Mixed Berry Cream Cheese Cake

Cheesecakes or sernik in Polish are a staple of the Polish dessert menu and there are many variations. I like the combination of fruit and cake in this unusual cheesecake recipe. This is a much less dense version of cheesecake than a usual  Polish cheesecake, with the recipe calling for only one eight-ounce package of cream cheese. There is a nice balance of cheesecake, mixed berries, and cake.

Mixed Berry Cream Cheese Cake

Ingredients

For the cake layer:

¾ cup, plus 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon baking powder

½ teaspoon salt

5 tablespoons unsalted butter room temperature

⅔ cup granulated sugar

1 large egg

½ cup milk

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

For the berry cream cheese layer:

1 8 ounce cream 

zest of one lemon

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

½ cup, plus 1 tablespoon granulated sugar

2 large eggs room temperature

2 teaspoons cornstarch

2 small packages of fresh blueberries and raspberries (about 2 cups)

Mixed Berry Cream cheese cake ingredients.

Instructions

Bring cream cheese, butter, eggs and berries to room temperature.

Preheat oven to 350°F. Line a 9-inch springform pan with parchment paper, then spray pan with baking spray and set aside.

In a medium bowl, sift together the flour, baking powder and salt. 

In a large bowl or the bowl of an electric mixer beat the butter and sugar together on medium-high speed until light and fluffy, about 2 minutes. Beat in the egg.

Reduce the speed to low and beat in the dry ingredients. Stir in the milk and vanilla. Using a rubber spatula, finish mixing the batter by hand, being careful not to over-mix. Spread batter into prepared pan and bake for 12-15 minutes, until the the cake is just set. The center will still be very soft and not done. Set aside to cool for 5 minutes. While the cake is baking make the cheesecake layer.

In a large bowl, beat the cream cheese and lemon zest until smooth, about 1 minute. Add the vanilla extract. Add 1/2 cup sugar and beat on high-speed until light and fluffy, about 2 minutes. Beat in the eggs one at a time until well blended. Scrape down the sides of the bowl as necessary and make sure everything is well incorporated.

Gently add the fruit as the cake base is not yet fully baked.

In a medium bowl, whisk together the remaining tablespoon of sugar and cornstarch. Add the berries and toss gently to coat. Place the berries in an even layer over the pre-baked cake layer. Pour the cheesecake layer evenly over the top of the berries.

Bake until cake is lightly golden, and the center is set, 45-50 minutes. Let cool completely, at least 2 hours, before cutting and serving. Serve chilled or at room temperature with a dusting of confectioners sugar.

Mixed Berry Cream Cheese cake finished product

My Second Mother

In 1963 we moved from the farm to the “suburbs” where my father built a home in a new development called “Belle Harbor” just north of the town of Belleville, Michigan. Our new neighbors, Ernie and Pat Ryback and their three sons, moved there from the outskirts of Detroit.

Pat Ryback: My Second Mother

I consider Pat Ryback my second mother, and she considers me her fourth son. A whirlwind of activity always surrounded Pat. After her three sons were out of middle school, she returned to university and received a degree in library science. Pat was always working on something: creating learning activities for school, hosting dinner parties, shepherding foreign exchange students, providing advice to anyone within earshot whether they wanted advice or not.

The Ryback boys were my friends. From an isolated childhood on the farm, I now had three boys as friends. The Rybacks had a pool. It was great fun, although I was deathly afraid as I could not swim. I never really learned. We had great times: putting on shows for neighborhood kids, playing endless board games in the summer, chasing each other in the pool.

The summer of 1972 was a wild one for me.  I graduated from Eastern Michigan University in May. I worked for a congressman during the day and as an auditor at a Howard Johnson’s Motel at night. In between, I applied for teaching positions across the state of Michigan. I ran from one interview to another. I don’t remember sleeping.

In September, I realized I was lost. I no longer worked for the congressman. Howard Johnson’s changed management and I quit—the new management did not want to pay me for the hours I had worked. The opportunity of working as a graduate assistant was gone. No one wanted me as a teacher because I couldn’t coach football, basketball, or cross country. It was the Vietnam era when history and political majors like me were a dime a dozen.

