Ah! The pierogi. The perfect bite-sized, comfort food parcel. But as much as I love them today, these tender clouds of carb perfection were never part of my childhood. No, instead they played a vital role throughout my deeply embarrassing and economically fraught 20s. The frozen No Name pierogi was there when I simultaneously strapped for cash and time in university. The fresh pierogi was there when, in the midst of a rough patch to end all rough patches, my friend Paul invited me over to make the delectable dumplings with his Polish mama. And today’s Short Rib Pierogies were there when winter unexpectedly decided to call.