I cannot explain my sudden craving for pierogi. Although I do not have a good recipe for pierogi, I am following my custom of looking up like foodstuffs in several cookbooks and trusting that I will be able to divine a new recipe from the convergence of the others: a sort of culinary Middle Path, I suppose. (Dumplings are illusion. The desire for them is attachment to worldly things. Release the desire for dumplings and find the horizon to Greater Truth.)
This is a pleasant way to pass an afternoon, if only because it has given me a chance to curl up with The Big Book of Jewish Cooking (not its real name, sadly), which is full of entirely correct but still rather odd phrases, like this section heading, at the end of the cholent recipe:
ACCOMPANIMENTS TO CHOLENT
WHICH ARE PLACED IN THE
STEWPOT BEFORE COOKINg
It is later, and I resigned myself to a pierogi-less evening, since I do not have any farmer’s cheese in the house, and I am not confident that I have triangulated a proper pierogi recipe. Since tomorrow will include a trip to the library (and now I’m penciling in a trip to the cheese farmer), I can pick up a proper Polish cookbook and do it up right.