On Saturday night of Thanksgiving weekend, I sat in Pat Ryback’s family room drinking German white wine and grilling Turkish shish kebabs in the fireplace, listening to an Italian opera on the stereo. These were portents of adventures to come (I would come to live in Germany, Turkey, and visit Italy several times). It was getting late, maybe 10 o’clock. Pat gave me grief for not following her advice and minoring in library science at university.

Pat asked me what I wanted to do with my life, and I told her I had no clue. She said, “I think you should go to library school!” She plugged in her phone and called the Dean of the University of Michigan Library School, waking him up. “I have an outstanding person for library school,” she said. “OK,” said the groggy Dean. “I’ll meet him on Tuesday. Have him bring his transcripts.” When Pat talked, people listened.

On Tuesday, I met with the Dean of the Library School at the University of Michigan. He looked over my transcripts. “The University of Michigan requires a foreign language for a Master’s Degree program. You don’t have it?” It was waived. “The University of Michigan graduate program requires a 3.5 academic level. You don’t have it?” It was waived. “The University of Michigan school library program, however, needs men. You’re in! If Pat Ryback recommends a student we accept them!”

In January of 1973, I entered library school at the Masters Degree level at the prestigious University of Michigan—a school my counselors at Belleville High School, just four years earlier, would never have considered a possibility for me.

Obtaining the degree in Library Science would end up defining my life, opening doors of opportunity across the world.

Thank you, Pat, my second mother. You saw something in me that others did not and it has made all the difference.

Happy Mother’s Day!

Dumplings and homemade noodles of all types were found in Polish American houses in the Detroit area. From big, fat, filled pierogi, to delicate egg noodles served in chicken soup.

Homemade Chicken Soup with Chicken Liver Dumplings (Wątrobiane kluski do rosołu)

I learned how to make these dumplings at Pat’s house when I was about 13 years old. They have been a favorite ever since! Don’t let the fact that they are made from liver deter you from trying these dumplings. The taste is very mild, but very rich.

Pat Ryback’s Chicken Liver Dumplings

1 cup chicken livers, finely chopped

1 cup flour

2 tablespoons Italian parsley finely chopped

1 tablespoon grated onion

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/2 teaspoon pepper

Combine ingredients and stir well.

Bring a large pan of water to a boil. Add 1 teaspoon salt.

Spoon teaspoonfuls of dumpling batter into boiling water. Do in batches. Do not crowd dumplings.

Stir occasionally until noodles come to the top, about 5 minutes.

Remove noodles to a colander and gently rinse with cold water.

These are delicious served with homemade chicken soup.

Driving Down Memory Lane: The Polish National Alliance (PNA) Hall - Sumpter, Michigan

Polish National Alliance Hall in Sumpter, Michigan.

I had planned to just drive by. However, something made me pull over and stop for a few minutes. I just stopped, and stared, and thought. It might have been the sad and forlorn appearance that made me pull over, or perhaps it was just my memories. What once had been lively and active was now in decay. It reminded me of the people in the nursing homes we checked out the year before, when we knew my mother and father would not be coming back to their home. The sagging face, the vacant look, abandoned and waiting for the ultimate end. I drove off; memories of what used to be flying through my head. The Polish National Alliance (P.N.A.) Hall, former home of Lodge 2984, of Sumpter, Michigan had been abandoned, the members who had built it with their hands and their pride, most gone as well.

The meetings of P.N.A. Lodge 2984 were held on Sunday, once a month. My father would drive in his beautiful Desoto’s and later in his Buicks. My grandmother, Anna Blandowski, would sit in the front seat, and I would sit in the back. My grandfather never went and my mother was too busy taking care of babies. Grandmother or “Busia”, as we called her in Polish, always dressed in her Sunday best. She would open her pocketbook and take out a small envelope. Carefully opening the envelope, she would shake out a few pieces of “Sen-Sen”, a spicy, strange-tasting breath mint that made your mouth burn. I have heard that you can still find Sen-Sen, but I have not seen it since my childhood. When I entered the hall, I could smell stale cigarettes, old beer, and cleaning solution. It sounds like a terrible combination, but to me it was always slightly exotic. It was as if something I could know nothing about had taken place there.

