Say Cheese
It has been brought to my attention that certain members of my family do not believe that I eat enough food whilst travelling. How they have reached this conclusion is unclear to me. However, with that falsity in mind, I thought I’d exhibit, through gastronomy, one day in the life of me. On this day I visited Zakopane, a ski resort in the extreme south of Poland, less that ten kilometres from the border with Slovakia.
Breakfast - Granola, yogurt and fruit
Having stayed a few nights in a hostel with breakfast included, I was disheartened by the realisation that I’d now return to self-catering my morning meal. I felt like I’d been relegated back to economy after taking a one hour flight in business class. More importantly, the stockpile of food gathered from various corners of the European continent (though mostly from the places I’d visited in the preceding fortnight) had run out.
So, from my hostel just off of the main street of Zakopane, I ventured towards the nearest convenience store for my pay-as-you-go buffet. I got some yogurt, preempting the dairy deluge that would soon take over the day, and some granola. I supplemented it with some fruit I had stolen from my hostel in Kraków and some ginger tea I had purchased in Malta.
Morning Tea - Mountain cheese
In the summer, the area of Zakopane is famous for its varied and scenic mountain hikes along the mountain range bordering Slovakia. Given that I had not been feeling well in the last couple of days, the idea of negotiating a twenty kilometre ascent into snow-capped mountains was not really on the cards. I woke in regret that morning, unsure of why I had come to Zakopane if not to hike. However I soon realised there was a more comfortable way to ascend the mountain and, with that in mind, after breakfast I took the funicular up to the peak of Gubalówka. The ride only lasted three minutes but saved me enduring the three hundred metre change in altitude on foot.
The funicular arrived at the top station in the clouds. The day was grey and overcast at the foot of the mountain and, when we reached the top, the visibility was even lower. I could just about make out a building one hundred metres away but that was it. I didn’t think I’d be getting much of a view of the distant valley below. Nevertheless I decided to do a short walk (not a hike) along the top of the mountain.
As I began walking slowly, through the white mist there appeared the figure of an old lady. She sat on a low seat with a walking stick by her side and a scarf wrapped neatly around her face. Next to her was a wicker basket of round, white and yellow circular items. I knew, from visiting Kraków, that this was cheese - sort of like jumbo sized Baby Bells. I knew that the cheese was specific to the region. In Zakopane village you could buy the cheese plain or grilled with some jam. The woman did not have a portable George Foreman Grill with her though. She sat and watched herds of tourists pile in and out of the funicular and in and out of the adjacent restaurant. She sold her cheese for two zloty each, cheaper than what you’d get in the overpriced main street of Zakopane. I decided to go for my walk and would get some cheese - maybe - when I returned.
When I returned, the lady was still there but the mist had started to dissipate. Where there was previously a sea of white clouds behind the lady, I could now see a green valley below and the outlines of the Tatra mountains. More importantly, the mist had taken with it a quarter of the old lady’s prices. The cheese was now one zloty fifty. Was this a closing down sale? Were these yesterday’s cheese? I wasn’t interested in knowing. So I approached the old lady, indicated that I wanted two pieces, gave her the coins (she didn’t seem the type to accept credit cards) and ate my cheese overlooking the mountain range as it emerged from the clouds.
Lunch - Placki ziemniaczane (Potato pancakes)
I fell asleep on a deckchair overlooking the valley. The sun had begun piercing through the once thick clouds and was now burning my face. So I went on the search for food. There were plenty of places selling hamburgers, hot dogs, spiralised potatoes, chimney cakes and plenty of alcohol to quench the thirst of the summer tourist crowd. Away from the top station I meandered along the main road running along the peak of the mountain. Past a llama petting zoo and a bumper car ring there were a couple more food places. I chose one that was selling potato pancakes. They were freshly fried and burned the top of my mouth as I enthusiastically shovelled them in. Thankfully the sour cream I had on the side helped to ease the burn.
Afternoon Tea - Kremówka (Cream cake)
After a late lunch I took the funicular back down the mountain. Earlier in the morning I had noticed that a bakery/cake shop around the corner from me was packed with people in the hours after it opened. I decided to head back for some afternoon tea. I scanned the display case, weighing up the various opportunities to engage in Polish confectionary culture. Maintaining the dairy theme that seemed to pervade the day I chose a piece of cream cake. Yellow custard and light whipped cream surrounded by puff pastry and topped with a heavy dusting of icing sugar. The slice was light and sweet. The clouds that had hugged the mountain earlier in the morning had made their way into the cake in front of me.
Dinner - Kotlet de volaille z zestaw (Chicken cutlet with sides)
I wanted a simple dinner. I was still recovering from a slight illness and wanted to be in the best of health before heading south towards the Balkans. I would get something quickly and then get some rest. My roommate had other ideas. We had been chatting for a short while. He was Polish, in his mid-thirties and had lived in a Canada a few years prior, so his English was very good. He said he wanted to get dinner too so, not wanting to be rude, I agreed to get dinner with him.
As we walked up the main street it was clear he was unimpressed by the over-priced dining venues on offer. I understood that the prices were slightly higher because we were in a tourist area but, admittedly, they weren’t that bad. When we reached the top of the street it was clear there was nothing to his liking. I mentioned that I’d prefer something Polish and not pizza or a kebab. “Ahh, we can go to the place I went to last night,” he said. So we walked back down the main street to a place only a few doors down from where we had begun our walk.
The dining venue’s name translated as “Milk Bar,” once again reminding me of the strong dairy culture of the region. The no-frills style eatery had customers order at the front, wait for their number to be called and collect their food. As cynical as I was about my dining companion’s endless wandering for cheap prices, I was thankful to be with him as I wouldn’t have found the place or had been able to read the menu without him. He translated the menu to me. There were different cuts of meat with sides, omelettes, pierogi and other simple dishes. I settled on some chicken with the accompanying sides. And for my friend... “I’m not that hungry,” he explained, “I’ll just have a cup of tea.”
The Polish man ordered for me during which time he seemed to have a long conversation with the young girl behind the counter. The one word I understood - “Australia” - came up a lot in the conversation. I later discovered that he had told the girl that I had come from Australia with the intention of finding a Polish girl to marry. They discussed this at length while I stood, smiling and without translation, unsure of why it was taking so long to order a cup of tea. This likely explained why the girl did not call my order over the loudspeaker and instead hand-delivered it to my table. As my companion filled his tea with four sugars, I enjoyed my meal. The chicken cutlet arrived with mashed potatoes, beetroot, sauerkraut and red cabbage. It was quick, simple and tasty.
