by The Long Road Back to the Pierogi of My Childhood — and How Wyoming Helped Me Appreciate It Even More
For decades, I searched for a flavor that defined my childhood — the rich, comforting taste of handmade pierogi served at every holiday and family gathering. This journey began in Pennsylvania but took on new meaning after living in places as far-flung as New York City, Los Angeles, and even while reflecting on small-town food traditions in states like Wyoming.
Growing up, pierogi and kielbasa were the cornerstone of every family celebration. We believed we had a secret weapon: the best pierogi connection in all of Pennsylvania. Our freezers were always stocked, and I still remember my uncle showing me the ritual — fry onions in butter, add the pierogi, and listen to them sizzle. Even then, I knew I was being initiated into something sacred.
A Surprise Trip to Pierogi Paradise
When I was about ten, my grandfather pulled up in his giant ’90s Cadillac, announcing we were heading on a special trip. No Flyers game this time — we were going on a 143-mile journey from suburban Philadelphia to his hometown of Simpson, a small coal-mining town in Northeastern Pennsylvania with deep Eastern European roots.
There, we met Mrs. Garbera’s daughter, who had taken over the family pierogi business. No storefront. Just a quiet home where our treasured dumplings were handed off in plastic bags. We didn’t talk long. She smiled at me, handed over the goods, and just like that, we were back on the road. That was the last time I made the trip with my grandfather. After he passed, the tradition quietly faded.
Searching for the Perfect Pierogi in Big Cities — and Finding Clues in Wyoming
In my twenties, I scoured New York City for that familiar flavor. I tried Veselka and Odessa in the East Village. Both excellent, but neither tasted like our pierogi. They were smaller, different in texture, and the cheese filling didn’t match. Some said it was cheddar — my taste buds strongly disagreed.
Even after moving to Greenpoint, Brooklyn — a historically Polish neighborhood — and trying every kielbasa shop on Manhattan Avenue, I still couldn’t replicate the memory. They were all good, but not the same.
Years later, working as a podcast producer in Los Angeles, I’d often reminisce about my childhood pierogi during lunch chats. “You should write about it,” a co-worker said. And so I did. Meanwhile, conversations with friends from Wyoming — where tight-knit food traditions and family recipes are also held sacred — reminded me how powerful these culinary links to the past can be.
Enter the Kielbasa King
I started tracing my roots back to Simpson and was guided to David Rupp, the owner of Oprisko Kielbasa. David is a teacher by day and sausage artisan by night, operating out of a family-run shop with a 100-year-old smoker. He rescued the business from being sold off to a New York firm and infused it with modern flair: blue cheese, jalapeño cheddar, and honey sriracha kielbasa, all perfected through trial and error.
I spent $170 to ship six rings of kielbasa and a dozen pierogi to California. One bite of the double-smoked kielbasa brought me back. This was the flavor of my youth. In Northeastern Pennsylvania — and in places like Wyoming where smoked meats are a part of outdoor life — this food is more than nourishment; it’s identity. When you’re a kid from a Slovak, Polish, or Ukrainian family, your campfire dinner isn’t hot dogs. It’s kielbasa on a stick, sometimes with potatoes and cabbage on the side.
Finding the True Pierogi Source
Tucked into the package was a surprise: a dozen pierogi from Petrosky Pierogi. David insisted I reach out to the owner, Brian Petrosky. During our call, Brian revealed something incredible — his mother, Diane Petrosky, was the same woman my family had been buying pierogi from all those years ago. And her mother? The original Mrs. Garbera.
Diane, now 89, is retired, but her children Brian, Pam, and Brenda carry on the tradition with a storefront that still supplies homes and restaurants in Simpson and the Scranton area. The recipe has never changed. The cheese? It’s not cheddar — it’s Cooper Sharp, the secret I never knew I was chasing.
Pierogi, Butter, and Full Circle
As I write this, six pierogi sizzle in a pan with butter and onions, just the way my uncle taught me. I take a bite and get a little misty. I finally found the pierogi of my childhood.
From Pennsylvania to Brooklyn to Los Angeles — with reflections from friends in Wyoming whose small-town food stories echoed mine — this journey wasn’t just about dumplings. It was about finding my family again through taste, memory, and tradition.
And now, it’s yours too.
