Polish Memories: Łazienki Park

Łazienki: the Palace-on-the-Water.  My favorite memory of two weeks in Poland is the day we spent
wandering around Łazienki Park.  It was a day more like myself: the weather was impish and in-between-ish, the bus ride short and our decision to hop off at the Chopin monument, impetuous.  We entered from the side with the great gray statue of Frederic Chopin: he drew us in at the first.  He sits there, a giant among beds of roses, but not in bloom... ghosts of summers past and concerts past linger in the air, roses and dusk and warm nights full of the maestro's nocturnes... and Chopin's memory too, presiding there over it as the Colossus in the corner.  The statue is romantic, and foolish as romance is apt to be: what emotion the reminder of a man's genius or talent can stir, what worship the human compels to himself when he is young and strong and beautiful to his own eye.  And what foolishness to worship so: and yet we do, as the cat his own cattiness, the baby his own cleverness, the lovely girl her own loveliness.  We are hopelessly vain creatures. The park reaches it's arms out to draw you in, if you are a kindred spirit and wood-ish sort... my own worship rarely turns to the rhythm of man's genius, is far more tempted by the growing thing.  Chopin though, of all the figures standing in brass and stone commemoration, frozen larger than life and perhaps weary of too-largeness, who can say, drew my own yearning- for music flows like blood through the veins of all men, and the composer speaks with the language all times and tribes can understand.  And beyond him, and the hum of favorite melodies and softnesses of resolution and gentled fervor my fingers too remember (for no one who has played a piano or keyboard at all can forget certain of the masters' melodies and harmonies)- beyond him, as I said, the woods began and ran away, calling with bending paths beneath the boughs.  

Mr. Tumnus?!

            
 Through the woods we saw oh! so many wonderful things.  Winter left its leafy brown bed and tangy, woodsy smell all round.  A bit of green peeped out of the leaves, in clusters of the ivy so perpetually associated with oldness and romance.  The grounds were some old estate, but the history of it all is forgotten to me, in what it is: you see, it is about as much wild as A.A. Milne's Hundred-Acre-Wood, and about as docile as a dandelion.  We chanced first upon a building which was an old orangery and theater, and next upon... what I think was an art museum. But they were ruins too (some of the buildings, artificially so).  Pert squirrels, with bright eyes and tufted ears, dodged and dove in the leaves.  They must have been magical for I felt no natural enmity with them, and I always sense primal warfare rising in me when I watch or even think of squirrels in the cities here.  Songbirds fluttered lightly about; especially the ever-friendly chickadees, and tufted titmice, which I believe I distinguished.  An elderly gentleman stood alone in one path and fed them from his hand beneath the trees.  I knew him for a friend then, for I have done the same and the sound of those wings and the grip of those delicate claws are more poignant than faeries.  I know.  I think of the old gentleman still as my friend.

 

Grandmothers we saw not a few; wheeling children in "prams" up and down the lanes, chatting congenially, each with the round apple-like face of the aged Pole.  Further on, deeper in, we found the Palace-on-the-Water: over a small lake thinly sheeted with black ice, where the waterbirds were skiing, and statues where crows and pigeons played, saluted to the grand neoclassical residence, perfectly symmetrical and still perfectly beautiful.  On the far side of the lake an artificial ruins stood, an amphitheatre and temple of Diana, as I think    
it was; but by the water's edge one could see a bit of the nose of a rowboat, overturned and dreaming of sunny weather, and in need of a bit of paint.  Funny mixes of wild things and domestic plantings abounded.  Weeping willows graced the far end of the lake.  Peacocks and peahens promenaded joyously below some fir trees... I think perhaps they were hemlocks... and the bridge over the narrow place arched it's back lazily to the steely winter sky.
                                              
The place magicked the heart right out of me.  I could have spent many pleasant days there, though as so often with the loveliest moments, I had only one to spend.  How many countless lords and ladies and heads of state had dwelt there or stayed there, I cannot remember... I remember the two statues of the fauns, with their elbows crooked around lamposts, and ducks swimming up a miniature canal; I remember sporting with the squirrrels, and cavorting with ducks, and- I rather forget how we left.  And if that were not proof enough of the witchery of that day:

Somehow we were not in Łazienki any longer, and the long blue dusk was growing, and there was a little rain and noisy buses, and I had to use the bathroom somewhere and (because there are not general public bathrooms in Europe as there are here: one pays for the privilege of the privy) we found ourselves through the back door of a bakery and a restaurant, in the Belgian embassy by a trick of fate.  It was a very nice bathroom, and the kind person who led us there reassured us it was all right. ;)

Polish Memories: Food and Fellowship

our table at the medieval restaurant.

