The Unique Power of Pierogies

The other day, while babysitting four 'pups', I decided to make pierogis. It seemed the right thing to do despite my very busy day. I changed a few things to my pierogi-making routine, that day, to entice me to make them more often.

My son was on a business trip; my 'daughter', teaching. It seemed prudent to surprise them both (and us, too) with a special treat. Pierogis came to mind. Everything needed was on hand. I took short cuts wherever I could. I Simply had to have them. I cooked the yellow gold potatoes, skin on, on low heat, with little water, to make the perfect filling: a hot mashed dry mixture of potato with grated cheddar cheese. The one filling that appealed to me and my 'daughter' most was sauerkraut, though, the way my dad used to like them. It was the only ones he would eat. They are now a favourite of ours, a delicious alternative to cheese.

Loads of onions are always a mainstay in all my pierogy fillings, except those considered dessert choices. These prebiotic add-ins - onions - were in the filling and on the finished product along side the Western Dairy sour cream. It was a meal made in heaven - for me. I made them a little differently, today. I always do. It is in my genes. Today, with the organic all-purpose flour, I added some organic sprouted buckwheat flour, too. Not too much as it is a gluten-free and could make the dough too weak, too stiff, perhaps? Then I added an egg, some organic sunflower oil and warm water to make a sticky dough. Flour on a cutting board would smooth out the dough as needed. I added it slowly, testing the dough's texture on my hands before rolling. Seemed awfully nice..

The organic sauerkraut was squeezed, over a colander in the sink, to release as much juice as possible before sauteing this fermented cabbage - a probiotic food - in the pan with the onions. It was so delicious. Had someone offered me tiramisu, at that moment, I might have declined the offer as my heart and soul was fixated on sauerkraut pierogis. More onions were fried, on medium high heat. Sauteed onions are so delicious on and in everything I cook, for flavour and health benefits. High heat is not good for food or for our health, I have since learned. Learning is what cooking is all about, anyway. The mashed potatoes, without any liquid or other additions, were mixed with the sauerkraut mixture. (A few mashed potatoes, skin on, helps to bind the onions and sauerkraut together). Salt and pepper are added for taste, each step of the way. The sauerkraut and cheese mixtures were ready.

In the past, I would flour a cutting board on which to place the pierogis, keeping them from sticking. Then I moved onto to placing these delicious morsels on lightly dusted tea towels, an easier task for cleanup, later. Today, however, I totally eliminated the flour step that was so important in keeping these 'finger wraps' from sticking. Parchment paper came to mind, a baking paper that reduces cleanup and the need for 'greasing' a cookie sheet when baking. It was perfect fix for pierogies, too. It kept them 'clean', a perfect non-stick no-carb solution till they were ready to be cooked, at a later time. My masterpieces were ready.

Making any food healthier is always the name of the cooking game. Sometimes, I have gone too far and the end product bears little resemblance to the original. But experimentation is necessary to discover new taste sensations, textures and healthier alternatives. (I now make all smooth gravies and white sauces with brown rice flour, a healthier gluten-free alternative to flour and cornstarch). A large pot of water was boiling. Into it went the dumplings, stirred gently with the back of a wooden spoon till they rose to the top. (Less tearing, my mom would tell me, as a little girl) A few minutes later, a slotted spoon removed the pierogis from the simmering water onto a surface of fried onions in a wide metal bowl, then gently tossed to coat. It was yummy at its best.

All dumplings are incredible little packages of protein and/or vegetables, not just pierogies. I have made wonton soup, ravioli with ricotta cheese and spinach and the ever popular egg rolls. A platter of mixed pierogies greeted our son, upon his arrival to pick up his 'children'. His wife knew nothing about these delicious little packages that would soon greet her, after a day of teaching 25 'busy' children. It was one happy ending to a busy week for both. My husband and I sat down to eat our 'leftovers', the few that remained of the dozens made that day. This time however, my husband admitted to really enjoying the cabbage ones, this time. Had he changed or had I changed how I made them?

For now, I am slowing down to enjoy the best that life has to offer and today it is sauerkraut pierogies with loads of fried onions and a side order of the best sour cream. I could only eat 5. In the past, it would have been 10. How nice that ghrelin and leptin were on duty, fulfilling their roles, in my body, at a time where I could have easily have devoured so many more. When I eat clean, I eat less! Just the way I want it!

The Arrogance of Government

There's a new government in town. Some seem unhappy about it. The election was not a coup d'etat. The new president won in an unprecedented landslide victory, in a democratic election, in the United States of America - the greatest show on earth.