After the meetings, there was usually a luncheon. It was hard to stay focused on the meeting when you could smell the aromas wafting from the kitchen. Maybe that was the plan. No one could focus on the meeting when they anticipated the good things to come. When the meeting was adjourned, everyone retired to the dining room. Songs were sung first: The Polish National Anthem, which roughly translates to “Poland still exists while we still live” and “The Highlander’s Farewell,” a song that brought tears to many eyes as it asked the highlander why he is leaving the mountains—the answer, for bread. And it also reminds the highlander to return, and many in the room know they shall never return.

Anna Blandowski had been the Secretary of the Lodge for a very long time, re-elected year after year, probably because of her ability to write in Polish with perfect penmanship and perfect recall. No one ever challenged her minutes of the previous meeting when they were read, except for a point of clarification. On the way home after one meeting I was troubled by something she had said in the reading of the minutes. The Polish words sounded like “Davem nosek” and I thought it meant that someone had punched someone in the nose. “Pan Wisniewski davem nosek!” “Pan Ziemba davem nosek!” “Pan Zaleski davem nosek!” What a free-for-all it must have been. And where had I been when it all took place? I did not remember a fight. I asked my father whether there had been a battle at the previous meeting and told him I had heard “Davem nosek” over and over again. He laughed and sputtered until I thought he would let loose of the steering wheel. “Davem nosek” meant “Second the motion!”

It is not to say that the meetings were all sweetness and light. There is an old Polish saying that if you get two Poles together you will get three opinions. Plenty of opinions were addressed at those meetings. The Polish National Alliance was both a fraternal organization and an insurance company. I do not recall the origins of the national organization, but I do have the information filed away somewhere. I wrote a historical and sociological study of the Polish people in the Detroit area during my senior year at college. However, that is another story.

Lodge 2984 served as a meeting place for local Polish people, most of them being farmers from the surrounding towns and villages, because they had no place else to go. Because of their language and cultural differences, they were not accepted by any other organization. In its heyday during the 1950’s the hall was expanded and refurbished—first a hall for dancing and bingo games was added, then a dining room and a state-of-the-art kitchen. It was always a busy place. The PNA members would run a bingo on Tuesday nights, later, the Polish Legion of American Veterans would host a bingo on Thursday night, and the Saturdays were booked for wedding parties.

I attended many a wedding at that hall. What joyous events! Those were the days when children were welcomed at weddings. Now it costs too much. Such a loss as children need to experience both weddings and funerals—it would give them a better perspective about life.

Adam and Lillian Janowski
Married, July 10, 1949
Both deceased, 1999

I reveled in the different orchestras that played—usually sitting in awe not far away. If I was not watching them, I was watching my parents. When my parents danced, it was as if I was watching two entirely different people. They were no longer my parents, but lovely strangers.

They were more beautiful than any dancers on the Lawrence Welk Show. When my parents waltzed they did not just dance, they glided, and when they did the polka, others stopped to watch. They were magic floating on the dance floor. Oh, the songs, The Julida Polka, The Blue Skirt Waltz, The Helena Polka, and Matka Waltz. “Mother, oh my dear mother, why are you crying so…You, who sang to me…You, who taught me…Now I am leaving you…Mother, please don’t cry at my wedding…I will always remember you.”

Muguet was my mother's favorite perfume--the scent of Lilies of the Valley.
(Photo courtesy MorgueFile.com)

A special favorite of mine was The Twelve Angels Oberek. It's still a beautiful site to see couples glide on the dance floor to an oberek!

My mother told us shortly before her stroke, that the week before Dad had heard The Anniversary Waltz on the radio and took her in his arms and danced with her, even though he was deeply affected by Alzheimer’s disease at the time. And so they waltzed. One last time.

I am on the I-94 expressway. I do not recall driving through Belleville. I do not know how I got on the expressway. I was speeding along on my way back to my brother’s house. I needed to concentrate on the traffic, but memories get in my way.

The Blazak’s sweet corn. Oh, how tender and sweet! If it was a good year and the weather was right, you could count on the Blazak sweet corn at the annual Lodge picnic in August. Of course, they had hot dogs or hamburgers, but I only remember that sweet corn. An old horse trough was loaded with ice and soft drinks in glass bottles—root beer, grape soda, orange soda, ice cold and delicious. It would hurt your hand if you had to reach through the ice to the bottom for a favorite soda, but it was worth it. There were games for the kids. A sand pile seeded with coins and prizes. One year there was a carnival with a merry-go-round. It was so much fun. So many people were there. People you never saw at Lodge meetings on Sunday.

