The Tale of 135 Pierogi

As you may know, I'm preparing for quite the life adventure. One of the steps in my Grand Plan is to stock the freezer with food, so that amidst all the change, I won’t have to worry about what to cook.

Italians have ravioli, Koreans have mandu, and Poles? Pierogi. While writing this letter, I discovered there’s an entire list of dumplings on Wikipedia. And honestly, what a wonderful life it would be to try them all. Across cultures, climates, and altitudes, humanity seems to agree: wrapping dough around a filling is a lovely idea.

By the way, some people say pierogis, but that doesn’t quite make sense, as pierogi is already plural. There’s a singular form – pieróg – but who would bother with it if you could eat more pierogi?

As we’ve been getting ready for this next adventure, I thought it would be lovely to prepare some pierogi at home. But of course, making them is no small task. Each handmade dumpling demands care and time. On a whim, I asked a few Polish friends if they’d be willing to help – just come over for a few hours to roll dough and seal dumplings. They agreed.

I was nervous. I prepared the filling the day before, and the dough on the day of the Pierogi Party. Did I realise that even the biggest bowl in the house was too small? Absolutely. Did I call my mum, slightly panicked, when the dough turned out too crumbly? Yes. Was there flour everywhere? Possibly. Did it all turn out all right in the end? Thankfully, yes.

My friends arrived armed with rolling pins, and we got started. Naturally, we fell into roles, sat around the kitchen table, and began shaping pierogi. We chatted. We laughed. And two hours later, we were done – done as in accomplished, relaxed, even energised.

Afterwards, once my friends had left and my wife and I had cleaned up the kitchen, it struck me that I hadn’t done anything like that in a very long time. I often meet people for dinner, coffee, or a walk – but rarely for something so suberbly mundane and grounding.

It was a beautiful experience, and one that genuinely surprised me.

I was raised to be self-sufficient, and asking for help has never come naturally. I never want to be too much – too much of a burden, too much of a bother. And I think that’s a sentiment shared by many, it's not uniquely me. Why don’t we ask for help more often? What are we saving our friends’ time for? Honestly, even writing down these questions feel strange and even a bit uncomfortable. How can I need help?

And yet – isn’t that exactly what people have done for centuries? Ask for help, do things together, be together while doing something? There was a tradition in Poland called darcie pierza, where women would gather to prepare down for pillows and duvets. In the US, communities used to come together to quilt, stitching and chatting side by side. In the past, we spent more time doing things together. Now, we’re connected by devices, yet often feel so far apart.

As usual, I don’t have a particularly clever conclusion to offer. But I am great at building furniture. So if you ever need help – let me know.

Thank you for reading.

Wiktoria

PS. This reminded me of Amanda Palmer's The Art of Asking, and another one I can't find right now was about a person who ran a group of strangers, where the rule was that within the group, they had the power to solve any problem. Do you know it?

PS.2. This week in the music corner, Anne-Sophie Mutter plays Beethoven.