By JULIA MOSKIN

Americans might think themselves masters of the all-beef patty, and Germans may claim bragging rights for its point of origin. But there is no burger passion greater than the one for pljeskavica.

This burger as wide as a birthday cake is beloved in Serbia, Croatia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Slovenia and Montenegro; and more recently in Italy, Germany, Chicago as well as Queens, New York.

“I never thought I would miss them so much,” said Irena Kuzmanovic, a bartender in Manhattan who is from Novi Sad, in northern Serbia. “American burgers seem strange: soft and without much flavor.”

Throughout the western Balkan region, ground meat is raised to an art form.

Sarajevo, the capital of Bosnia and Herzegovina, is famous for sausageshaped cevapi, the size of a fat pinky finger, served piled on bread or eaten by hand.

“When I was young we would go to Sarajevo and instead of going skiing, I would go to the town and get literally drunk on cevapi,” said Vladimir Ocokoljic, the owner of Kafana, a cozy Serbian restaurant in downtown Manhattan. “I could eat 50 at a time.”

Since the fall of Communism and the breakup of Yugoslavia, many young people from the region have arrived in New York seeking work, education and adventure. Charcoal-grilled pljeskavica and cevapi have become common in neighborhoods like Astoria and Ridgewood in Queens, where Bosnians and Croatians, Serbs and Montenegrins now open businesses side by side.

“As long as no one talks about politics, we can live together here,” said Ljubica Huskic, an owner of Bosna Express in Ridgewood and Pasha in Astoria. For pljeskavica and cevapi, the entire animal is fair game.

Formulas including beef, veal, lamb and - except for Muslims - pork are part of the butcher’s mystique. Even in New York, each butcher harbors secrets, like adding fat from around the beef kidneys, grinding in a little pork neck, or adding baking soda or mineral water to lighten the mix.

Ms. Huskic uses only Angus beef and rests the ground meat overnight in the refrigerator to tenderize it.

Tanya Rudanovic, who is from Bosnia and waits tables at Stari Most in Astoria, said that the restaurant adds a little bit of fatty lamb to infuse the meat with flavor.

Pljeskavica are formed from ground meat and minced onion, pounded thin, then grilled on both sides to a smoky brown. The word pljeskavica comes from pljesak, a regional word for clapping the hands, the motion used to press the burger into a thin round.

They were originally served flopped onto a plate, but as the American burger assumed global dominance, it became standard to sandwich pljeskavica between the two halves of a fluffy, spongy pita-style bread called lepinja.

These days, in Belgrade, the capital of the pljeskavica cult, the burger itself might be stuffed with mushrooms and mozzarella, or ham and cheese, as they do at Kafana.

Pljeskavica passion runs highest in Leskovac, the Serbian city considered the cradle of the dish. Each September, the town holds a weeklong rostiljijada, a grilling festival attended by hundreds of thousands of people.

With cevapis, the meat is kneaded to make it hold together smoothly. They are formed by hand or extruded through a funnel.

Depending on where you are in the Balkans, and the taste of the locals, the meat mixtures might be ruddy with paprika and served with fresh minced onions or cucumbers for crunch.

In the northern parts of the region, near Romania, pljeskavica and cevapi are traditionally served just with chopped onions and kajmak, a thick, tangy clotted cream usually made with sheep’s or cow’s milk.

“It is the kind of thing that everyone goes out to eat, maybe on a walk after church, or university students together, or after a night of drinking,” said Mr. Ocokoljic, the owner of Kafana. “It’s really great hangover food.”