…and on the eighth day God created the horse in perfect image, to romp, graze, gallop, play, and make manure wherever it darn well pleases, in divine grace.
Joy to the world, and Christmas blessings to all! I am sincerely wishing everyone a peaceful and prosperous New Year.
This week’s column is not about our equine friends, but instead is a dedication and celebration of the life of my Grandfather, John Casimir Woshner, late of Meredith Street, in Pittsburgh, PA, and his love of Christmas time.
His father Bartholomew and mother Florence Wenslovas, born in the latter part of the 19th century, came together in an arranged European-style marriage, with Bartholomew custom-building the family’s home and business at the corner of 16th and Carson Streets, on the South Side of Pittsburgh.
Today, you know it as Mario’s South Side Pub & Saloon.
The family were tailors by trade, providing quality men’s suits and hand-sewn cassocks for the priests in the diocese of Pittsburgh.
The name Casimir is a Polish one, and is sprinkled throughout the Woshner Family. Perhaps it is the name of the famous Prince-turned-Saint from the 1400’s: Saint Casimir.
My grandfather loved the South Side of the city and was very close with his family.
Later, he became a banker at Mellon Bank, married the love of his life, Mabel West of Elm Grove, West Virginia, and moved up to Carrick.
At a dark brick house on Meredith Street, John and Mabel started a family.
Saint Basil’s Church up on Brownsville Road was a big part of their lives, with Catholic schooling and rites of passage.
Being a banker, the children were presented with pure silver coins to recognize and commemorate their important dates.
Christmas time was always special to John C. Woshner
As the children grew up and started families of their own, the house on Meredith Street was filled once again with excited cries and laughter as everyone gathered to celebrate on Christmas Day.
The wonderful smell of coffee permeated the house all day long, mixing with cigar and cigarette smoke and the lonesome sound of the Lionel train under a white pine tree, decorated with antique ornaments from the previous century.
The Pittsburgh Press lay in remnants on the yellow, Art-deco-style table as various family members picked it up and set it back down, coffee rings and white sugar sticking to the pages.
Fine chocolates, Marziapan, and liquor cordials graced antique candy dishes, while red-colored pistachio nuts and cachews generously filled crystal bowls to capacity, the grandchildren running around with red lips and paws, leaving little piles of red shells laying.
Good whiskey sat in decanters on an antique sideboard with sconces that only lit up at Christmas time, their odd, red shape stoically watching Father Time slipping past.
A large gift exchange was held, once all the families had gathered, and the godfathers and godmothers nodded in appreciation, John Casimir in his glory.
His raspy voice could be heard above the din, “What do you think this is? Christmas?”
More fine chocolates, good whiskey, and nice clothing was opened as gifts, with an occasional board game, set of tools, or bag of bird seed thrown in.
The Woshner Family liked birds, and the red Cardinal seemed to be a favorite of some of them.
As the beautiful afternoon waned, the bottle of Old Grand Dad dipped low, and a warning came out once again by the second daughter to leave the bottle of King’s Ransom alone.
Our old Grandpap, or “Pap” as he was called, along with the brothers, liked to pretend they were tapping into the King’s Ransom, and roars of laughter could be heard at their practical joke.
Soon the fragrant, meaty smell of Krakowska Kielbasa was wafting through the downstairs rooms, and the grandchildren would begin to ask when the dinner would be served.
Pap always made his own Polish kielbasa to serve at Christmas dinner at the house on Meredith Street.
Since he worked as a banker, he knew all the merchants on the South Side. Many of them were European immigrants and had trouble speaking English. They would come in to Mellon Back on Carson Street and Pap would help them with their money and bank accounts.
In return, Pap received tokens and gifts of their appreciation.
One is a brass sausage ring that he acquired from an unknown butcher there on the South Side. This brass sausage ring is now a family heirloom in my mother’s possession.
Pap preferred traditional Krakowska Kielbasa, or “Krajana”, or in English, “Cut in pieces.”
Krakow sausage means that the sausage is made of meat chunks that are never ground up, and Pap always procured traditional hog casings to make the kielbasa.
There can be a small part that is ground, this is optional, and it has some slightly fattier meat that can fill in the gaps of the chunks and it holds together the large chunks of meat.