It may be a truism, but Polish people love their food. :)  When I was going to marry my husband, everyone Polish warned me: to understand the culture, you have to understand the importance of food.  The Poles, as I joke my in-laws, are the original hobbits, with names for five proper meals a day, which my husband translates more or less: breakfast, second breakfast, dinner, small-something-to-tide-you-over (how small depending on your point of view), and supper.  So naturally, when Pippin asks about second breakfast, elevenses, and afternoon tea in Peter Jackson's version of The Fellowship of the Ring, he must have been paraphrasing my husband! 

In Kraków and later in Warszawa (I guess if I use Polish for Krakow I better use Polish for Warsaw!), I feasted on delectable meal after delectable meal.  We sampled all sorts of restaurants: my husband's best friend, Paweł, lives in Kraków and the two of them were incorrigible.  We might visit three restaurants in a single evening around town, by combination of pedestrian and bus travel.  (Many of the old narrow streets in old Kraków are closed to automobile traffic so it is extremely conducive to walking where you want to go.)

For hearty eating, no one can outdo Polish cookery.  In a way similar to "Southern hospitality", it has a somewhat familiar feel for me, but I have never been told to eat so often in my life as in a Polish home.  

I have tried to limit this post, but it just kept growing.  There is no cultural experience as authentic as the food experience in Poland.  One of the restaurants in Kraków that we visited I already mentioned in my previous post, a medieval restaurant straight out of a book.

 This medieval restaurant is located on the main market square.  It offers authentic medieval dining: my husband and Paweł shared a venison stew that came steaming in a cauldron suspended by three wooden poles, and they served themselves in rude shallow bowls.  Our drinks were served in goblets.  The tables were wooden and lined with heavy low benches; the rooms were lit with candles, both on the tables and in tall candlesticks.  Tapestries hung from walls, and downstairs the rooms were amazingly authentic owing to the wonderful stone walls.  And on the night we were there, a trio of wandering minstrels was also present, who entertained all and sundry with centuries-old songs, albeit on newer instruments.  It was like a step back in time, as people say, but farther back than you can step in the United States, certainly!

 I had the most delicious dessert in this place, too: a rich, decadent chocolate and raspberry mousse cake, with hot pepper and lemon sherbert.  I can't describe to you how conservative I tend to be regarding combining flavors, but this was exquisite. I finally understood the fuss about balance to the palate in really artistically flavored foods.  

The same evening, we also visited a little place in the shivering cold, over in Kazimierz, the old Jewish quarter.  This spot was a fast-food reminiscence, frequented mostly by authentic Poles like our friend and host, with less to line their pockets and as much of an appetite.  You order at the stand and eat outside, something rather like a sub and rather like a pizza, and not altogether like either, called "zapiekanki".  They were delicious!!

The stand above would be difficult to find without a guide, but other good Polish delicacies are not hidden in so labyrinthine a manner.  In the malls, or "galleria" in Polish, which are more commonly filled with tourists and young natives (as they are here), there were also delicious dining experiences to be found, at Wedel Chocolates.  E. Wedel has been in business since 1851; they are considered a national brand, though unfortunately they have been sold two to three times since the nineties... the last time to a South Korean company, owing to demands from the EU.  

(-On which topic I could say much.  The EU makes ridiculous rules and demands on smaller countries, even on tiny farms and private property, which poor Poland concedes in exchange for a pittance which will never raise Poland from third-world status.  I was disgusted time and again with the hypocrisy of it, more visible from the inside.  But an American born and bred wouldn't stand for it... at least, not an Ozarkian!!  As Locke so cleverly explained, any government rules by consent of the governed.  In my language, that means you get the government you ask for and are willing to put up with.)