Having 'peacefully' taken the oath of office as the 45^th president of the United States of America, President Donald Trump is here to stay, for at least 4 years. He is an unusual person in everything he does. During his campaign, he said things that were better left unsaid, perhaps. History cannot be changed. But he made promises. We heard it all. Social media was everywhere. He became its showman. I wondered how Roosevelt, Eisenhower, JFK, would have fared had the glorious web existed back then, hounding their every move. Things were very quiet back then. We had busy lives to lead.

The American people were reminded to vote for the candidate who would do what was in their best interests. And so they did. Government needed to change. For some, President Trump was an unlikeable sort. An election is not a popularity contest, however. There was much work to be done. Being in charge is never easy. (Ask any parent) The desire to please is not always possible. Mr. Trump's platform, to restore honesty and integrity in government, at a 'fair and equitable' price, in making the country great again, was a constant refrain. He began his governance, under a dark cloud, facing a plethora of dire issues, opinions, and people to 'command'.

President Trump had been elected to power with a resounding electoral vote as the head of state of the most powerful country on earth. Voting lineups, in all states, were very long, unlike anything before. As I watched the news media, its subjective, objective? interpretation of the election began. Few media outlets supported his views and the promises the president made, yet millions of American citizens thought otherwise. Fox and Friends, with Bill O'Reilly, Sean Hannity and Tucker Carlson, among other 'dignitaries', presented a balanced view of the political reality we were watching. (It was a relaxing atmosphere, too). Job creation, healthcare, decent housing, safe communities and great schools were uppermost on the minds of all americans.

It seemed, however, that the 'politicized professional politicians', were stalling the governmental machinery, whenever possible. For better or for worse, President Trump was here to stay. Was he posturing? Many said no. The 24-hour media was present, willing and able to dismiss, disregard and derail the new administration. Over the course of the last few months, words and phrases, associated with government and the games played there, began to surface and intrigue both my husband and me. In the everyday vernacular of government dialogue, words such as: 'executive branch', 'senate as an institution', 'sub-committee', 'government of continuity', 'budget reconciliation process', 'oversight committee', 'senate majority leader', 'house oversight committee', 'regulatory reform plan' and 'minority leader' were heard and confused us both. Then there were the all-powerful Senate, Congress and House, branches of government with politicians, at 'play'. The most puzzling phrase heard on television was 'bureaucrats before people.' Oh My. What did that mean? It did not sound good. Was that the sole purpose of government? Was an election a ploy to land a plum job and support the established 'costly' layers of the government bureaucracy? Government meant money, it seemed, with lots of it to go around, with pensions, too, for a select few who had been elected into office by the voters, the citizens of the United States.

As we discussed the growing malaise of government and the ridiculous words/phrases/costs associated with this modern-day institution, my husband reacted. Government speak came to mind. And so he wrote:

“We are here to begin a determination to study the feasibility of a committee to undertake the massive uncontrollable, unaccountable expenditures required to see which path we should take to spend the largest number of taxpayer dollars to see if we can decide anything at all.” ... As the words tumbled out, I laughed then stopped, realizing the hidden meaning of it all. Each title, position or committee - (comprising of at least two people) - had high costs attached, perhaps six figure incomes, with expenses, included, as well. Government was about money. It was not cheap. And who was footing the bill for this largess? The unsuspecting hard-working American taxpayer, of course! There was money to be made in this 'slow elephant', called government, while the citizens of America waited and waited for decisions to be made, with no deadlines in sight. Opposition demonstrated its might. Only in government. (But not only in America).

It was a 1944 docudrama that is difficult for me to watch. I know the ending. The heart-wrenching movie, The Fighting Sullivans, tells the story of an American family from Iowa whose 5 sons joined the navy, served on the USS Juneau together, then died together, when their ship was sunk. The brothers joined the military to help keep the world safe, not just their beloved country, America. It behooves us all to be ever so grateful of the might of the United States of America. It behooves those who are in charge of this powerful nation to the south to remember how little time the entire Sullivan family had together before death came calling and the supreme sacrifice they - and the many millions like them - made for human rights and freedoms. They died so we could 'live.'

Being an elected member of a democratic government is an absolute privilege. Democrats or Republicans, why does it matter? Party affiliation, regardless of origin, is window dressing. Doing what is right for all citizens is the cornerstone of a democracy. We are missing the broader picture. Governing is not a game. Righteous indignation has no standing. Those in government have an absolute duty to perform, having been given a mandate by the voters. Enough pandering, 'discussion', yelling and ill-will. The Sullivans, their descendants and the American people deserve better, a whole lot better.

