"It's just past the church"
He explained in vague tones
"An old, low house.
Red trim with no porch
And complex aromas
Invade the inconspicuous street."
An unexpectedly poetic guide
Pontificated freely
The embellishments were appropriate
We were later to verify
But in the overcast pre-arrival world
In which the oratory occurred
It was only the kismet of the moment
Serendipitous coincidence
To find such eloquence
Randomly roaming
That was precious
Taken as a good omen
Intrigue assured
There is comfort in comfort food
It is a warm embrace of familiarity
Even when completely foreign
The rapidly aging matriarch
Within the low, red trimmed aromatic shop
Set the proper tone
And the menu on the wall
Profferred the offerings
Typical Polish dishes
With mostly unfamiliar names
The attached list of components
Igniting a familiar longing
To climb inside and cozy up
To each new and intriguing dish
A selection was made
A table located
A brief wait
A shuffling arrival
Then heavily ladened plates
Gently arrived
A small grin of anticipation
We dig in hungrily
And you begin to understand a people
When you befriend their cuisine
This food spoke of long days
Of food from the land
Of not being able to fussily conjure
Frivoulous, pretty edibles
This was serviceable food
Meant to stick to the bones
Warm the spirits
Embrace and comfort
After a grueling day
Delicious and peaceful
Perogies filled with gentle moments
Cares and concerns easily thwarted
By the power of kraut and potatoes
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