Tucked away in a kitchen cupboard is an old paper-bound cookbook. It’s nothing fancy, no spectacular photography, not even a professional print job. But, this book – The Wigilia – is one of my dearest possessions.

When I was nine, my grandmother and I traded letters and tapes once a week for a month as she recorded the spoken history of our family – the journey of my great-grandparents from Gdansk, Poland, my great-grandfather’s first job in North America, pictures, documents, and all of the Polish songs and sayings that needed some preservation. But, most importantly, she mapped out the holiday traditions that had been part of our family for generations through that very humble book.

Together we recreated the past for a school history project – and knowing my Polish roots right down to the stories of everyday life and the sweet familiarity of Christmas at grandma’s grounded me during a time in my life when things at home were a wee bit nutty.

The traditions were tangible. On our table every year appeared a piece of Oplatek – Polish unleavened bread – that we broke with family and friends in celebration of the season, sent along by my grandmother. It’s a bread steeped in tradition, one told in The Wigilia – a book filled with recipes, rituals and rites of the Winter season as my family had always celebrated it.

The Oplatek had an honored place amongst piles of perogi, handmade sausage and mounds of cabbage that ensured we understood that our food roots were firmly Eastern European. It sat placed on one of my favorite platters on which was engraved “Chleba Naszego Powszedniego Daj Nam Dzisiaj” loosely translated as “Give us this day our daily bread.”

My grandmother and I spent many years after that history project trading more stories and, when I was 12, she gave me my own copy of The Wigilia. I tucked it away as at that point in my life I was more interested in boys and storytelling of my own than Polish Christmas traditions.

But, whether I made time for family traditions or not, they followed me. After leaving my parents home, my grandmother’s holiday card came in the mailbox every year with a similar piece of Oplatek tucked inside along with a passage from The Wigilia. She would remind me of meals to create, deserts to share. She would leave notes about the Polish lullaby I still sing to the tiny person. She sent paper-cut stars to hang over the front door.

A similar platter to the one that Oplatek could be found in my childhood sits on my kitchen counter today – given to me by her as a means to preserve yesterday.

They became a lovely, anticipated part of each holiday season.

This year, with her passing in September, I found myself wondering who would be there to carry on the traditions of my grandmother, our family and The Wigilia. Where would the Oplatek come from (the only place I know to get it is in Lewiston, N.Y. and they don’t ship to Canada)? Who would tell the stories? What could I do to preserve everything that I’d come to expect from my cultural traditions each holiday season?

Then, I pulled out The Wigilia and began to read.

I could smell the food rising from the pages, taste the cakes and sausages, hear the songs in my head and grandma seemed to be sitting there with me chatting about the value of perspective.

I smiled as the tiny person asked me if we could have cabbage for Christmas, if Ken’s mom was making perogi and when we could make those paper-cut stars to hang over the front door. She pulled out the platter, sung me her favorite Polish lullaby and asked me a million questions about what “Polishers” – as she put it – do for Christmas.

We may still be minus that special piece of Oplatek – along with the spirit and stories of my sweet grandmother – but, within the pages of that book I learned that the traditions of my family, my childhood, and the precious friendship I had with my grandmother live inside me.

So, when I head into the kitchen this year to make a pile of sausage and fried cabbage for holiday dinner, my grandmother can smile a bit knowing that all that time she spent sharing pieces of our past with me are now a part of today and the future…and The Wigilia with all of its traditions continues on because of her.

Polish Sausage with Warm Spicy Kraut

- One package of Polish sausage

- 1/2 green cabbage

- 1/2 medium white onion

- 1/2 medium apple

- 2 tsp butter

- 1/2 tsp of hot chili flakes

- 2 tbsp of Apple Cider vinegar

- 1/2 tsp of organic sugar

- salt and pepper to taste

1. Warm butter in a pan, while waiting for it to melt, chop the onion coarsely. Fry onions in butter until caramelized.

2. Chop cabbage finely, combine with onions and butter.

3. Grate apple into mixture, add vinegar and sautee for several minutes. Sweeten, salt and pepper to taste. Heat oven to 350.

4. Cut the Polish sausage into sections and then cut each section in half the long way. Put into mixture and place the whole pan in the oven for 35 minutes.

Take out and serve a delicious, traditional Polish Wigilia meal – courtesy of my grandmother and her love of the people and places from which she came.