Creamed Peas and Pearl Onions -- The Comfort of Babcia’s Kitchen, When One Pierogi Was Enough

People keep bringing me food. Katie brought a granola bar on Tuesday and put it on my pillow like a hotel chocolate. My RA brought a container of pasta from the dining hall. A girl from my assessment class whose name I don't know left a bag of trail mix outside my door with a Post-it that said "thinking of you" and I stared at the Post-it for twenty minutes trying to understand what thinking of me could possibly accomplish.

I ate the granola bar. Wednesday, I think. Or Thursday. The days have stopped being days. They're just stretches of light and dark separated by my phone buzzing with texts I can't answer. Mom calls every morning at 7:15. I pick up and say "I'm fine" and she says "Okay, honey" and we both know I'm lying and she's letting me lie because she's sixty-three miles away and what else can she do. Dad called once. He said, "Mandy, I'm sorry, kid." That was it. That was the whole call. Kowalczyk men don't have more words than that. It was enough.

I went to the funeral on Saturday. Mom and Dad drove up and got me. I wore a black dress I bought at Target two hours before the service because I didn't own a black dress because I'm twenty-one and twenty-one-year-olds aren't supposed to need black dresses. The church was full. Jess's mom was in the front row in a blue dress because she said Jess hated black. There were sunflowers on the casket. I don't remember who chose sunflowers. Maybe I did. Maybe Mrs. Papalardo did. Jess thought roses were boring. Jess thought a lot of things were boring. Jess was never boring. Not once. Not even at the end.

After the funeral there was food at the Papalardo house. Trays of Italian beef, mostaccioli, rolls. The food people bring to death. I stood in the kitchen where Jess and I used to eat pizza rolls after school and I held a plate someone put in my hands and I didn't eat. I couldn't eat in that kitchen. I couldn't eat in the room where Jess was alive and loud and herself. Babcia Rose found me in the hallway. She didn't say anything. She took the plate and put a pierogi on it — she'd brought them, because Babcia Rose brings pierogi to everything, even grief — and she said, "Eat, Myszka." I ate the pierogi. One. It tasted like flour and salt and the last thing I could swallow before my throat closed up again.

I'm back in the dorm. The lentils are still on my desk. I can't look at them. I can't look at anything that was from before.

Babcia Rose didn’t bring anything complicated to the Papalardo house that day. She brought what her hands knew — something soft, something made with intention, something that didn’t ask anything of you. That’s what I keep coming back to when I think about what food can actually do in those hours. This creamed peas and pearl onions recipe is the kind of dish that belongs in that same tradition: gentle, old-fashioned, the sort of thing that ends up in a chafing dish at every church basement reception because it asks almost nothing of the person eating it. I can’t make pierogi right now — that’s Babcia’s, and it would feel wrong to try — but this is close to that same quiet. Something warm. Something that goes down easy.

Creamed Peas and Pearl Onions

Prep Time: 5 minutes | Cook Time: 15 minutes | Total Time: 20 minutes | Servings: 6

Ingredients

• 2 cups frozen peas, thawed
• 1 cup frozen pearl onions, thawed
• 2 tablespoons unsalted butter
• 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
• 1 cup whole milk
• 1/4 cup heavy cream
• 1/2 teaspoon salt, or to taste
• 1/4 teaspoon white pepper
• Pinch of nutmeg
• 1 teaspoon fresh thyme leaves (optional)

Instructions

1. Blanch the onions. Bring a small pot of salted water to a boil. Add the pearl onions and cook for 4–5 minutes until just tender. Drain and set aside.
2. Make the roux. In a medium saucepan over medium heat, melt the butter. Add the flour and whisk constantly for about 1 minute, until the mixture is pale golden and smells slightly nutty.
3. Build the cream sauce. Slowly pour in the milk and heavy cream, whisking continuously to prevent lumps. Cook, stirring frequently, for 3–4 minutes until the sauce thickens enough to coat the back of a spoon.
4. Season. Add the salt, white pepper, and nutmeg. Taste and adjust seasoning. If using, stir in the fresh thyme.
5. Combine. Add the drained pearl onions and the thawed peas to the cream sauce. Stir gently to coat. Cook over low heat for 2–3 minutes until everything is warmed through. Do not overcook — the peas should stay bright and tender, not mushy.
6. Serve. Transfer to a serving dish. Best served warm, alongside roasted chicken, ham, or as part of a larger table of comfort food.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 140 | Protein: 4g | Fat: 8g | Carbs: 13g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 210mg