Apricot Kolaches

My grandmother was a first-generation American, with her parents migrating from Hungary. My grandmother grew up in a traditional Hungarian household that was simply located in America. They went to Church every night, made the same meals from back home, and even spoke the language in the house. As she grew older, she explored the country, learning American culture and embracing various lifestyle changes gracefully. The grandmother I knew loved to knit and watch soap operas and day time television, going outside every hour to smoke a Marlboro 100. Despite her new American way of living, her Hungarian heart bled through the food she crafted in the kitchen. Goulash, Paprikash, and stuffed cabbage were frequent meals, with their smells floating all the way to my room on the third floor. The one thing I've always cherished, however, have been her Apricot Kolaches. These were only made for special occasions, as it took hours to prep, perfect, and bake. No one was allowed in the kitchen during this time, as not to throw off her focus on the perfection she was creating. I would sneak in the kitchen while she ran out for a cigarette and would steal two of the cookies off of the cooling rack. After running up the stairs, cookies in hand, I would blow them off until they were cool enough to bite into their flaky crust. The sweetness of the jam center and the creaminess from the cookie had always been the sweetest taste I had ever had. 

Place(s): Home

– Jenna W.

Relationship:  Great-grandchild of im/migrant or more Great-grandchild of im/migrant or more