The Scratching Post: The Polish Prophet’s Salsa and the Last Taste of Summer

Labor Day always feels a little bittersweet to me. Around Western Pennsylvania, it is the unofficial last call for summer — one more long weekend to fire up the grill, sit outside with friends, crack open a beer and pretend we are not already noticing that the evenings are getting shorter. Today, I plan to do exactly that.

My good friend Paul and his wife are stopping over this afternoon, and the menu is appropriately Pittsburgh-meets-Poland: burgers, dogs, kielbasa and pierogies. There will undoubtedly be a few beers involved. Perhaps a cigar. And, most importantly, I have been granted access to one of the first jars from this year’s batch of the legendary Polish Prophet Salsa.

Paul is the Polish Prophet — my beer-and-cigar buddy, fellow Steelers obsessive, Bigfoot conversationalist and one of the biggest supporters of The Midas Files. He has been slaving away all weekend making salsa, and when I say this is not a guy dumping a can of tomatoes into a bowl and declaring victory, I mean it. The annual salsa production is an event.

It starts with the ingredients. This year that meant a pilgrimage to Janoski’s Farm & Greenhouse in Clinton, Pennsylvania. I have somehow never been there, but after seeing the pictures Paul sent back from his ingredient-gathering expedition, that omission will be corrected.

Janoski’s is exactly the kind of Western Pennsylvania place I love discovering. The family-owned operation dates to 1958 and today grows more than 40 seasonal varieties of produce across its main farm and surrounding acreage. Tomatoes, peppers, onions, garlic, cucumbers, corn, berries, melons — basically, if you are assembling a salsa worthy of prophecy, you are shopping in the right neighborhood. Beyond the produce, there is a year-round farm market, bakery, gift shop, garden center and seasonal events such as Pick-Your-Own weekends and Pumpkinland. One hundred acres of the farm have also been permanently preserved from development, which makes the whole place feel like more than a farm market. It is part of that still-living agricultural landscape around Pittsburgh that is surprisingly easy to take for granted.

And there are plenty more. Closer to me, places like Soergel Orchards and Shenot Farm & Market in Wexford — along with Dillner Family Farms over in Gibsonia — are reminders that you do not have to travel very far around Western Pennsylvania before suburbia suddenly gives way to fields, orchards, farm stands and somebody selling corn that was actually corn this morning. There is probably another Scratching Post hiding in that thought, so I will save the grand Western Pennsylvania farm tour for another day.

Back to the salsa.

What makes the Polish Prophet’s salsa so good besides fresh ingredients, ridiculous attention to detail and the fact that he genuinely loves making the stuff? I call it the tweaks.

Every year Paul adjusts the recipe. Not enough to turn it into something else, but enough to chase a slightly different balance. And that, I think, is where good cooking becomes interesting. Salsa looks simple until you think about everything happening in one spoonful: sweetness and acidity from the tomatoes, heat from the peppers, bite from the onion and garlic, freshness from the herbs, salt pulling everything forward, and texture determining whether you have made salsa or spicy tomato soup. Change one ingredient, one ratio or one technique and the whole thing moves.

Due to strict proprietary restrictions imposed by the Polish Prophet Salsa Consortium, I cannot reveal this year’s tweaks. Frankly, I am not sure I have sufficient security clearance. I can only report that they are nuanced, closely guarded and apparently the product of a man who spends more time thinking about salsa than some governments spend thinking about fiscal policy.

That is Paul, though. Many of you have probably seen him pop up in pictures from time to time. We have spent countless evenings over beers and cigars talking Steelers, books, life and whatever else wandered into the smoke cloud. He is one of the people who has cheered on The Midas Files from the beginning, and I suspect the Polish Prophet himself may have a pretty good story in him. Maybe one day something bearing his name even finds its way through Scratch Writing Press.

As for the nickname, his family roots trace back to Poland and he is a renowned prognosticator of sporting events. Whether we gave him the name or he bestowed it upon himself somewhere amid the smoke at the Highland Bar in West View has been lost to history. His predictions, however, became so dependable that our traditional betting strategy was simple: ask the Prophet what was going to happen, then bet the other way.

There is also Bigfoot.

Paul and I share an abiding interest in the big fella. Because really, is there a better subject after a few beers and cigars than wondering what the hell Bigfoot is up to? People are always asking, “Where is Bigfoot?” Nobody ever asks, “How is Bigfoot?”

I choose to believe he is doing well. There are reports — admittedly reports originating primarily from the Polish Prophet — that Sasquatches are attracted to his salsa. It makes sense as it calms them down (Looks for a Funny Newz post about this possibly later this week). Bigfoot presumably appreciates fresh farm vegetables, and what is salsa if not an extremely efficient delivery mechanism for fresh farm vegetables?

I was initially concerned that the big hairy dude might get to this year’s salsa before I could get my hands on a jar. Paul assured me there is enough for everyone, including the big fella. He further claims Polish Prophet Salsa has a calming effect on giant ape-like cryptids. That statement has not been evaluated by the FDA, the Pennsylvania Game Commission or any reputable primatologist.

So here is to Labor Day. Here is to one more afternoon of summer in Western Pennsylvania, to burgers and dogs, kielbasa and pierogies, cold beer, cigar smoke, old friends and ridiculous conversations.

And here is to the Polish Prophet, who spent his holiday weekend turning a pile of beautiful Pennsylvania produce into jars of something made to be shared.

I finally get to taste this year’s batch today.

Bigfoot can wait his turn.