And the annual PNA Lodge Christmas party. That was a scene of utter chaos. Every member who had children or grandchildren was there. Hundreds, it seemed. The Lodge passed out an envelope with three crisp dollar bills in it to each child. There was a cutout in the envelope so you could see the face of George Washington. You came to the front, Frank Wisniewski, the Lodge treasurer, checked you off the list, and you picked up your envelope and a stocking of candy from Santa.

My grandmother retired as secretary of the Lodge in the early 1960’s. There was a move to run the meetings in both Polish and English. My grandmother, knowing she could not keep the minutes in English, retired gracefully. Others did not retire with such grace.

The PNA Lodge experienced a renaissance of sorts in the early 1970’s. This was the time of multiculturalism. America was no longer a “melting pot,” but a “stew pot.” Your heritage should be valued. New members took leadership roles, the old were retired whether they liked it or not. The meetings and the minutes were no longer read or written in Polish—even as a course in the Polish language was sponsored at the local high school.

Scholarships were awarded to students of Polish descent. I received one. Years later, I returned the money to the Lodge, when I was working in Saudi Arabia and flush with oil cash. I dedicated my donation in honor of my grandmother, Anna Blandowski. I probably was the only one to do so.

My grandmother began to fade. My father no longer went to Lodge meetings. I guess that happened in many families. Multiculturalism and its renaissance of pride in one’s ethnic heritage passed. The need for the Lodge and its sense of community was gone. Bingo was passé. Big weddings were no longer booked for Saturday night. Fewer people bought insurance. The PNA Lodge 2984 cobbled along for awhile until the members could no longer support the hall. The hall was lost, given to the town of Sumpter. Now it sits awaiting the wrecking ball. There will be no parties when it is gone. No one will dance the Anniversary Waltz one last time.

I finally arrive at my brother’s house. It is still and quiet. My brother and his family are gone for the day. I am alone with my memories. I am supposed to go to my sister’s house for dinner. I will be moody and distant. She will wonder why.

When I first started writing my stories, I called my sister because she had not let me know what she thought of them. She asked me, “Were you drinking?” I angrily denied it, but she was more right than wrong. Wine makes you remember, and it makes you forget. Memories are chasing themselves inside my brain and I have to let them out. I once read a line from the novel Hotel New Hampshire by Tom Wolfe about men who turn forty and learn to close softly the doors through which they will not be coming back through. I add my corollary:

Men at fifty
Hear the doors slam shut
As they pass through.

Note: Since writing the essay below in 1990, the PNA Hall, after sitting vacant for awhile has been reborn. It is still serving as a meeting hall, and a social venue for weddings, anniversaries and public and private parties. Click here for more PNA Hall history and information.

When I found the link to the Matka (Mother) Waltz, I also found a link to one of the most beautiful versions of Serdeczna Matko (Beloved Mother) sung in Polish. This song evokes so many memories as it was so often sung in Polish churches, especially, at funerals, as I was growing up.

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Polish Wedding Menu

Cucumber Salad with Sour Cream (Mizeria) or a Tossed Salad with Hard Boiled Egg Dressed with Sour Cream

Stuffed Cabbages (Golabki)

City Chicken

Smoked Sausage (Kielbasa)

Hunter’s Sauerkraut Stew (Bigos) or a Simpler Kapusta with Mushrooms and Onions

Polish Meat Balls with Gravy

Mashed Potatoes

Poppy Seed Coffee Cake (Strucla z Makiem)

Polish Wedding Strawberry Cream Pie

Angel Wings (Chrusciki)

Wedding Cake

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Adam's Stuffed Cabbages (Gołąbki) or Stuffed Green Peppers 

Stuffed Cabbage Rolls are often served at special occasions. They go by the name Golabki, or in Polish, Gołąbki (It sounds a little like Go-wum-key).

Ingredients:

2 pounds ground beef

1 cup rice, cooked as directed the day before (about 3 cups cooked rice)

2 eggs

2 medium onions, chopped fine

6 tablespoons butter divided

1 medium cabbage or 6 large green peppers, cut in half-lengthwise

2 teaspoons Montreal Steak Seasoning (or other garlic seasoning salt)

1 and 1/2 teaspoons dried thyme, divided

Salt and pepper to taste

2 cans Campbells Cream of Tomato Soup

2 cans petite diced tomatoes

1/2 cup milk

Directions:

Remove core from whole of cabbage with sharp knife. Scald the cabbage in boiling, salted water. 

