Food, Glorious Food!

Spring is finally winning out over the long winter season here at the lake. We took a brisk walk in the woods and noticed tiny leaves starting to pop and ferns beginning to uncoil their fiddleheads along our path. A walk in the woods is always a great chance for us to catch up on our day and talk about whatever’s on our minds.

One topic up for discussion was the theme for this blog post. Writing has always been something I enjoy—hence the blog—but finding that spark of inspiration can sometimes be a challenge. So, as we walked, Marc and I did a little brainstorming. I posed the question: “Why is food so important to me? Why does it occupy my mind so much?”

Quite simply: Why is it my passion?

I’ve come to realize that it wasn’t one moment but a lifetime of touchpoints and influences that sparked my culinary curiosity. One of those memories was the anticipation of Sunday afternoon dinners that my mom would carefully prepare and serve as one of the most important meals of the week. We’d eat mid-afternoon, usually between 1 and 3 p.m., that was our tradition—and my mom would pour all her energy into that one meal so we could sit around the table and enjoy it as a family.

I looked forward to it every week. Grocery shopping with my mom often gave me a preview of what was to come. Because I was with her, I got the insider scoop—and sometimes I even influenced the menu entirely. Being involved meant everything. I’d help in the kitchen on Sunday mornings, and one of the first meals I learned to cook was roast chicken. To this day, I still love making that dish, now elevated with skills I’ve gained from a lifetime of cooking—and from my time at The French Culinary Institute.

So many other memories—especially the repeated exposure to non-traditional American food—have shaped my palate. Around Easter, for example, my mom would always celebrate with Polish food, sourced from local Polish markets.

The coat of arms of the Republic of Poland

Pierogies, kielbasa, sauerkraut, babka, stuffed cabbage rolls, and poppy seed cake—all prepared by babushka-wearing women from the old country. The hearty simplicity of Polish food was pure comfort growing up, and I’ve missed it so much.

I love the snap of garlicky kielbasa—still warm—layered on rye bread with spicy brown mustard. It’s a simple sandwich. The craving hit hard recently, and I found myself on a mission to track down authentic Polish food and I discovered Polana. Today, my order arrived: pierogi, kielbasa, and real Polish rye bread. With all that nostalgia in the air, lunch was everything I hoped for—and more.