. . . and here are the pierogi, filled and sealed and ready for the freezer. From start to finish, the job took me an entire morning. But even though it was a fiddly many-stepped project, none of the steps was particularly difficult. I'm hoping the cooking goes as smoothly.
Except for laundry and scads of dishes, I did almost no housework this weekend. Instead, I cooked: cookies on Saturday; pierogi, ice cream, a roast chicken on Sunday. Paul promised to help me clean today, and I know, first thing, I'll need to grit my teeth and go food shopping. The editing may have to wait till tomorrow, or at least till the afternoon, because I cannot bear the thought of being trapped in the usual holiday ratpack at the grocery stores. Today will be my stock-up day for the rest of the week.
Tom gave me an early Christmas present yesterday--a beautiful rosemary plant, trimmed to resemble a little tree--which he couldn't hide in his truck (too cold) or in his study (home of our only pencil sharpener). Paul promptly named it Baby (as in Rosemary's), and she is now sitting comfortably in the front window.
3 comments:
Oh rosemary, the most wonderful smell! It grows wild many places in southern California! Wonderful! That Tom! (One Christmas I spent in a coldish travel trailer near Lake Hughes, we had a rosemary bush for a Christmas tree!)
Reading about your pierogi adventures reminds me of when my Israeli cousins decided to make pierogi, an all-day adventure the way they did it. Delish! Enjoy!
Happy Solstice and may the Solstice Star shine down lovely poems and warmth on you!
For awhile, we lived within a small community outside of Scranton Pa, made up of mostly second and third generation Eastern Europeans. One day a week, we met in the church basement to pinch pierogis. There, I heard stories of coal mine disasters, extreme poverty, and all the tribal gossip of the last 50 years. One woman came dressed in sequins and ostentatiously pulled off ring after ring before pinching. Another had super long fingernails but a sweet heart (the women in the kitchen fussed over her pierogis, since they often came apart in the boiling cauldrons). By the time we were done, neighbors were lining up at the door to buy them, both fresh and frozen. It's hard to think of making pierogis without the chatter of women, roll of the pasta machine, steamy kitchen, and petty squabbles that inevitably popped up throughout the day.
I love both of these stories!
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