My Family’s Holubzi – Stuffed Cabbage Rolls with a Heartbeat

Every time I make holubzi, I feel like I’m wrapping up little parcels of love. It’s not just food—it’s tradition, it’s patience, and it’s that irresistible smell that fills the kitchen and makes everyone hover around the pot, waiting for the first taste.

I still remember my grandmother’s hands gently rolling each cabbage leaf, her voice humming while the sauce bubbled on the stove. She always told me, “Don’t rush, the holubzi know when you’re in a hurry.” And she was right—these rolls reward you for taking your time.

So today, I’m inviting you into my kitchen to make holubzi the way I do—simple, hearty, and always with a story behind them.

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What You’ll Need

• 1 large head of white cabbage

• 1 ½ cups cooked rice (slightly undercooked is best)

• 500 g ground meat (pork, beef, or a mix—I love using pork for tenderness)

• 1 large onion, finely chopped

• 2 carrots, grated

• 2 tbsp tomato paste

• 2–3 cups tomato juice or crushed tomatoes

• 2 tbsp sunflower oil (or any oil you like)

• Salt and pepper to taste

• A pinch of sugar (the secret to balancing the sauce)

• Sour cream for serving (don’t skip this part!)

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How I Make Them

Step 1: The cabbage leaves.
I boil the whole head of cabbage just until the outer leaves soften enough to bend without breaking. Peeling them off feels like unwrapping gifts—layer by layer until I have a neat pile of green sheets waiting to be filled.

Step 2: The filling.
In a big bowl, I mix ground meat, rice, onion, salt, and pepper. Nothing fancy, just honest flavors. I like to use my hands—messy, yes, but it’s the only way to feel the mixture come together.

Step 3: Rolling time.
I place a spoonful of filling into the center of each cabbage leaf, tuck the sides in, and roll it up snugly—like wrapping a little baby in a blanket. If one leaf tears, I simply patch it with another. Holubzi forgive imperfections.

Step 4: The sauce.
Carrots and onions sizzle in oil until golden, then I stir in tomato paste, juice, salt, pepper, and that little pinch of sugar. The kitchen already smells like comfort.

Step 5: The magic.
I nestle the rolls tightly in a deep pot, pour the sauce over them, cover with a lid, and let them simmer slowly for about 1.5–2 hours. This is when I clean up the kitchen, sip tea, and keep peeking under the lid because the aroma is too tempting.

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Serving the Holubzi

By the time they’re done, the cabbage is silky, the filling is tender, and the sauce is rich and tangy. I spoon them onto plates, top with a generous dollop of sour cream, and watch them disappear faster than I can count.

For me, holubzi aren’t just food. They’re Sunday dinners, winter holidays, and that one dish I make when I need to feel connected to my roots. Every roll carries a story, and every bite feels like home.

So if you ever find yourself with a head of cabbage and a craving for comfort, roll up your sleeves and try holubzi. Trust me—you’ll be rolling happiness one leaf at a time.