Saturday of Holy week was a special day for our family. My Aunt Liz packed a basket with Polish sausage, ham, bread, butter and the eggs we colored the day before. A walk to the church culminated in the blessing of the basket of food and the colored-cellophane wrapped basket of marshmallow eggs and chocolate bunnies given to us kids from Grandma.
We hurried back home with blessed food to prepare for the feast. Twelve noon on Saturday represented the end of Lent for us. A pot of borscht soup simmered on the stove. The food was spread out on the kitchen table, and feasting began.
My little brother, Gus, would be goaded into trying some horseradish on the hard boiled eggs. I can’t remember how many years it took for him to realize that we teased him about the horseradish not being hot.
We have continued the tradition in our family. However, the number of people at our repast has dwindled to only my wife, our son and myself. However, today I found my piece of candy in the aromas and tastes of our Holy Saturday feast.
The wafting scents of Polish sausage and bacon filling the kitchen along with the tastes of pierogis and of hard boiled eggs slathered with horseradish took me back to that gentler time.
Ciao
Running Out of Writing
4 years ago
Ah, Wally. I shall have to email you photos from the Bobak sausage factory. It is on my to do list...
ReplyDeleteLooking forward to seeing them. In our old neighborhood we had Pudlow's pickles. They also made horseradish. Unfortunately, many years ago they were closed down by the health department. Guess that's why everything they made tasted so good.
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