With Cabbage Around the World

When winter really bares its teeth, and the days grow so short that lunch and dinner begin to resemble one another, sauerkraut steps onto the stage. It isn’t glamorous, it doesn’t smell of fine dining, and it rarely ends up on Instagram — but it knows the most important thing: how to warm you, feed you, and restore faith in simple cooking. In a pot of cabbage there is no pretence — only a slow flame, a little patience, and dishes that have survived far harsher winters than our own.

Sauerkraut is one of those rare ingredients that never tries to be fashionable, yet is regularly rediscovered as a “superfood”. It is rich in vitamin C precisely when we need it most, light yet filling, and has that almost magical ability to improve both your mood and your digestion. Fermentation gives it a pleasant, tangy liveliness that awakens the appetite — and the gut — which is why generations before us relied on it as a kind of winter “first aid”. Simple, affordable and reliable, sauerkraut is the quiet star of the colder months.

In Croatia, sauerkraut even has its own celebrated names, almost like footballers or winemakers. Varaždinsko zelje, protected by a geographical indication, is known for its thin leaves and gentle sweetness, making it ideal both for fermenting and for fresh preparation. Ogulinski kupus, firmer and more robust, is made for serious winter dishes — sarma, pots that simmer for hours, and plates after which no one leaves the table hungry. And then there is Brgujski kapuz from the area around Rijeka, perhaps less known to the wider public but deeply rooted in local tradition, with a pronounced character perfectly suited to the bora wind, stone houses, and a cuisine that is simple yet powerful.

Sarma is one of those dishes that needs little introduction — just the name is enough to evoke the season, the smell of the house, and the rhythm of the day. In Croatia and across south-eastern Europe, it is made from fermented cabbage leaves filled with a mixture of minced meat, rice, onion and spices, then slowly cooked with smoked meat, bacon or sausages that give it depth and seriousness of flavour. Although often perceived as “ours”, sarma has a long and layered history reaching back to Ottoman cuisine and the broader Middle Eastern tradition of stuffed dishes, where the word sarma itself meant “wrapped”. Over time it adapted to local ingredients and tastes, and in colder regions fermented cabbage became its defining feature. Today, sarma is indispensable on winter menus, festive tables and family gatherings — a dish cooked in advance, shared with others, and almost always better the next day, much like the stories told alongside it.

Bigos is a dish that is not so much cooked as it is built — layer by layer, day by day. Originating in Poland but closely related to the wider Central European tradition of sauerkraut dishes, bigos combines fermented and fresh cabbage with various meats: pork, beef, game, smoked sausages and bacon, along with onions, dried plums, mushrooms and restrained seasoning. This diversity of ingredients reflects its history: once a hunting and noble dish prepared after large hunts, later adopted by rural kitchens. Bigos is traditionally cooked slowly and patiently, often over several days, reheated time and again — because, as with sarma, time is its ally. In Poland it is an essential part of winter holidays and large gatherings, a dish symbolising abundance, togetherness, and that comforting warmth only cabbage and meat can provide when winter is at its harshest.

Choucroute garnie is Alsace’s answer to the question of just how much fermented cabbage can handle — and still remain balanced. At the heart of the dish is gently cooked sauerkraut, often scented with white wine, surrounded by a serious accompaniment: various sausages, smoked pork, bacon, sometimes ham or pork knuckle. Though it may appear rustic and heavy at first glance, choucroute garnie is in fact a carefully composed winter dish, born in a region on the border between French and German cuisines, where precision meets abundance. Traditionally served on large platters, it is a meal meant to linger over, around a table where people stay a long time, with a glass of dry Riesling or beer — a dish that does not demand attention, only time and good company.

Töltött káposzta, the Hungarian stuffed cabbage, is a winter dish that takes both time and abundance seriously. Made from fermented cabbage leaves filled with minced meat, rice, onion and paprika, it is slowly cooked, often together with extra layers of chopped cabbage, smoked meat and sausages. In Hungarian tradition it is a deeply festive dish, indispensable at Christmas and New Year, and every family has its own version — with more or less paprika, thicker or lighter, sometimes enriched with sour cream when served. As with its regional relatives, töltött káposzta is almost never at its best on the first day: it reveals its true character only after resting, when the flavours have fully come together, confirming the old winter truth that patience and good cabbage matter just as much as meat.

Holubtsi are the Ukrainian (and more broadly Eastern European) version of stuffed cabbage — a dish found as often in rural kitchens as on celebratory tables. Traditionally prepared from cabbage leaves — fresh or fermented — filled with a mixture of rice and meat, there are also lean, entirely vegetarian versions with mushrooms, buckwheat or potatoes. The name comes from the word holub (dove), as they were once considered “little bites”, delicate and carefully wrapped. Holubtsi are slowly simmered or baked in tomato or sour cream sauce, often for holidays, weddings and large family gatherings. As with all dishes in this family, they require time and calm — but in return they offer warmth, nourishment and a sense of home, even in the depths of winter.

Kimchi jjigae is a Korean winter dish that shows how fermented cabbage can have an entirely different temperament. Instead of gentle acidity and long simmering, here we find a bold, spicy stew made from mature kimchi, pork or tuna, tofu, onions and chilli, cooked until the flavours merge into a deep, almost comforting heat. Originally a everyday home dish — often made with kimchi that had passed its prime — kimchi jjigae exemplifies a cuisine that wastes nothing and knows how to draw the maximum from simple ingredients. It is eaten hot, with a bowl of rice, most often shared from a single pot, as a dish that warms from within and reminds us that fermentation is not just a method of preservation, but a source of character, strength and identity.

Suan cai is the Chinese version of fermented cabbage, but with a very different emphasis and role in the kitchen. It is a lightly sour, aromatic fermented cabbage (most often napa cabbage) that is rarely eaten on its own, but instead used as a base or flavour enhancer in dishes. It is especially common in northern China and Manchuria, where it appears in hot soups, stews and stir-fries, often combined with pork, fish or noodles. Unlike European sauerkraut, suan cai is lighter, cleaner in flavour and less aggressive, emphasising freshness rather than depth. Precisely for this reason it is an ideal winter ingredient: it cuts through fat, warms the body and brings liveliness to dishes eaten slowly from a bowl while the cold reigns outside.

Kaalikeitto is Finnish winter comfort in a bowl — simple, honest and genuinely nourishing. It is a cabbage soup (often combining fresh and fermented cabbage) cooked with potatoes, onions, carrots, and sometimes small pieces of smoked bacon or sausage, giving the dish a modest but meaningful touch of “meaty character”. Historically, kaalikeitto was food for ordinary people — a quick, inexpensive and warming meal that could feed an entire family through winter. Today it is still prepared in home kitchens and served as an expression of modest yet heartfelt Finnish culinary tradition: eaten slowly, often with bread, warming both body and spirit while the wind howls outside.

Whether we come from Croatia, Poland, Korea or Finland, one thing is clear: fermented cabbage is the hero of winter tables. Its acidity and warmth connect generations, families and cultures, turning simple ingredients into dishes that warm, nourish and bring people together.

Photos: Wikipedia Commons i Pixabay