Man, something I love about America is that we can pick and choose different ethnic traditions that we like and keep them as our own--kind of like the buffet at Furr's Cafeteria. Yes, I'll have three starches, but hold the green beans. Hamtramck is less than an hour from us, and with Ethan's love of all things Polish thanks to his mission, and with my recent discovery of John's Polish ancestry, it's fun to pretend that I'm a Pole for the day and claim my paczki! (As a side note, many others who are obviously not of Polish descent--I'm speaking to my chocolate-skinned, ghetto brothers--also like to claim this tradition, but when they exit out of the bakery announcing that they have their POO-SKIES, they are quickly corrected by those who actually know and have the custard and fruit-filling running through their veins.) This year, my birthday fell on the weekend of the Paczki run, a 5K that winds through the very flat streets of Hamtramck, ending with fr...
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