“You have to try this,” a stranger said, holding out a pierogi like it was a peace offering. That’s how my visit to a Michigan market started, uninvited advice from someone in line who couldn’t stop smiling.
I took the bite and understood the smile immediately. Shelves here hold bread that still steams, kielbasa cut thick, and pastries dusted with sugar that stick to your fingers before you even sit down.
Nothing was fancy. Everything tasted like someone’s mother made it that morning…