Intrusive Thoughts
In which the author has to have a brave conversation with his inner voices
Life’s full of those wonderful, little moments. This morning is one of them.
It’s that moment when breakfast is cooked, served, and cleaned up. The wife and boy child are off to do whatever it is they have planned.
You take that first sip on a hot cup of coffee, and reflect on how a quiet, peaceful Saturday will do you good. A good day to start the Christmas deep clean, maybe do a little baking. She Who Shall Not Be Named specifically asked about sandbakel, and I need to find my krumkake iron.
Then, that little voice, the one with the undetermined, vaguely Eastern European accent, pipes up and says “Do we have any beets? Today would be a good day for krasniy borsch, or maybe hand made pierogies.”
Then a different voice says, this time in a distinctly Bavarian accent, “Or maybe you could look up a recipe for leberkase? We haven’t had that in years!”
And then, a deep voice, redolent of Juhla Mokka and Lapin Kulta says just one word: “Karjalanpiirakka”.
Sigh. I’ll finish the coffee and then see how motivated I really am.
You had my attention with "pierogies." I would go out of my way to buy the piroshiki, the Japanese version, offered in some department store food shops in Tokyo.
But drop me in front of the original, and I can do some damage. 😋
I hosted my parents for Thanksgiving back when I still had a wife and such, and they both were incredulous that I was going to make traditional, southern-style, buttermilk biscuits instead of the in-the-foil-pan yeast rolls like normal. They got there early enough to watch me preparing them, and my Dad could not stop eating them. His dementia makes him think that I'm still a knuckleheaded teenager these days. What tangled webs we weave.