Remove a few leaves at a time as they wilt. Cool before using. Chop remaining cabbage.

Sauté onions in butter until transparent. Set aside 1/3 of the onions.

Heat oven to 350 degrees.

Filling:

Combine ground beef, eggs, rice, 2/3rds of the onions, 2 teaspoons Montreal Steak seasoning, 1 teaspoon thyme and additional salt and pepper to taste. Spread each leaf with about 1/3 cup of filling.

Fold opposite sides, starting with one of the open ends.  Set aside. Continue until filling is used up.

Sauce:

Combine tomato soup and petite diced tomatoes. Stir in 1/2 teaspoon thyme.

Note: If using green peppers, scald until wilted in boiling salted water. This takes out any bitterness and makes the peppers more tender. Allow peppers to cool.

Sauté remaining cabbage with onion until cabbage is wilted. Spoon cabbage and onions into bottom of baking dish or Dutch oven. Place staffed cabbages or stuffed peppers on top. Spoon about half the sauce over top and bake for 1 hour covered. Remove top and bake for additional 1/2 hour.

Add milk to remaining sauce. Heat and serve on the side with mashed potatoes. 

Suggestion: Add about 2 tablespoons minced dill and 2 tablespoons minced chives to mashed potatoes.

Stuffed cabbages almost ready for the oven.

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Adam’s Polish Wedding Strawberry Cream Pie

I remember having a strawberry cream pie topped with strawberry glaze at many Polish weddings when I was growing up.

1 can strawberry pie filling

1 package frozen strawberries, thawed and drained
1 package vanilla pudding mix, preferably the cooked kind
1 frozen pie crust
1/2 cup whipping cream
1 tablespoon confectionary sugar

Bake pie crust as directed for one crust pie. Allow to cool.

Cook vanilla pudding mix, add to pie crust. Chill until set.

Combine strawberries with strawberry pie filling. Spoon over  pie.

Whip cream with confectionary sugar.

Cover pie. Chill at least one hour.

A slice of heaven--Polish Wedding Strawberry Cream Pie!



Kowalski Kare Package

I had to go in to have some minor surgery and was feeling a little blue about it so I had my sister, Barbara, in Michigan send me down a care package—10 pounds of Kowalski kielbasa, ring bologna and kiszka (blood sausage).

If you have any feelings about Detroit, check this book out if you get the chance. It is about families and about baseball, specifically Detroit Tiger baseball, The Final Season: Fathers, Sons, and One Last Season in a Classic American Ballpark (Honoring a Detroit Legend) by Tom Stanton. I loved this book, having picked it up at the Ft. Myers airport on a trip to Detroit. It was so sweet. It combined the story of a father and his son, with the story of the author and his Polish family in Detroit. And, of course, baseball, and the Detroit Tigers and their final season at Tiger Stadium at Trumbull and Michigan in Detroit. It had so many parallels with our own family including the eating of what we called Keeshka—the only reference to keeshka I have ever see in any book (except Polish cookbooks) I have ever read!

Genuine Kowalski Kiszka--direct from Detroit! Not even most Polish people like it but my brother and sisters and I inhale it.

Kiszka is an acquired taste. It is a combination of buckwheat, beef blood, finally ground pieces of beef and pork that you probably don’t want to know where it came from, onion and spices. We always had it for breakfast.

Kiszka “Keeshka” (Blood Sausage)

1 half ring Kowalski Kiszka
1/2 onion minced
2 tablespoons butter

Sauté onion in butter in frying pan until onion is translucent  Remove casing from kiszka. Cut kiszka into slices. Add to onion and butter.Stir occasionally until combined and browned.Serve with fried eggs and white toast.



Kiszka, eggs sunny side up and toast with butter and homemade strawberry jam--A breakfast fit for a Polish Prince!

A Polish Christmas on Florida Street in Detroit

Our Christmas Tree on Fort Myers, Florida.
Listen to Polish Christmas carols here.

