By Wigilia with Tommy. The third year hosting. The first year with a baby at the table — not AT the table, technically, but in the room, in the swing, in his Santa hat, sleeping through the twelve dishes with the serenity of a person who has no idea that his great-grandmother invented the recipes being served and that his father makes the soup she made and that the whole tradition flows through the family like a river, carrying everyone, touching everyone, feeding everyone.
I made the mushroom soup. Standing at the stove, stirring, humming. Megan was at the counter making pierogi — her technique is excellent now, professional-grade, the kind of folding that would earn a nod from Mrs. Wojcik. Tom said grace in Polish. The prayer that has sounded in this kitchen and in the Cape Cod kitchen and in Babcia's kitchen for decades. Linda held Tommy during grace and his eyes were open and he stared at the ceiling as if listening, as if the terrible phonetic Polish made sense to something deeper than language.
The extra place was set. But this year, it didn't feel empty. The extra place was for the unexpected guest, and the unexpected guest arrived in October, seven pounds twelve ounces, named Thomas Daniel, and he was right here. In the room. In our arms. In our lives. The empty place is full.
Christmas morning: pancakes, as always. But this year, Tommy was there — in Megan's arms, wearing a onesie that said "My First Christmas," asleep against her chest while I flipped pancakes and the tree glowed and the snow fell outside and everything was exactly what I didn't know I needed. Everything was home.
The small Polish-American heritage is the small kitchen-identity. The small pierogi-recipe-cards from Babcia Helen (Jake’s grandmother who passed in 2018, who had lived two blocks from the small Bay-View family-house) is the small monthly-Saturday-tradition. The small kielbasa-and-sauerkraut. The small bigos. The small recipes that came over from the small Krakow-region in the small 1910s.
The small Milwaukee-winter is the small six-month-condition. The small cold-weather-comfort-food rotation runs October through April. The small soups, the small stews, the small braises, the small heavy-baked-goods. The small Midwestern-comfort-vocabulary is the small kitchen-language.
Megan and Jake married in June 2024. The small newlywed-rhythm is in its small second year. The small two-bedroom rental on the small east-side of Milwaukee continues to be the small first-home. The small thirty-year-mortgage-eventually-someday is the small five-year-goal. The small marriage is the small foundation the small life is being built on.
Megan and Jake married in June 2024. The small newlywed-rhythm is in its small second year. The small two-bedroom rental on the small east-side of Milwaukee continues to be the small first-home. The small thirty-year-mortgage-eventually-someday is the small five-year-goal. The small marriage is the small foundation the small life is being built on.
The small Lakefront Brewery shift-work continues to be the small steady-paycheck. The small forty-hour-week brewery-floor job pays the small twenty-two-an-hour rate that the small Milwaukee-blue-collar-economy supports. The small benefits are the small union-decent. The small ten-year-tenure-target is the small career-anchor.
The small Polish-American heritage is the small kitchen-identity. The small pierogi-recipe-cards from Babcia Helen (Jake’s grandmother who passed in 2018, who had lived two blocks from the small Bay-View family-house) is the small monthly-Saturday-tradition. The small kielbasa-and-sauerkraut. The small bigos. The small recipes that came over from the small Krakow-region in the small 1910s.
Megan is from a small Irish-Catholic Milwaukee-suburban family. The small Sunday-dinners at her small parents’ house rotate with the small Sunday-dinners at Jake’s parents’ house. The small in-laws on both sides have been the small welcoming-presence. The small two-family-network is the small extended-support the small newlywed-life rests on.
The small Milwaukee-winter is the small six-month-condition. The small cold-weather-comfort-food rotation runs October through April. The small soups, the small stews, the small braises, the small heavy-baked-goods. The small Midwestern-comfort-vocabulary is the small kitchen-language.
The small future-kid-conversations have begun. Megan teaches small fourth-grade at a small public school in Wauwatosa. The small adoption-vs-biological conversation is in the small early-discussion stage. The small five-year-plan includes the small kid-or-kids in some form. The small kitchen is the small place where the small future is being practiced.
The twelve dishes were served, the soup was stirred, the pierogi were folded, and Tommy slept through all of it — but a Wigilia table isn’t just soup and pierogis. It’s every jar opened, every condiment passed, every small thing that makes the plate feel complete. These Christmas Pickles have been part of the holiday spread for as long as I can remember, and this year, setting that extra place — the one that wasn’t empty anymore — I wanted every single dish to be exactly right. Sweet, bright, a little unexpected: that’s Tommy, and honestly, that’s this recipe too.
Christmas Pickles
Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 5 minutes | Total Time: 48–72 hours (mostly inactive) | Servings: 16
Ingredients
- 1 jar (32 oz) whole dill pickles, drained and sliced into 1/4-inch rounds
- 2 cups granulated sugar
- 1/2 cup apple cider vinegar
- 2 tablespoons Red Hots cinnamon candies
- 1 teaspoon whole cloves
- 2 cinnamon sticks
- 1/4 teaspoon red food coloring (optional, for color)
Instructions
- Slice the pickles. Drain the jar of dill pickles completely and slice into 1/4-inch rounds. Set aside in a large bowl or return to the cleaned jar.
- Make the brine. In a small saucepan over medium heat, combine the sugar, apple cider vinegar, Red Hots candies, whole cloves, and cinnamon sticks. Stir frequently until the sugar fully dissolves and the Red Hots melt, about 4–5 minutes. Do not boil.
- Add color (optional). If desired, stir in red food coloring for a festive holiday hue.
- Combine. Pour the warm brine over the sliced pickles in the jar or a heatproof container, making sure the pickles are fully submerged. Tuck in the cinnamon sticks and cloves.
- Refrigerate. Seal the container and refrigerate for at least 48 hours, and up to 72 hours, before serving. The longer they sit, the deeper the sweet-spiced flavor develops.
- Serve. Arrange on a small dish alongside the holiday spread. They keep refrigerated for up to 3 weeks.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 105 | Protein: 0g | Fat: 0g | Carbs: 27g | Fiber: 0g | Sodium: 310mg