pedaheh
Me and my siblings don’t have much of a connection to our roots. When I asked my maternal grandmother once what ethnicity she is, she said that she’s American. I pushed further but that was the only answer she wanted to give. But on my father’s side, people immigrated from the Ukraine not that many generations ago. I don’t think many fathers keep their ethnicity alive as well as mothers, aside from the gift of their last name: my father doesn’t cook, and in food we see what we’re made of.
But once a year we would visit his mother, and on those days we’d get our Ukranian food. What we probably all remember most is pedaheh: Ukranian pierogies, often filled with cheese and dill. When I smell dill, it propels all of me toward my grandmother, not just my stomach but all of my senses. I don’t think that any other smell does that quite as strongly. Maybe that’s the pull of ethnicity, forming a memory in my bones while I’m being made. We never got the recipe from my grandmother — she wouldn’t offer it up, she wanted it to be solely our memory with her, she was stubborn. But last week I asked her daughter, my aunt, who offered it without question.
My first batch didn’t turn out so well, but the second batch is exactly what I remember. I love serving them to Rosie and Steve, and feeding a growing baby with them. It keeps something in my heritage alive that I didn’t know I even cared about until now.
Pedaheh
1. make dough
2. pull off a piece and press it with your fist into the size of a flat peach or orange
3. put a tablespoon of a mix of dill, feta, and egg in the middle
4. pull the sides up and press together until it resembles a small football
5. wipe the outside with sour cream
6. bake a bunch of these at 350 for 20 minutes
