Perfecting BIGOS

I know you have worked for years at something and never felt satisfied with it. Perhaps you are an artist and continually try to create your best watercolor. You need the right paper, saturation, colors, light, the variables are infinite. Perhaps you are like my friend Mike, a world-class fisherman who continually finds a way to be better at it. Or, perhaps you are like my daughter, Lorhel, who always rises to a new and greater level at Viola. Even right now, she’s awesome, if she stopped now, she would be a great player, close to mastery. However, it’s our human nature to strive and achieve mastery. My friend Ed, is a master with so many tools and constructing that I am continually humbled by his skills. My wife, is so good at keeping the faith I am continually humbled by her diligence. Me, well, in my “old age” my goals are changing. I’m not trying to write the number one song anymore. I’m just normally trying to get a line in the water and get thru my work list and take care of my family. However, there is one goal that continually nags me, that is, perfecting BIGOS.

Even many Polish people don’t know what BIGOS is. BIGOS, pronounced BEE-GOOSE, is Polish Hunter’s Stew. A few years ago my father, Eddy and I were supposed to go on the September Salmon Fishing Trip together. However, Dad was hospitalized and then released just before the trip. He was too weak to go. I can still see him sitting there, on the couch, in his white robe, lamenting that he couldn’t go. You could tell he wanted to go soooo badly, but his body wouldn’t get him to the river anymore. I didn’t want to go, with him so sick, but he insisted that I go. Thus, Ed and I dedicated that entire trip in his honor. Despite his illness, he managed to make his last batch of BIGOS. He sent it up with us in two containers. Now Ed, being Irish, hadn’t had all the exposure to Polish Food that all men should have. Anyway, I heated up Dad’s BIGOS while Ed looked on with some trepidation. It only took one bite, and then the “Oh man this is good” comments started. The comments went on and on until not even a milliliter of BIGOS remained. It was one of the most awesome dinners of our lives, we couldn’t get enough of it. Although it was bitter sweet, it helped us have Dad there with us, eating his Polish Hunter’s Stew.

BIGOS has saurkraut, onions, imported mushrooms and a variety of meats in it. The flavors meld together in a symphonic choir performance of mastery. It speaks of cold nights on the farm in Poland, when my ancestors only had some cabbage, some onions, and a few scraps of meat to eat after a 16 hour day tilling the land. Over centuries, however, it developed into a dish fit for royalty. It is earthy, pungent, fermented, rib sticking food. It may seem simple, but just try to prepare a dish developed over hundreds of years from the mindset of a fly-fishing third generation Polack who just had the pleasure of eating it. I never had to MAKE it. Well, Dad passed on and the next fishing trip came and we tried to re-create the BIGOS. In went the kraut, polish sausage, onions, mushrooms and out came a pretty bad sour mess. “This is pretty bad” Eddy said, this is not like your Dad’s BIGOS. “Yeah it is”, I said, “it’s got all the stuff in it”, I recanted. “Well, it may have all the stuff in it but this isn’t your Dad’s BIGOS. There were a few more attempts at it on fishing trips, all falling short until Eddy found a recipe on-line and we talked to some more Polacks about how to do it. It turns out that you have to drain the saurkraut and then brown the kraut in butter to give it that edgy, smoky, buttery twist that really makes the BIGOS. So, over the years, I have strived to fry the kraut to the right level of browness, find the right meats and mushrooms and barley and then bake it in a roasting pan in the oven like Dad did. Tonight, I made yet another batch of BIGOS, taking time to get the imported mushrooms, brown the kraut properly, add three types of meat and VIOLA, out came my best batch of BIGOS ever. It was good, I had a bowl. I thought about a second bowl, and looked out the window and said to myself, “nah, that was good, but it wasn’t nearly AS good. Really, it wasn’t, there’s still something missing. The mushrooms weren’t the right kind, the sausage wasn’t made by Kowalski’s (a true Polish Sausage Maker), the blend wasn’t right. If I could have anything at all I wanted, if I found the Genie’s lamp, if God Himself gave me any wish at all….I can tell you it wouldn’t be money. It wouldn’t be fame, it would be one more day with my DAD. It would be one more day fishing with him and coming back to camp, and showing me once and for all how to make the BIGOS right.

I am very blessed to be the son of a master fisherman, a father beyond comparison. He cooked for me, changed my diapers at a time when men just didn’t do that. He cheered me on at little league games and introduced me to the awesome majesty of Northern Michigan and stream fishing. He delighted me in tasting a dish that took me back generations in time, to my Polish roots. He took me places I can never go again, because he is gone. Neverthless, he left me with a great legacy, to continually strive for the best. I know I can never be half the man, but it’s good to taste a little bit of that tonight, ever-knowing it’s only a second best.