Every Christmas we went to our Polish grandmother's house on Florida Street in Detroit on Christmas Eve. It was an annual tradition. We would all be bundled up in heavy coats with scarves and mittens. There always seemed to be snow. One of the babies was always sick--that too, seemed to be part of the tradition.

As we walked in, carrying bundles of gifts, my first memory was of seeing the Christmas tree. Uncle Ed and Aunt Sophie had the greatest tree. It seemed to have hundreds of lights (the big, brightly colored ones, not the little Italian ones of today). 

A sampling of ornaments--some Polish, on our Christmas tree.
Can you spot the Polish dancers?

There were unusual ornaments--angels with feathers, birds with brilliant tails, and lights filled with colored fluid that would bubble, as they got warm. Underneath the tree was a beautiful Nativity  scene with intricate figurines.

I took this picture in a storefront in the Italian section of Philadelphia.

The heat inside the house was intense. It was like opening an oven door, but, ah, the wonderful smells. The smell of the Christmas tree mixed with those of sauerkraut, mushrooms, stewed fruit, and frying butter. Babci (our grandmother), Aunt Sophie, and other aunts were in the tiny kitchen cooking. Mother would join them in the kitchen as the older kids hung by hoping for a sample. Uncle Ed would let us go down into the basement to get a soda--you had to duck your head going down, even when you were little. Cream soda was the best--we never had it at home.

It seemed like the aunts and uncles and cousins would arrive in waves: Uncle John and Aunt Hattie and Cousin Marie. Uncle Mike and Aunt Louise with cousins Buddy, Frank, Fred, and John, and Uncle Vince with Aunt Mary and Cousin Tom. Each wave with their own bundles, shaking off snow, and taking off coats and hats and gloves. Presents were whisked away. It would be hours before we saw them.

Then it was time for dinner. I always thought there was supposed to be an odd number of courses, but others have told me that is should have been even. Mushroom soup with boiled potatoes. Pierogies with potatoes and cheese or sauerkraut and mushrooms. Kasha. Pickled herring. Stewed fruit. Everything was delicious. There was also always an empty place setting at the table in case an unexpected guest should arrive recalling the biblical tale of Joseph and Mary, when they found no room at the inn. 

Oplatek (Wafer) on our table.

In the center of the table was the oplatek, a rectangular piece of wafer imprinted with a religious scene. Everyone at the table shared the wafer. We wished each other health, wealth, and happiness and often a special wish.

Festive Christmas table at our house.

My favorite memory of Christmas was when my cousin John suddenly appeared during dinner on Christmas Eve. He was in Vietnam during the war and was not expected home. Of course, there was a place for him at the table! All of the aunts and even some of the uncles, cried.

After dinner, we would sing Christmas carols and eat Christmas sweets. Our father was a great singer of Polish Christmas carols. He and Uncle John usually led the singing. Dad had a small, thick, green book with all of the Polish kolendy (Christmas carols) in them. Dad knew the lyrics and the melodies by heart. I always wondered where he learned them. Babcia, with her high voice, would sing with the uncles. Her voice was such a contrast with the low voices of dad and Uncle John. If dad and the uncles had enough Christmas "spirit”, they would go outside and serenade the neighbors with carols.

A selection of Christmas cookies I made in 2022. Not as many as usual.

Some traditional Polish treats I've made for Christmas.

While we were singing, a couple of the uncles would disappear and rustling sounds could be heard above us. All of a sudden, a ringing bell could be heard outside. The little kids all knew what that meant--Santa Claus was here! Those rustling sounds must have been reindeer on the roof!

Santa always had bags and bags of presents. One of the kids was chosen to help Santa distribute gifts. More bags of gifts appeared from the back of the kitchen. There were toys galore. I think each aunt and uncle would try to outdo each other giving gifts. You knew childhood was over when, instead of toys or games, you received clothes as your Christmas gift! Babci always gave us three silver dollars--our mother saved them for us for over forty years.

After the gifts were opened it was time for treats. I do not know why, but Aunt Sophie served us spumoni ice cream, but was always a part of Christmas. It was a rich Italian ice cream with almond flavoring and pistachio nuts and candied fruit. We ate it along with poppy seed and nut filled coffeecake. Aunt Hattie would make pastries called chrusciki. We called them angel wings. They were as light as a feather!

Homemade Spumoni ice cream cake.

