Most kids leave Santa cookies. My brother and I would try to bribe him with an extra treat: a couple leftover pierogi from our Christmas Eve dinner.
Instead of sugar plums, pierogi danced in my head. And while I never admitted it in my letter to Santa, I was an accomplished pierogi thief. While they were kept warm on the stove ahead of our guests' arrival, I could lift the cover to the pan that cradled them without making a sound, liberating one to scarf down before my Polish mother walked back into the kitchen. My lips gleamed with a mix of butter and Bonnie Bell lip gloss.
I don't pilfer pierogi ahead of dinner anymore. I recognize now that everyone should get an equal taste of this dumpling joy. And I now savor each bite, especially the bites where the edges have become perfectly crisp.
Like chef Marta Mirecki in Allison Aubrey's Morning Edition story (you can hear the story by clicking on the audio above), I am a first-generation Polish American. While I have adored pierogi since I can remember, my heightened appreciation didn't happen until I actually started to help my mom make them. My arms were sore for days after the first time.
It turns out a rolling pin and pierogi dough can rival any upper-arm workout. The dough needs to be rolled thin so it doesn't overpower the precious filling inside. There's nothing fast about the pierogi process. Once the dough is perfectly rolled out, it's time to grab a drinking glass, flip it over and use the rim to cut out circles. Those circles come to embrace the perfect kiss of filling — the possibilities are endless.
Sweetened farmer's cheese? Yes.
Mashed potatoes and cheese? Of course.