For three years I’ve driven past a Ukrainian church on State Road and I’ve been perplexed by a sign in the yard that says “Pyrohy Here.” I would furrow my brow (unwittingly contributing to the inevitable formation of The Wrinkle) and wonder to myself, “What the fuck kinda religiousness is a Pyrohy?” Pronouncing it to myself “Pie-Row-Fee”. I finally figured it must be a cousin to that other religious word I don’t understand, “Liturgy”. Come forth, Sinners: Get your Pyrohy and Liturgy here!
Then, on the way home from work tonight the sign said “Pyrohy Open Today” and I thought, “Huh??” And then I said it slow to myself, with a “he” on the end instead of a “fee” and realized that it’s Pi-Row-Hee” as my Slovak grandmother pronounces it and the lightbulb lit up over my head: PIEROGI!!! They sell nun-made Pierogi!! RIGHT DOWN THE STREET FROM MY HOUSE!! And all this time I’ve been driving right on past, when I could have been getting my own little dose of churching in the form of a potato and cheese stuffed dough pocket, handcrafted with love by nuns! So I think next week I will stop for some churching and pick up some Pyrohy. Perhaps Liturgy is actually some type of nun-made Hungarian strudel.