Sometime back in the fall I was on the phone with my mom. We were talking about food (typical), and she mentioned she wanted to try making pierogies.
Over Christmas the conversation continued, and we tentatively said in January, before I was due to leave for an exchange, we’d make the delicious dumplings. Then one day, she came home and asked, “Do you feel up to making pierogies today?” I grunted briefly, tempted to say no because I was in full hibernation mode, but alas I motivated myself to commit. Today was the day.
And actually a perfect day to stay in and cook. Winter had finally arrived and I had done most of my exchange prep minus packing (ughhhhhh).
Once the dough had been made and rested, it was time. We put on an epic playlist of classical music, because cooking to classical makes you feel badass.
It sounds simple: roll dough, put filling in, boil, then fry. Two of those instructions take up all of your patience and time.
First: rolling the dough. So much rolling.
This is why you go to the gym, Caitlin.
All those bicep curls just so I can roll some pierogi dough. Rolling pierogi dough is more of a full body exercise because that dough is stubborn and it gets tougher as time passes. The ultimate goal is to roll the dough as thin as possible so it doesn’t get gummy and gross when cooked. You could use the pasta maker attachment on a KitchenAid, but that will set you back almost $200. So manual labor it is.
Back to the rolling. After putting my entire body weight into it and getting angry at the dough, I was on to the next frustration—I mean step.
We made two types of pierogies: the classic potato and cheese, and my favourite—mushroom.
My mom prepared the potato and cheese filling, which consists of mashed potatoes and a mountain of grated old cheddar. I prepared the mushroom filling, which consisted of finely chopped mushrooms cooked in wine—Sandbanks Dunes in this case. Bonus: I got to drink the wine while cooking which helped fuel the dough rolling.
Once I had rolled until my arms hurt, it was time to make little circles using a cookie cutter.
Using a spoon, I put some filling in the middle, then put water along the edges and pinched to seal.
“You’re putting too much filling in.”
“No I’m not,” I argued as I struggle to get the pierogi to seal shut. When my mom wasn’t looking, I siphoned some filling out.
I figured out that you should take as much filling as you think should be put in and then divide it in half so that you don’t get exploding pierogi.
But when I saw my babies being boiled and then fried, it was a proud moment. I did it. I made pierogies, and I came to the conclusion after eating 12 that they were worth the work. Those eastern Europeans really know what they’re doing—and I bet they never have to do bicep curls.
