It’s not quite six on a Tuesday night, and Sarma, the Middle Eastern-inflected restaurant in Somerville, is already packed. Sarma is the brainchild of Cassie Piuma, a James Beard Award–nominated chef who grew up in Duxbury. More than a decade later, the enthusiasm for the restaurant—a spacious, industrial spot in Winter Hill—has not waned. I’ve come equipped with both a reservation and an appetite.
The restaurant’s savory menu is divided into eight sections: ekmek, where guests will find appetizer breads; shmear, a category devoted to dips and spoonable apps; snacks, or small plates like pork ribs and Tunisian tacos; vegetables, a vegetarian’s jewel box; pastas, which incorporate, too, grains like couscous and grits; sando, a sandwich category; sarma, entrée-sized offerings; and, finally, shish kebabs that range from vegetarian to very meaty.
The restaurant takes inspiration from Türkiye’s meyhanes, traditional restaurants that serve rakı (a spirit made from twice-distilled grape pomace, not unlike grappa) and casual, traditional food. To start: an overturned dome of corn bread, flavored with honey and sesame seeds and pudding-like in the center; cut open, it reveals a thread of feta and wisps of hot peppers. The French onion tzatziki—a play on the traditional Greek dip made with yogurt, cucumber, and lemon—comes with focaccia, for spreading, as well as with toothsome mushrooms, thinly sliced cucumbers, and a wave of fresh dill.
The pork ribs “al pastor” arrive in a tangled pile, a mix of fall-off-the-bone meat, pickled onions, and ezme, a salad made from tomatoes, peppers, and onions. Beneath, a swipe of avocado crema, a rich and satisfying balance to the dish. A server dances around the dining room, holding a tray. On it: tiny bowls of crisp fried chicken, the evening’s special (I gladly accept one). The so-called pasta category, I find, is misleading. These are not traditional pasta dishes, but, rather, all intricately conceived dishes that happen to rely heavily on grains. I go with the mushroom manti, delicate dumplings plated beneath porcinis and over a sauce made from yogurt and the pooling yolk from a poached egg.
My favorite dish of the evening comes, I think, from the shish section. Two satay skewers, three pieces of shrimp apiece, beneath a chunky chili oil. Nubs of smashed cucumber, chopped peanuts, and piquant kumquat bring together an unlikely union of flavors: bright, hot, numbing, salty. That might have been enough, under ordinary circumstances, but I feel compelled to order dessert, too. The restaurant serves six petite sweets at evening’s end. I opt for the loukoumades, ricotta-rich Greek-style donuts. The halva caramel, treading the line of savory with sesame’s backbone, is extra. Don’t skip it.
But is one dessert enough? I’m not sure. At a neighboring table, I spy the deconstructed pavlova and order that, too. A yuzu custard, studded with chewy cubes of Turkish delight, arrives in a minuscule mason jar, served beneath a crust of broken meringue.
The diverse drink list—wines by the glass include Txakolina, a white Spanish variety that offers a hint of effervescence, and a dry Riesling from Austria’s Weingut region—offer more than enough to play with, even for me, a person teetotaling for the evening (instead of wine, I go for one of the restaurant’s nonalcoholic cocktails, the Sweater Weather #2, a well-balanced drink featuring lemon and grapefruit juices, date syrup, and Baharat spice mix). Diners can also choose from a curated list of canned beers (seven are available on the night that I dine, and most hail from New England), draught beers (Somerville’s own Remnant Brewing makes an appearance), and alcoholic cocktails. Those cocktails also lean into the restaurant’s culinary spirit. The Temporary Love, for instance, features rum, fenugreek, sesame orgeat, banana, lime, and cinnamon.
The next morning, once again ravenous, I am happy both that I have over ordered and that I have brought home my leftovers. The shrimp satay, reimagined over pieces of morning toast, makes for a fortifying breakfast that I won’t soon forget. The only thing missing? Sarma’s Turkish coffee, topped with a hint of cardamom. There’s always next time.