Terriers are on high alert starting early on Perogy Day.
Ah â perogies amd onions â the Manitoba Salad!
Like many families at Christmas, our kitchen enlivens with clattering, chattering, and swinging elbows in a tight space to make shortbread and sugar cookies. To accompany our other Scottish faves like vinerterta and kubasa, we also host an annual production of perogies.
It’s bewildering we do this given the good ready-made perogies from nearby church basements, Naleway Foods, Mom’s Perogy Factory, Karen’s, and Perfect Perogies. Plus, the amazing Perogy Planet promises "Real Ingredients." (I suspect the imaginary ones are just too bland.) But forming perogies that stick together forms families that stick together.
We base our perogies on Margie’s secret recipe: $40 worth of Bothwell’s 548 extra-old white cheddar, sour cream-infused dough, knead till you bleed. But I’m sworn to secrecy.
She actually combines three written recipes, but goes largely by memory. The recipes are back-up, what with the wine.
Last year the family planned 14 dozen of the little darlings — not, ever again, the 36-dozen created in the first year of this tradition. I argued for two dozen but Margie firmly replied, "When you make perogies you don’t ever make two dozen." Ow.
The kitchen becomes Margie’s Perogy Parade. I’m allowed to join the big event because you can’t really eat perogies until they’re cooked anyway.
So, the Perogy King — that’s me — jumped into action, that is until these requirements took me aback: peeling, cutting, boiling, boiling over, grating, stirring, burning, straining, mashing, cooling, mixing, seasoning, kneading, kneading, kneading, cracking, rolling, shaping, dipping, clumping, folding, pinching, pinching, pinching, blanching, scooping, outside cooling, oiling, bagging.
That’s actually the detailed recipe. If you see fit to adjust, go ahead.
This year, I carved out a more suitable job description for myself. It focusses on overall observation and wisecracks.
Did you know that after family hunches over the creation of three dozen perogies— refreshments depending — the pinching develops a flair, a rhythm, but the perogies get way fatter?
Did you know that Jack Russell Terriers are on high alert on Perogy Day? And that our Pirate gulps a falling perogy in under a second? No time for tasting. What’s the point?
Even for humans, all it takes to gulp a Winnipeg regulation-size perogy is five seconds. Can we please better savour these delights to give a little more respect to all the persevering pinchers out there?
Did you know that flour-covered floors are extremely slippery? Margie proves hugely adept at swiftly grabbing onto countertops or fickle shoulders — and she can still do the splits.
Did you know that one’s feet spreads flour throughout a home, probably down the street to the #18 bus, and to the Yellow Dog Tavern, as if I’d know?
Margie also leaves a film of dough that gets crusty on knobs, taps, door handles, plus that wine bottle. You should have seen her left ear and nose. Anything for a laugh. It takes days to discover and clean all the remaining light switches, fridge parts and, hey, my wallet.
I couldn’t escape the fallout myself. After hours of pinching last year, the task altered my fingerprints. That beloved, trusted companion, my iPhone, refused to unlock and suspiciously asked, "What can I help you with?"
Astute passersby, notably in my beloved North End, know who’s making Christmas perogies. From the relentless boiling, windows fog and, when a door opens, a huge burst of steam rushes into the cold air, and fire engines arrive. Maybe even the police.
Just say, "No, officer, Baba here is not running a grow op. A little business on the side, maybe. Will two baggies take care of it?"
gordmackintosh@hotmail.com
