When people hear that I’m from Finland, they always start to rattle off Finnish things they just absolutely love. I’ve heard most of them — from sauna to sisu and from NHL players to rock bands and even some presidents and war heroes — so I just politely smile and nod.

However, I also have another reason to smile.

Every time I hear the list of usual suspects, I know my true love is still a well-kept secret.

The lihapiirakka, that greasy, deep-fried meat-and-rice pie that’s still ubiquitous in Finland.

Of course, I didn’t find the lihapiirakka myself. My parents introduced me to it. Being the only child of two working parents, one of whom used to sell kitchen appliances and had easy access to the first affordable household microwave ovens, the lihapiirakka became my go-to meal.

To this day, I can eat a lihapiirakka for breakfast, lunch, or dinner.

Or all of the above.

In the summer, when I was home by myself, I’d often call Dad at work and ask if there was any change lying around so that I could go to the store and buy some food.

There was always some loose change in his pants or jacket pockets at home, and he’d tell me to find some.

I loved lihapiirakka so much that even when I was sick at home, I’d get up and walk to the store across the street for the classic two-pack of lihapiirakkas for lunch, even though it meant that I could be seen outside our apartment — a no-no for a sick child.

It only happened once, I swear, and that one time I ran into a schoolmate’s mom and delivered a long speech on my reasons for being in the store in the middle of a school day.

She just smiled and wished me a speedy recovery.

Sometimes, the loose change in Dad’s pockets was enough for bus fare to his work, the appliance store in town.

Sometimes, I spent most of the day at the store. Those were great days.

That’s where I saw that great Pelé documentary on the wall of televisions at the back of the main room, and that’s where I also played a video game for the first time. Just as exciting was sitting in the back room — that alone was exciting because it was off-limits to most people — and trying to stop the turning fan, first with a pencil and then, after a dare from Dad’s friend, with a finger.

In a way, the small store on the corner of one of the main Helsinki streets off an infamous back alley was my home away from home.

I got to tag along with Dad and his colleagues and friends when they went to have lunch at restaurants in the neighborhood, and because there often was even more loose change in the pockets of the pants Dad was wearing, he’d slip a couple of coins to me so I could buy a comic book or two at the used bookstore around the corner.

But the absolute highlight was when Dad would send me to the bakery down the street to buy an evening paper — and a lihapiirakka.

They made the best lihapiirakkas I have ever had. The filling was fabulous, and they were so greasy that by the time I got back to Dad’s store — to me, it was always Dad’s store — there was a huge stain on the paper bag the lihapiirakka was in.

That was all I could ever ask for. A couple of comics and a lihapiirakka from Eho.

Heaven.

A few days ago, we made a family trip to Helsinki, and as usual, Wife had done her research and found a new coffee shop for us to have breakfast in.

She told me which neighborhood it was in, and while I haven’t lived in Helsinki for the past 22 years — or probably because I haven’t lived there for a while — I take great pride in finding my way around town. Helsinki is not a huge city, so it’s not as impressive as I’d like to make it sound.

As I turned left toward the street that cuts through the city from north to south, I started to point out the buildings around me.

“That’s where my buddy’s dad had a hat store.”

“I used to skate here in the winter.”

“This is where they had the best lihapiirakkas.”

“That’s where Dad’s store used to be.”

And that’s when Wife said, “That’s the coffee shop.”

We parked the car and walked down the street. Everything looked similar, if not the same, as when I used to hang out there.

I walked up the couple of steps into the store and walked straight toward where the wall of TV sets used to be. That’s where the cash register was. The back room was still off-limits.

The croissant was good — but it was no lihapiirakka.

It certainly wasn’t an Eho lihapiirakka Dad had sent me out to buy.