We almost never made it to Midnight Mass. I do not know how we ever made it home. We must have been re-bundled up, the presents loaded, treats for Christmas Day wrapped up, and all of us finally on our way home in one of Dad's Desotos.

Mom and Dad took care of everything--it a very big chore for them with five children, as they still had to play "Santa" for us at our house on Christmas morning! It was only the start of a hectic season of visiting family and friends and, in turn, having friends and family at our house.

These are my memories. There are other memories of our Polish Christmas, but this is what I leave to my brother and sisters, nieces and nephews, their children, and my friends. It is a memory of a simpler time, when grievances were forgotten, and wishes were exchanged--for a better year, a better life. It was an acknowledgment that, after all, we were family--and family was important!

Polish Hunter’s Stew - Bigos

Polish Hunter's Stew (Bigos) goes well with a good crusty loaf of rye bread.

Polish Hunter's Stew - (Bigos)

1/2 pork tenderloin, cut into 1” pieces
3 links of fresh Polish or sweet Italian sausage
4 tablespoons olive oil
1/2 pound baked ham chopped into 1/2 inch pieces
1 large can of sauerkraut, drained and rinsed
1 onion, coarsely chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 package Baby Bella mushrooms, sliced
1/2 medium cabbage
1 or 2 tablespoons of butter
2 to 3 cups chicken stock
1/2 can Campbell’s Cream of Mushroom soup
Salt and pepper

In a large frying pan brown sausage in olive oil. Remove and transfer to large soup pan .Do the same with the pork pieces.

Sauté onions and garlic until golden in the frying pan. Add mushrooms, sauté for 10 minutes, add cabbage, sauté for 10 minutes. Add butter as necessary to keep vegetables from sticking. Transfer to soup pan.

Add the ham pieces to the soup pan.

Drain and rinse sauerkraut. Add to soup pan.

Add 2 cups chicken stock to soup pan. If you want more soupy stew, add an additional 1 cup of stock.

Bring to boil, and then simmer for 30 minutes. Stir in mushroom soup. Turn off heat. Stew can be served now but it is better if you refrigerate it overnight to allow flavors to meld together. Reheat the next day and serve over boiled potatoes.

Seeded deli rye bread goes well with this dish.

We called this dish "Kapusta" which is the Polish word for sauerkraut, but the official name is "Bigos" or Hunter's Stew. It was originally made with whatever combination of meat Polish hunters were able to find.

About me

I grew up in the glory years of Detroit and its surrounding area of southeastern Michigan. World War II was in the past, and the boom times were in full gear. I was born in 1950, on a farm, part of an 80 acre plot my father's mother and stepmother, my grandparents, acquired after working in the factories in Detroit. We lived on two acres of the plot where my father built a solid two-story red brick house in mock-Tudor style, with a detached garage, also of red brick. In a small farming community of mostly wood clapboard farmhouses, our brick house stood out: It spoke of middle class and success. It was an age of anticipation, of transition; we wanted to hold on to the past, but we were looking forward to the future.

The 1950s were glory years for me and a booming Detroit. But as the decade waned, people started leaving Detroit for bigger and better things in the suburbs. The elderly and those who did not have the resources to leave Detroit were left behind. With rising unemployment and crime the city began to die. But for me the 1950s were golden years and figure large in my story.

The Polish recipes I remember reflect our origins as Polish peasants. Many of the recipes include cabbage, potatoes, mushrooms, and smoked meats. These were hearty recipes that could sustain a family through hard times. My ancestors fled Poland in the early 1900s for the promise of a better life in America. They found jobs in the autombile industry in Detroit. Then the Depression came, followed by World War II, lean and difficult times.

I was born in a lucky time. Life was good and food was plenty. My first plan for this cookbook was to include only Polish recipes that were associated with our family and for the most part it will be just that.

As I build upon the blog, however, I will also include recipes that have become favorites of mine through my world travels. As an adult I spent many ears living overseas as a teacher for the U.S. Department of Defense Dependents Schools (DoDDS) and also working for the Arabian American Oil Company in Saudi Arabia for a number of years. So many recipes from those times have become part of my own life. They are not always Polish recipes, but I have decided to include them because I continue to make them or if there is a story attached to a recipe.

To all who enjoy my contribution to the tradition of Polish recipes, embellished with my lifetime of travel, I wish you "Smacznego - Bon Appetite"!