E. Wedel drinking chocolate

At any rate, Wedel still sells good chocolate.  They sell a thing translated "drinking chocolate," much, much thicker than hot cocoa, and too rich almost for even my prodigious sweet tooth!  But I had this twice, and it was quite yummy.  But Wedel makes my final cut of restaurants because of a slice of cake.  To wit, chocolate cake (again) and so heavenly in the opinions of many, that though we tried in multiple shops to get this again, it was always sold out!!!  

One had to be there early to get even one slice.  It came with a bowl of raspberry sauce and was good enough to die for... definitely worth any price in złoty! (Polish currency still holds, for the present, though they may enter the euro game during this decade.)  But I recommend this to any traveler in Poland: it is easy to find Wedel shops, and one lovely taste of the country even if only passing through.  While you are waiting, look over their gorgeous gourmet chocolates, candies, and truffles, and buy a few of the black-currant kind... a flavor only beginning to gain popularity here, but one I couldn't get enough of Over-the-Water!!

 

In Warszawa, we finally visited a few cukiernias, which I would translate "sugar shops."  They are bakeries, which one can find in any city in Poland, but we visited more in Warsaw than other places.  These must be the places that the souls of baked goods junkies go to when they perish. 

 

And speaking of baked goods heaven, with our visits to my husband's native village, I had opportunities to sample the local cuisine in homes of family and friends.  It is every bit equal in presentation and quality to anything you will find in a restaurant or shop.  As a note of fond remembrance, I must relate one anecdote from the village.  My husband's cousin Gosia is known for her cheerfulness and her rapid tongue.  She is as newsy as Rachel Lynde! I learned that the most trivial detail related to Gosia is as good as a public announcement in a local paper, and I learned this in a rather amusing way.

One evening, Gosia announced that we were going to have cheesecake for dessert the next day (she had already discerned my weakness for sweet things).  I recognized enough of what she was saying, particularly the Polish word for cheesecake, sernik, and eagerly aired my affirmative.  Gosia could not speak English, and there was so little I could say in Polish, or comprehend anything either in the rapid deluge of words that is native speech, that in the chance to shine a bit I jumped excitedly onboard and told her that I love sernik and it is extremely good.  And oh, to what effects!!!

By the time my husband and I returned on the bus that night to Kraków and were met by his friend Paweł, Paweł could slyly comment, "So you like cheesecake, eh?"  This was amazing, for Paweł isn't even a relative.  But it was only the first sign of what was to follow.  The next day, I had sernik, as promised, from Gosia.  Then I was served sernik at every house in the village that we visited thereafter.  And my husband informed me the ladies had made it specially for me.  By the time we got to a party for Gosia's sister on a future evening, I had had enough sernik to sate my appetite, in measures "pressed down and running over."  

But lo and behold, of course they were serving sernik at the party!! And on this occasion, I was pressed into taking a box of the leftover sernik back to the hotel.  I was given enough sernik that though I ate and ate my way through it, by the time we left Kraków I woefully had to dispose of the last of it, and I did not relish the sight of it again for at least some months.  However, if I want a thing to be generally known back in the village among all my new acquaintances, I have learned I should get a message to Gosia!! :)

Finally, for I have saved the best for last, a return to Kraków, and a beautiful restaurant which became my absolute favorite.  This restaurant is not located on the market square, but is not far away: Jama Machałika, on Ulica Floriańska.  It is historical, unique, artistic, and of course, home to strikingly good food.  My journal entry from this place is as follows:

"We are ensconced in a high-backed corner booth, rather more like a 19th century breakfast nook, in a dimly lit, beautiful and rather famous cafe restaurant.

our "breakfast nook"

 Stained glass surroundings, warmly familiar classical music, and a sort of Victorian-style elegance (crocheted lace tablecloths, high-backed chairs, elaborate decoration, dark carved wood framing and highly stylized mirrors)... all this, with a slight Polish touch, makes for an aesthetic pleasure keenly exquisite and still affordable- that is, for American dollars, which means not so affordable for the Polish złoty." (Our currency has roughly 3-1 value in Poland.)  Technically, Victorian was not so accurate a descriptor; Art Nouveau is the actual style and dating of the place.

