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.
|Dried tomatoes from our garden|
|The bounty of a delayed summer|