Have you ever heard of Tłusty Czwartek? If not, you’re not alone— most people I know have no idea what it is. But to someone who’s Polish like myself, Tłusty Czwartek is one of the biggest days of the year. It’s essentially the same as Fat Tuesday during Mardi Gras, which is a day where you let yourself indulge in sweets before giving up something for Lent. Poland, which is a very Roman Catholic country, has adopted Tłusty Czwartek as not only a religious holiday but a common cultural one. Families buy or make their own pastries, specifically pączki (which are best described as jelly filled donuts), and generally spend time together as a way to celebrate.
As for me, my Polish culture is inextricably intertwined with my life. I come from a whole family of Polish immigrants: both of my parents, as well as three of my mom’s brothers, their wives, and my mom’s parents all immigrated to the US from Poland, and the rest of my family is still there. All of my family here in America lives within twenty minutes of each other, and we’re extremely close because of this. We love having Sunday dinners after church and celebrate every holiday together, including Tłusty Czwartek. I love the feeling of my massive family packing into my grandparents’ small home, finishing up the cooking in the kitchen, and sitting around the dining room table with the adults while the kids play in the bedroom— all of this is just the epitome of comfort for me. On Tłusty Czwartek my grandma spends the few days before preparing hundreds of her own pączki, along with many other typical pastries, for everyone to eat. We all gather around and eat as much as we can until we feel like we’re going to blow up.
As much as I love this tradition, this year is different. It’s my first year away at college, which means I’ve been missing out on a lot of our family gatherings. I usually try my best to go home on the weekends, but going home on a Thursday just to be there for a few hours was impossible. So the whole day, all I could think about was what I’d be missing out on. I felt isolated and alone, only knowing one person here who could possibly understand— I never realized up until this moment how much I truly missed the sense of community. Back home, I saw my Polish friends in school or at my Polish church, I could stop by my grandma’s whenever I wanted, I was speaking in Polish every day whether it was to my parents, my cousins, or anyone else in my family, and I was always eating the traditional Polish meals that my dad would make for dinner. At school however, the only time I feel that connection is when I’m on the phone with my parents or grandparents— needless to say, I feel disconnected from my culture.
This time though I did not want to feel that isolation. So, I was determined to celebrate this niche holiday as best I could. I scoured the internet for a good European bakery, and was lucky enough to find one less than ten minutes from Holy Cross. As soon as I got out of class, I grabbed my roommate and we Ubered away. When I walked in, I instantly felt my heart grow three sizes. It was so reminiscent of my Polish store at home, and a wave of nostalgia hit me
seeing all these familiar pastries. I spoke with the woman at the register in Polish, and happily walked away with my own box of pączki. As soon as I got back to my room I called my grandma and mom, eager to show them that my thoughts were with my family today (even though my pączki were nowhere near as good as my grandmas, of course).
Through this, I was able to find a way of preserving even a little bit of my culture for myself, and ended the day feeling a little less lonely.