyone; my
sister and I usually cut up vegetables, and roll up the meat and rice, my dad
does the pork chops, and my mom does the ‘real’ cooking. Sarma-making is a whole event in and of itself, and the days of
preparation sets up the festive atmosphere, and allows for some alone time for
family before guests start coming over.
However, only in Southeastern Europe
does sarma take weeks to prepare; in other regions including Turkey, fresh
cabbage or grapevine leaves are used instead of sour cabbage. The sarmas are
also usually thinner and much lighter than sarma eaten in Serbia and other
Southeastern regions such as Dalmatia. According to food historians, the first
variation of sarma was the Turkish “dolma” or the Greek “thrion”. The earliest recipes that date back to the
first century AD made use of blanched grape leaves, in which rice, herbs, and
minced lamb was wrapped (Dalby) The Turks referred to
these rolls as “dolma” which has today become synonymous with “sarma”. Like “sarma”, the word “dolma” is of Turkish origin
and is derived from the verb “dolmal” which means, “to fill”. Davidson claims however, that the
Ottoman origin of sarma or dolma is sometimes obscured by the fact that in some
countries stuffed vegetables may be referred to by a native name that also means,
“stuffed”. For example, in Kuwait, sarma or dolma is called “mahshi brag” (Davidson) The
use of grape/fig leaves as an ingredient in cooking is however, limited to
Greece, the Balkans, and the Middle East. Nowhere in Europe, not even in any of
the vine-growing regions of the European Mediterranean west, do we find any
dish even resembling dolma, sarma, or thrion. Perhaps one reason that the dish did not
make it beyond Greece and never spread in Western Europe is because the
Ottomans never made that far.
| Serbian sarma made with cabbage |
Turkish sarma (or dolma) made
with grapevine leaves
|
The etymology suggests that sarma or dolma is of Ottoman origin however, the stuffing of vegetables has its roots in Arab cookery of the early Islamic empire in Baghdad (Wright) In the time that the Middle East was part of the Ottoman Empire, the Turks took from Arab cuisine, and the basis of sarma (stuffing) therefore, may be of Arab origin. Ancient Greeks also had a similar dish which they prepared using fig leaves. During the winter months, the ancient Greeks stuffed pickled fig leaves with sweetened cheese. These fig leaf recipes were later found in Croatia, more specifically in Dalmatia, and today, are common in Northwestern Italy. During World War II, those exiled from Dalmatia took fig leaf sarma recipes with them to Italy. In the novel “Esilio” (Exile), Enzo Bettiza mentions arambasici (sarma) as one of the give central meals of Dalmatian cuisine (Dalby). Because sarma transcends so many borders, its definition has become somewhat ambiguous. The Oxford English Dictionary defines ‘dolma’ in five different ways; each definition is categorized by year. The 1889 definition states, “A Turkish dish made of vine-leaves, egg-plant, gourds, etc., stuffed with rice and chopped meat” while the most recent definition from 1962 states, “Vine leaves stuffed with various mixtures and served in a tomato, or egg and lemon sauce.” The wide array of definitions reflects the diversity of sarma. The dish can be made in a variety of different ways, and can be found in a number of regions worldwide. Sarma has traveled, and moved around. The dish has evolved accordingly, and people have adjusted sarma to ‘agree’ with their culture. The way in which a certain region or family prepares sarma therefore reflects much about their culture. The Ottomans originally ate sarma with vegetables and grapevine leaves yet in Serbia, we use sour cabbage, meat, and plenty of oil. Indeed, Serbs would be more likely to use meat. Not only does meat define Serbian cuisine but also, keeps people well-fed through the cold winters. Rarely does one find a vegetarian Serb, and as such Serbs have always made sarma with meat (they also cook the sarma with pork chops).
I talked to my sister, Ana, a couple of
weeks ago and she told me, “Sarma doesn’t
even taste that good… but having sarma is always exciting...I guess it tastes
good because it’s so special.” For me and my family, sarma has always been a
special meal. Not only does
it remind me of home and the long gone Christmas of 1997 but also, includes me
in the culture with which I have struggled to identify. That being said,
I have come to realize the bigger picture. Sarma does not just represent the
holiday season, family, and friends. Sarma represents who I am. The
dish exists across an array of borders, and today, the origin no longer matters. Sarma does not
belong to one or the other, but to everyone, and its travels have changed the way it
once used to be. Like me, it
does not have one home but instead, has many. Moving around since I was one and half
years old was in many ways difficult but the places where I have been and those
in which I have lived, have shaped the person that I am today. In each place,
there is something special with which I will always have a connection.
