It's been exactly a year since we made a certain Sunday Dinner staple. No doubt, the landscape of Sunday Dinner would be different if we hadn't had this one dish. It seems impossible that it's been a year, but the last time we made pirogi was September 19, 2010. Now that cold, rainy weather has returned to Portland, it was the first thing Cy wanted to make. So with a weak winter sun coming in the window, Cyrus and Dad are rolling the cheese/butter/potato balls.
While the dough for the pirogi rests, Cyrus is practicing his trumpet. He's been playing his trumpet for about a year-and-a-half, and he was just accepted into Sellwood Middle School's prestigious Jazz Band. He's the only sixth grader to get in in a number of years, and he's understandably excited. But right now he's more excited about dinner. The dough is getting rolled out, a plate of stuffed pirogi sits next to the bounty of a delayed summer, waiting to be cooked. Scout, a visiting Corgi, is playing with a laser pointer. It's been awhile (a year!) since we've cooked pirogi, but I remember the smell. The onions, the sausage, the pirogi, it creates a delectable aroma that you can't forget. The steam rising from the numerous pots on the stove creates an unforgettable image to go with the unforgettable aroma. Pirogi are really special.
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| Dried tomatoes from our garden |
The pirogi, as always, were tasty. We put them next to Otto's sausage and Mom's home pickled beets. With sauerkraut and sour cream to top off the plate, we had a flavor-bomb. Now if only we had something good to do with all those tomatoes.
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| The bounty of a delayed summer |
It's been exactly a year since we made a certain Sunday Dinner staple. No doubt, the landscape of Sunday Dinner would be different if we hadn't had this one dish. It seems impossible that it's been a year, but the last time we made pirogi was September 19, 2010. Now that cold, rainy weather has returned to Portland, it was the first thing Cy wanted to make. So with a weak winter sun coming in the window, Cyrus and Dad are rolling the cheese/butter/potato balls.
While the dough for the pirogi rests, Cyrus is practicing his trumpet. He's been playing his trumpet for about a year-and-a-half, and he was just accepted into Sellwood Middle School's prestigious Jazz Band. He's the only sixth grader to get in in a number of years, and he's understandably excited. But right now he's more excited about dinner. The dough is getting rolled out, a plate of stuffed pirogi sits next to the bounty of a delayed summer, waiting to be cooked. Scout, a visiting Corgi, is playing with a laser pointer. It's been awhile (a year!) since we've cooked pirogi, but I remember the smell. The onions, the sausage, the pirogi, it creates a delectable aroma that you can't forget. The steam rising from the numerous pots on the stove creates an unforgettable image to go with the unforgettable aroma. Pirogi are really special.
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