April 30, 2026
Jodie and I have been trying to snag tickets to one of Gingham Market's Maker Series cooking classes for months.
These things sell out so dang fast. Like, you refresh the page and they're already gone.
So when we finally got two spots for the Pierogi Making Class with Sunflower Gourmet? We did a little victory dance in our kitchen.
After Wednesday night, we totally get why everyone's fighting for tickets.
We showed up not really knowing what to expect. There was a long table set up, ingredients laid out, and about a dozen other people milling around looking equally excited and slightly nervous.
The group we ended up with made the whole night. Shoutout to Alison and her crew from LCA daycare — you guys were a blast. We swapped stories about everything from toddler meltdowns to the great pierogi debates of our childhoods, and honestly, it set the tone for the whole evening.
Turns out making dough with a bunch of strangers is a pretty good way to make friends.
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Before we got our hands dirty, Tamila and Mykola Vashchuk — the couple behind Sunflower Gourmet — told us their story.
They're from Kyiv. They had a successful pierogi business there. Like, award-winning. The kind you'd see on a fancy restaurant menu.
And then the war started.
They left everything. Their home, their business, the life they'd built. And they came here with the help of some thoughtful and generous Westsiders and started completely over.
I'm not gonna lie — listening to them talk about it, more than a few people in that room got a little choked up. Their resilience is incredible. And the fact that they're pouring all of that into making these beautiful pierogis in Northeast Ohio? No wonder why they have made such a big impact on our community in such a short period of time.
They're the type of people that make you happy to support.
Mykola showed us how to make the dough, and right off the bat he admitted something that made me feel better: there's no exact recipe.
"It's more about feel," he said, eyeballing the flour.
How come when I do that at home we end up with the thickest, most offensive spaghetti noodles imaginable. I guess thats what 2 decades and countless generations of Pierogi making gets you.
We each took a turn kneading. Some people were delicate and precise. I went at it like I was working out some aggression. Either way, it came together.
Then the dough had to rest for about 30 minutes. Which, conveniently, is exactly how long it takes for a room full of strangers to loosen up once someone opens the wine.
While the dough was resting, we made the filling: mashed potatoes, sharp cheddar, and caramelized onions.
Nothing fancy. Just timeless ingredients that work perfectly together.
Once the dough was ready, we started rolling it out. Some people were naturals.
We used a cookie cutter to cut out circles, then filled each one with a spoonful of the potato mixture and folded them up.
This is where things got messy and fun. People were laughing, comparing their pierogis, asking Tamila and Mykola for help when theirs looked questionable.
It felt less like a formal cooking class and more like being in someone's kitchen with friends.
By the end, we had a mountain of handmade pierogis. Some were perfect. Some were... let's call them rustic. But they were ours.
After all that work, Tamila and Mykola cooked everything up while we caught our breath.
We sat down at this beautiful table — candles, wine, the works — and they brought out the food.
First, the Carpathian mushroom soup with these little garlic bread rolls called pampushky. Rich, earthy, the kind of soup that wraps around you like a blanket.
Then the pierogis.
I'm not exaggerating when I say they were some of the best pierogis I've ever had. Light, buttery, with that perfect potato-cheese combo that just works.
And then dessert — a traditional Ukrainian cake that was sweet and delicate and honestly the perfect way to end the meal.
Here's the thing about this class that stuck with us.
It wasn't really about the pierogis. I mean, yeah, we learned how to make them, and that's cool. But what made the night special was everything around it.
Making food with people. Hearing Tamila and Mykola's story. Sitting down at that table with a group of people who were total strangers two hours earlier and leaving as friends.
There's something about cooking together that connects people. You're working toward the same thing, you're laughing at the same mistakes, you're sharing the same meal at the end.
It reminded me why places like Gingham Market matter. Why supporting local makers like Tamila and Mykola matters. They're creating these spaces where we can slow down and actually be present with each other.
In a world that feels like it's moving at a million miles an hour, that's pretty special.
If you've been thinking about signing up for one of these Maker Series classes, do it.
Yes, you'll have to set a reminder and be ready the second tickets drop. Yes, they sell out in like five minutes. But it's worth it.
And if you see Sunflower Gourmet's pierogis anywhere — farmers markets, local shops, wherever — grab them. They're the real deal.
We're already planning to go back. Maybe with looser pants next time.