Recipe
Ingredients
1
pound ground beef
½
pound ground pork
½
pound ground ham
1
cup uncooked white rice
1
onion, finely chopped
1
egg
½
teaspoon garlic powder
1
teaspoon salt
1
teaspoon coarse ground black pepper
1
pound sauerkraut
Water
to cover
Directions
Part A
1) Find
a heavy, compact, dense, smooth block of rock.
2) Get
an oak barrel (a wooden bucket will do).
3) Wash
each head of cabbage and if there are some leaves beginning to rot, remove
them.
4) Use
a very sharp, pointed knife to cut the ‘core’ in the middle out of the cabbage.
5) Rub
salt all over the cabbage head.
6) Fill
the barrel with the cabbage heads and starting pouring water into the barrel.
While pouring the water in, add about 2 pounds of salt. Also add a whole
cleaned and peeled red beet in it. Place the barrel in a shady storage area
where the temperature will remain constant.
7) Place
the wooden lid on the barrel. The wooden lid will most likely float (the water
should be filled to the brim).
8) Wash
the stone thoroughly and place it on top of the lid. The lid will push down on
the cabbage and prevent any contact between the cabbage and air.
9) The
process of souring lasts about a month. About once a week, the water in the
barrel is replaced. The cabbage can be kept in the barrel for months, and can
be used accordingly.
Part B
The cabbage: Take a large head of cabbage, with
big, healthy leaves. Take all the individual leaves off. Wash them thoroughly
in hot water, several times if needed, i.e., if your sauerkraut is too salty or
acidic. Drain the water and dry the leaves. Each leaf has a thick central stem
which needs to be carefully thinned (with a sharp knife) so that it can be
folded and wrapped nicely. Using one leaf per wrap makes large wraps with a
high meat: cabbage ratio (the way I like it). Alternatively, one can cut each
leaf in half and use each half to make a small wrap. Just be consistent with
your choice: all big or all small.
Meat filling: Use 1kg (2 pounds) of ground meat: beef, veal, pork, sausage or – the best – a mix of veal and pork.
Meat filling: Use 1kg (2 pounds) of ground meat: beef, veal, pork, sausage or – the best – a mix of veal and pork.
Cut up an onion and put it in a skillet with some
animal fat (oil will do, if you prefer). Cut up and add some smoked bacon or
neck (or other smoked meat). Add salt, black pepper and ground red pepper. When
the onion gets brown, add the ground meat, mix well, and fry it for about 10
minutes. At the end, add a cup of raw, white rice (in some places, for
additional touch of authenticity, they add barley or oats instead of rice, but
I don’t like this as rice remains somewhat firmer with prolonged cooking).
Wrapping: Take a large plate and put a single cabbage leaf on it. Put a tablespoon of the meat mix on the leaf, start folding/rolling the leaf at one end to cover the meat and start wrapping to the end. When you have a wrap that looks like a pillow, use thumb to tuck the loose end of the cabbage into the wrap. Repeat until all the meat is wrapped.
Wrapping: Take a large plate and put a single cabbage leaf on it. Put a tablespoon of the meat mix on the leaf, start folding/rolling the leaf at one end to cover the meat and start wrapping to the end. When you have a wrap that looks like a pillow, use thumb to tuck the loose end of the cabbage into the wrap. Repeat until all the meat is wrapped.
Cooking: Take a large pot and put some
dry/smoked meat (e.g., ribs or neck) on the bottom. Start stacking the wraps in
the pot. Stack them tightly against each other. Place the last remaining
cabbage leaves on top. Put a little bit of water in – not too much as you do
not want it to boil over and out of the pot. Get it to boil on the stove on
'very low' for several hours. Make sure it does not over-boil.
Works Cited
Alderson, A. D. ., and Fahir İz. The Concise
Oxford Turkish Dictionary. Oxford: Clarendon, 1987. Print.
Dalby, Andrew. Siren Feasts: A History of
Food and Gastronomy in Greece. London: Routledge, 1997. Print.
Davidson, Alan, and Tom Jaine. The Oxford
Companion to Food. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2006. Print.
“Dolma.” Oxford English Dictionary. 2nd
Edition. 1989. Online.
Milisavljevic, Ana. "Sarma." Online
interview. 21 Apr. 2012.
Milisavljevic, Marija. “Sarma.” Online interview. 21
Apr. 2012.
Wright, Clifford A. A Mediterranean Feast. New
York: Morrow, 1999. Print.