As of 1959, an official guide to Polish meat products categorizes 46 sausages and 13 liver and blood sausages.
These use natural hog casings cannot have the meat stuffed in too tightly, because they will break.
Polish sausage can be traced back to medieval Cracow (Krakow.) Recipes were shared and passed along more noticeably in the 1800’s.
During the 19th century, Cracow was a part of the “Galicja Region,” famous for its Polish fare and Kielbasa Krakowska.
Cracow’s Master Butcher, Wincent Satalecki, inherited his Polish sausage recipe from an ancestor in Slovakia.
The official name is “Krakowska Kielbasa sucha Staropolska,” or “Old Polish dry Sausage.”
Currently it is on the European Union’s list of 42 Polish dishes certified with labels as “Protected Designation of Origin.”
Pap’s unknown South Side butcher of the day used a chopped pork shoulder that Pap purchased along with the genuine pork casings. These he would bring home and make the kielbasa himself. It wasn’t dry and the raw meat was cooked on the stove top, so Pap’s recipe could be different than the dry sausage.
Perhaps Pap brought the meat home in a traditional meat bag closed with hog rings to keep them inside.
The brass ring came into play as the hog casing was slipped onto it and then draped over as the pork chunks were pushed inside as Pap began the first steps in preparing the kielbasa.
Salt and pepper had been mixed in, but I’m not sure which spices. Could it have been marjoram, coriander, or yellow mustard? Garlic and nutmeg?
I can remember looking at the large kielbasa all curled around like a puffy spiral in Grandma Mabel’s giant iron skillet.
I can still see my Grandfather on Christmas Day at the house on Meredith Street.
I can see him yet, standing over the stove poking at the Polish kielbasa, his white dress shirt open, white T-top peeking through, white tea towel draped over his shoulder, and his side-open, leather house slippers shining and scuffling as he told us “Scrawny brats” to get out of the kitchen, the kielbasa would be finished when it was finished.
With Aunt Lois’ deviled eggs, a Christmas ham, and the Polish kielbasa all topped off with crème soda pop and home made cookies and pies for dessert, not to mention Pap’s own fruit cake, also made from a secret Polish recipe, it all made for the most delicious memorable of holiday dinners.
The smell of fresh coffee once again wafted through the rooms as the grownups enjoyed an after-dinner reverie that opened up into a boisterous game of poker and 5-card draw, the cigarette and cigar smoke hanging thick in the air.
Folks, these are such fond memories, and what a wonderful time back there on Meredith Street with my beloved Grandpappy and Grandmother, and all the aunts and uncles and cousins, I wouldn’t trade it in for a million dollars.
There was always a Nativity scene under Pap’s tree, so remember to keep the Christ in Christmas, and the heirloom Lionel passenger train ran past a Baby Jesus in His cradle, its whistle sounding into the snow and pines of time, the clinking of the china coffee cups and sugar dish at Meredith Street still making me pause.
Again, in praise of our Lord Jesus Christ, you can’t go wrong with the long-haired carpenter dude in the sandals. So have a “Kewl Yule” and I’ll close out now with some of my old Espyville Buzz lines.
Stick around on Earth, you’re still needed here and your Christic mission is not yet complete.
The beer is always cold, the fish are always biting, and people still have light in their hearts, so give them a chance.
Kiss your loved ones and then kiss the dog.
Keep the ice off your bumper and the mud off your tail.
Be kind to your teeth and your knees, you still need them.
Call an old friend or a sibling, as they are your links to your past and you all share common memories; you never know when they’ll be gone for good.
Suspend your disbelief.
Seek quiet times for prayer and meditation, seek the Light of the Christ.
Run that toy train under the Christmas tree and revel in joy of being a kid again.
We are all really just children at heart - - the children of the Prince of Peace.
Thank you for reading Horsin’ Around and keep on buyin’ the Community News!
Soon we will be ushering in a brand new year all over this great land of ours.
I hope the bells that ring are Liberty Bells, signaling our Freedom and Sovereignty, in the good, old USA, and in a Universal Truth.
We’ll talk soon.
Leaving you with sugar plums, candy canes, pecan pies, and ooey-gooey Christmas yummies, homemade in a warm kitchen by someone you love, to the immortal words of Roy Rogers and Dale Evans, “Happy Trails to You.”
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Merry Christmas!