The idle ramblings of a Jack of some trades, Master of none

My mother learned to cook from her mother, my "Busia," a Polish peasant who immigrated at age 14, worked as a domestic, and could barely speak English. Our Polish food included stuffed cabbage, or green peppers (from our garden); the crispiest potato pancakes; beet soup (Borscht); chicken soup that cooks all day and fills the air with a smell that will make you anxious for dinner; beef soup with garden vegetables, and pierogie, those lovely noodles stuffed with cheese and potatoes or fresh fruit; bread made with eggs and raisins (rare--Dad hated raisins); sausages, and pickles of all varieties. And sautéed fresh wild mushrooms, which Busia hunted in the Chicago woods when we had family picnics. (See picture). Poland has an extensive vegetarian cuisine due to the scarcity of meat, which I would have welcomed on meatless Fridays instead of Kraft cheese.
Carol A. Westbrook, Not my mother's home cooking, please


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