Anyone who knows me is aware of my pirogi (perogi pyrohi) affinity, and you’d be hard-pressed to find a church on Carson that isn’t selling them frozen or warm, or that couldn’t, in one breath, direct you to five more on that block.

My grandfather and I attended a nearby Ukrainian Orthodox church for several years, and from the time I was first brought there as a less-than-5-year-old, the ladies in babushkas were preparing them in the old downstairs kitchen and teaching the rest of the girls how best to fill the dough.

There was always a batch of them in my grandparents’ freezer, and I would have to feel every one to distinguish which were sauerkraut (my pap’s favorite), so I could leave those behind.