We had Jeramy, Kelly and Michael over for dinner last night. The main course was pierogi. I’m not at all surprised that many of you don’t know what a pierogi is. If you’ve never been to Pennsylvania, NYC or Poland, how could you possibly know.
A pierogi is the national food of Poland. During the communist regime, when the potato was king, it was consumed in vast quantities. Which accounts for the fact that a Pole’s average life span is somewhere between 27 and 28. It’s sort of a dumpling. A wad of mashed potatoes and cheese, or for that matter any white stuff hanging out in the ice box, is slapped on to a square of rolled dough. The dough is folded over and the edges are crimped. These morsels are then lovingly placed into boiling water. Upon cooling the pierogies are then fried in butter and onions.
They were a block away when our guest noted the perfume of butter and onions in the air. Warm greetings were exchanged and we all instantly repaired to the dining room. Jeramy is my personal trainer. Thus far I’ve learned to sit, lie down and play dead. Michael is my acupuncturist. A sweet guy but a little hung up on this needle thing. He told me that last week we managed to ward off the bubonic plague and leprosy. Damned if he didn’t.
The pierogies were consumed with a slavic fervor seldom seen in Louisville. Served with sour cream, they did more than stick to the ribs. They replaced the ribs. Rounding out the traditional Polish food festival were kielbasa, pickled beets and cucumber salad. Normally, after dinner, cigars would have been passed around, but with the group being so health conscious, we deferred.
Hugs and farewells, as the promises of golumpki now hanging in the air. Oh! You don’t know what a golumpki is? Well…