Next week: Slowing down with sauerkraut pierogies. Oh Yum.

Hockey Resumes, Once Again.

It was the second period when things got rough. Both players took 5-minute penalties for fighting; 2 minutes for roughing. I went into the house for a time-out, myself. Things were getting out of hand.

Freezing rain had arrived again, serving to provide the slippery surface on which 'dog hockey' could resume, exciting our wiggler, the 3-year-old retriever. Hockey was here to stay. Discovering the potential of a large discarded hard plastic egg-shaped football, from last summer, turned our young retriever into a player, albeit, a gentle one. A kick of the 'puck' was no longer a prerequisite for winter fun. He would simply run to it, look at me with that piercing, suspicious look of his, then run off into the distance. It was 'face-off' time, again. He was motivated again but his 'teammate' was nowhere in sight. “I'm not that gullible today”, he seemed to think. A new winter sport had been discovered.

Looking far and wide, 'Wiggles' saw the 'puck' under the wrought-iron chair. With nimble paws he pushed it out, from underneath. With snout-a-plenty and mouth ajar, our wiggler began to set things in motion, once again. Such a revelation. Such precision. He was wiser today. His sister, the bully girl, was waiting to grab and run with the 'puck', the object of his affection. He would have no part of it, however, not this time. The 'puck' was his. They ran to the corner. As Sally approached, he stood his ground, waiting for her to push, then run. Using her mighty front legs to assert herself in this wildly spirited game on ice, she began her routine, maneuvering into position. 

 

Like two moose in the wilderness, they ran into each other, as if to dance on the ice-covered surface. Was this boarding, I wondered? I intervened. They ran. “Where was this going?” It was going nowhere. The puck was just lying there waiting to be moved, again. I kicked it. Mayhem restored, the game continued. The puck rolled near the house, under a table, where getting it was difficult. Both 'players' attempted what neither could do: retrieve the puck from near the house and roll it once again. Help was needed. There was a pause in the game as Sally pondered her next move. Should she even bother, she wondered. He was now using his snout and front legs to increase his skill, speed and agility. He had learned from the best. She could no longer compete.

I watched as these seasoned 'players'-2 highly trained retrievers- fought for control of the 'puck'. It was an amusing and exciting feat of motion. Then the unexpected happened. 'Mr'. Wiggles stopped and changed his strategy. He began carrying his large summer ball, while nudging the 'puck' he had been shooting to define a new format of this game of hockey. 

 

With his love of carrying every manner of object in his mouth, from mitts, gloves, socks, toys, bones and Kleenex tissue, he decided to push the 'puck' with the lattice silicon summer ball, his favourite summer carry-all, firmly locked in his mouth. (During the summer, moving two large balls simultaneously was normal for our little wiggler, though his sister was not inclined). Today, he wanted more leverage to play the game he loved.

Mr. Wiggles will be four next month; theMomseyblog, its 5^th. My little wiggler was being 'created' as I began TheMomsey blog. A year later this unique, sometimes 'misunderstood' puppy entered our lives. Whenever his diminutive cousins come to visit, he goes a little ballistic, barking and running, momentarily, hoping they will be staying for the day. He is so happy to see them. Mall Cop informs him, however, that certain rules of public decorum need to be respected. Adults have rights, too, not just puppies. They look into each other's eyes and nod in agreement. And so another day of busy begins. The 'puck' is ignored, when all are together. No need for its use. Family has arrived. That is all that matters. Hockey can wait. When warmer temperatures begin their ascent, the 'puck' will no longer have the power to engage or entertain our Mr. Wiggles. It will suddenly be invisible, again, lost to the 'toys of summer'.

“Bring the dogs”, our son replied. The invitation to dinner, with dogs in tow, became a busy, hilarious time for all. From the time we arrived till we left, our wiggler walked, wiggled, walked, glowing from his eyes down to his tail. He was visiting his 'cousins' where all manner of teddies, squeaky toys, bones, hidden slippers, ball of yarn and gloves were his for the carrying. He left a trail, everywhere. No mess followed. Was he genetically programmed to 'carry'? 'Hockey season' will soon be over. It doesn't matter to him, though. He can amuse himself anywhere. He is, after all, a man of all seasons.

