Four years. Two hundred and eight weeks. And the world is upside down.
Milwaukee is in lockdown. Not officially — Governor Evers will issue the Safer at Home order later this month — but effectively, the city has shut down. Restaurants closed for dine-in. Bars dark. The Lakefront Brewery taproom is closed, production running with a skeleton crew that doesn't include me — Marcus sent me home. "You're young and healthy," he said. "I need you healthy for when we come back." I'm on reduced pay. It's not nothing, but it's less.
I'm home. In the apartment. In the kitchen. With Babcia's recipe cards and a freezer full of pierogi and a pantry I stocked when I saw this coming.
The first thing I did: I made food for Mrs. Wojcik. Eighty-two years old, living alone, immunocompromised by age. I made a week's worth of meals: mushroom soup, bigos, pierogi, bread, and a batch of the go┼é─àbki she loves. I put them in containers, drove to her house, and left them on her porch with a note: "Don't open the door. Just take the food. I'll bring more next week. — Jakub." She texted me (she can text, she just chooses not to most of the time): "The soup is correct. Stay safe."
I made food for Mom and Dad. Same protocol: cook, container, porch delivery, no contact. Mom cried through the door. Dad said, "Go home, kid. We're fine." He's fifty-two. Mom is fifty-one. They're not old but they're not young and I worry about them the way they've worried about me my whole life, and it turns out that role reversal is the scariest thing in the world.
I've been cooking nonstop. Not for content, not for the column, not for Instagram. Just to cope. The apartment smells like every recipe Babcia ever made. I've gone through half her card stack this week alone: pierogi, bigos, go┼é─àbki, ┼╝urek, krupnik, rosó┼é, placki, kapusta. I'm cooking like a man possessed because cooking is the only thing I can control and the world has lost all its other controls.
The Helen's business plan sits on my table. Eighty pages of a dream that was supposed to start happening this year — look at storefronts, talk to banks, take the first steps. Instead, the storefronts are dark, the banks are scared, and the steps lead nowhere.
But the kitchen is open. The dough is rising. The soup is simmering. And somewhere, in the silence of a locked-down city, I can hear Babcia humming.
Year 4 is over. The world has changed. I haven't. I'm still the kid from Bay View who cooks like his grandmother. And right now, that's enough. It has to be enough.
I made soup every day that month — rosół, krupnik, mushroom, bigos broth — because soup is what you make when you need to feel like you’re doing something real and good. This sausage corn chowder isn’t Babcia’s, but it’s in her spirit: pantry staples, one pot, enough to share with the people on your list. When I wasn’t making Polish food from the card stack, I was making this — something thick and warm and honest that didn’t require a trip to the store, didn’t require a crowd, and didn’t require the world to be anything other than what it was. It just required a pot and the will to feed someone.
Sausage Corn Chowder
Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 30 min | Total Time: 45 min | Servings: 6
Ingredients
- 1 lb smoked kielbasa or andouille sausage, sliced into half-moons
- 1 medium yellow onion, diced
- 3 cloves garlic, minced
- 3 medium Yukon Gold potatoes, peeled and diced (about 3 cups)
- 2 cans (15 oz each) whole kernel corn, drained (or 3 cups frozen corn)
- 1 can (14.75 oz) cream-style corn
- 3 cups chicken broth
- 1 cup whole milk
- 1/2 cup heavy cream
- 2 tablespoons unsalted butter
- 1 teaspoon smoked paprika
- 1/2 teaspoon dried thyme
- Salt and black pepper to taste
- 2 tablespoons fresh parsley, chopped (for garnish)
Instructions
- Brown the sausage. Melt butter in a large heavy-bottomed pot or Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Add sliced sausage and cook, stirring occasionally, until lightly browned on the edges, about 4–5 minutes. Remove sausage with a slotted spoon and set aside, leaving drippings in the pot.
- Soften the aromatics. Reduce heat to medium. Add diced onion to the pot and cook in the sausage drippings until softened and translucent, about 5 minutes. Add garlic and cook 1 minute more, stirring constantly so it doesn’t burn.
- Build the base. Add smoked paprika and thyme, stirring to coat the onions. Pour in chicken broth and add the diced potatoes. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to a steady simmer. Cook uncovered until potatoes are fork-tender, about 12–15 minutes.
- Add the corn. Stir in both the drained whole kernel corn and the cream-style corn. The cream-style corn will naturally thicken the chowder without any flour or roux needed. Return the browned sausage to the pot.
- Finish with dairy. Pour in the milk and heavy cream. Stir gently to combine. Reduce heat to low and simmer uncovered for 8–10 minutes, until the chowder is heated through and slightly thickened. Do not boil once the dairy is added.
- Season and serve. Taste and adjust salt and black pepper as needed. Ladle into bowls and top with fresh chopped parsley. Serve with thick slices of crusty bread.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 480 | Protein: 18g | Fat: 28g | Carbs: 42g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 980mg
About the cook who shared this
Jake Kowalski
Week 208 of Jake’s 30-year story
· Milwaukee, Wisconsin
Jake is a twenty-nine-year-old brewery worker, newlywed, and proud Polish-American from Milwaukee's Bay View neighborhood. He didn't start cooking until his grandmother Babcia Helen passed away and left behind a stack of grease-stained recipe cards. Now he makes pierogi from scratch, smokes meats on a balcony smoker his landlord pretends not to notice, and writes for guys who want to cook good food but don't know a roux from a rub.