I remember we had three breakfasts in this place: the Polish-style, the Viennese-style, and the English-style.  All were delicious and plentiful (the Viennese won, in my estimation, though, by means of some lovely and delicately spiced poached eggs), served with a great variety of bread, meat, light vegetables, and beverages.  We sometimes try to recreate the breakfast at that restaurant here at home- never to full effect, but still very good.  I read online somewhere that the service is crabby, but never in my experience.  The waitresses were perfectly friendly; in Poland, if you try to use Polish as a non-native speaker, people take it as a compliment and are extremely encouraging.  Not even American presidents have bothered to be sure their Polish is correct in Poland (another anecdote for another day), so even a few words really are meaningful.  The waitresses at Jama Michalika were charming about my attempts, although the bulk of the conversation had to be carried on with my bilingual husband.

There is a great deal of history in this particular cafe; it has endured through two world wars, times when Poland was not even a country, Soviet and Nazi occupation, and so much more. It harbored any number of famous Polish writers and composers; but this article is about food and is quite finished. :)  Stay tuned!  Next we're off to the park.

Polish Memories: Wawel Castle, Part 2

depiction of historic Wawel in Krakow which hangs in a medieval restaurant on the central square.

What century does Wawel date from? That, like all questions of Polish history, is a complicated matter.  There have been settlements, stone and wooden, time out of mind on Wawel hill, and a matter of historic discussion as to who built what, when.  But the current buildings are variously dated, with the oldest going back to roughly the tenth century AD.  So what sort of period would you ascribe to a place that has been built onto for centuries?  It's sort of a Roman-Gothic-Renaissance style of castle?

Of course there must needs be a cathedral at a royal residence, and there must needs be tombs of princes, curiosities, and heads of state on grounds.  But I can't say as I much care for looking at sarcophagi (can you imagine, that is really a word!), or pondering the bitter grudges or worldly pomp that accompanies such folk even in their graves.  My favorite by far was the bell tower.

ZygmuntDzwon, wikipedia.org

  There are several bells housed in this tower (baptized, no less: with usual perfunctory Polish Catholicity, all sorts of things are baptized and thereafter commissioned to ward off evil spirits, including bells.)  The largest of these is the Bell of Sigismund, or Zygmunt Dzwon.  

My husband is royally afraid of heights, and the narrow, steep flights of steps, in a tower with plenty of opportunities of staring out over the city or feeling the wind blow through, made him feel rather ill... he and his childhood friend who was hosting us clung to the skimpy wooden rails as to life and grimaced frequently.  But I by the odd turn of fate, who happen to have so many irrational fears (beginning and ending with dentists and large toothy fish), was born almost entirely without a proper regard for heights.  I love them.  The higher the better.  It has always made me fancy all sorts of wild things to feel myself swaying in the wind above the ground... I used to frighten my mother by climbing to the tops of trees on very windy days and feel the branches moving and tossing below and above and around me... and never yet have I given over climbing.

Consequently I found the tower exhilarating rather than otherwise.  The views from all the landings were simply breathtaking!!   And chief of the sights was one that is near and dear to my husband's heart: the sweet, red roofs one sees everywhere in Poland.  For him, they signify all he loves and misses from that land, and when he sighs for Poland it is often in the form of sighs for those red roofs... red roofs and hay fields full of poppies.

The bell of Sigismund takes its common name from one of Poland's famous kings, Sigismund I, who commissioned the bell in 1520, and dedicated it to God, Mary, and himself in that order.  Unlike our American Liberty Bell, which has seldom been rung, the bell of Sigismund is routinely rung on many occasions throughout each year.  It requires twelve men to ring the bell, which weighs thirteen tons, and the bell ringers are often lifted by the ropes.  There has been at least one death associated with ringing Zygmunt Dzwon, when one of the ringers was flung out of the tower by the bell.  -Perhaps not so enviable a post, but one could do worse than to have died ringing a bell.

View of Kraków from the Wawel Bell Tower.