Mr. Wiggle's Winter Sport

As he signalled his need to go outside, our delightfully rambunctious retriever, Mr. Wiggles, changed his plans, once he got there. Suddenly, he began to play hockey, Canada's game, with the 'puck' that had been lying there for months.

He eyed this rather large plastic egg-shaped 'football' that had been ignored for most of its early summer 'release', last year. It had been 'sidelined', having absolutely no play value, according to our wiggler. As it it could not be carried or grabbed in the mouth of our youngest retriever, the yellow 'puck' remained a daily dismal reminder of a pet store purchase gone horribly bad. Why had it been for sale, anyway? It was a nuisance. But I had misjudged its play value in the life of our perpetual gift-giver, Mr. Wiggles. 

It was winter, now, a season of ice, snow and freezing temperatures as our 3-year-old pup deigned to want more from his outdoor play routine. He walked towards this new toy that suddenly had merit and deserved serious consideration. Last summer, this large, awkward misshapen albatross could not roll easily on the rough uneven surface of the freshly laid straw. (Grass had disappeared long ago). It could not be picked up in the jaws of our retrievers, lovers of the grab and run. I wondered what to do with it 'till Mr. Wiggles showed me last week. I began to refer to this thing as the 'puck' so as to not confuse them with the 'ball', the other curved instrument of play.

As Mr. Wiggles moved, he began pushing the monstrous 'puck' ever so quickly across the snow covered icy patches of ground, while eying me up and down, for my reaction. He looked up at me with that “I dare you to touch this 'puck'” look. Naturally, I did. Nudging this thing, left and right, with my foot, gave our wiggler a reason to react, pushing the 'puck' with his snout and open mouth, quickly, along the icy surface. His hockey lesson had begun. ... He moved the yellow egg, affectionately known as the 'puck', with an intensity and agility only a seasoned hockey player could. I was intrigued by his veracity and focus. The slippery surface had given him the idea. Hockey was officially his game. It was also Sally's claim to fame, our 8-year-old female retriever, as she began to watch then hustle her baby brother in a high stakes game of face-off hockey, with my help, of course. I hoped they would see the potential in this new winter routine. Keeping the 'puck' moving, engaged our Wiggler and his sister into action. A gentle kick, here and there, gave him the idea to push it further and faster, away from his sister who had ideas of her own. He watched as I kicked the puck, ever so gently, out of the dips of the ice and snow. Sally out-maneuvered us both, as she ran, lifting and kicking, using both front legs, like a double cohort of hockey sticks, taking over and scoring on both of us. “Oh, my. We'd been hustled." Their personal 'hockey' styles played to an engaged audience.

Sally's skill set was top-notch. (Had she gone to hockey school, I wondered)? As the 'puck' got closer to her, she grabbed, pushed, and ran with it using her personal 'equipment' to defend her territory as her baby brother attempted to push the puck with his mouth. She growled. He barked. This incessant 'chatter' was relentless. “Hey, sis, This is my idea, my game. Go away.” “No way”, she seemed to say. “Catch me if you can.” And on they played. ... The noise of this plastic egg, rolling along, on the bumpy icy and snow covered surface, seemed to excite them both as I watched from afar so as to not be injured, as in the past. Mr. Wiggles would stop, his eyes on me, wondering what my next move was going to be. The 'puck' gained momentum whenever I got close, shooting it down the length of the yard. This gentle kick seemed to ignite his enthusiasm more, in another round of playing for the 'puck'.

“Had I been icing the puck?”, I asked my husband, a diehard Montreal Canadiens' fan who had played hockey, knew its rules and loved his team. “Yes”, he replied, “under those circumstances, you were icing.” But now Sally, Wiggler's wiser, older sister, was fast becoming a bully, hoarding the 'puck', in the 'corners'. This was called boarding, I was told. Our female 'smart face' had taken this game of hockey, up a notch, moving the 'puck' faster and faster, using her front legs, strategically, in a competitive dynamic force of wills. Mr. Wiggles stood there barking, wondering how a game he discovered could suddenly be lost to his sister, on such short notice. Trying to assert himself was of no use. He had lost control of the game he loved. A referee was needed. Who could that be? Not me, I reasoned. And so it continued.

Hockey had been discovered one slippery, icy winter's day. The misshapen plastic football, purchased last summer, had remained an 'invisible' useless outdoor accessory, devoid of any therapeutic merit until our sweet Mr. Wiggles discovered its potential for fun, one slippery cold day. It took a young male retriever to teach me that I did not know it all and that a little outside-the-box thinking, in a cold wintry season, was all that was needed.