Pronounced Krako"v" not Kra-"cow"

Before we got to Krakow, I showed MIchelle a picture of my cousin Soren who was meeting us at the train station. Soren moved to Poland about 10 years ago and I haven’t seen him since. Before 10 years ago, when I saw him at our cousin’s wedding, it had been another 10 years or so since I’d seen him- point being, the times had been few and far between and best to have two sets of eyes looking for someone neither or us would recognize.

However, recognition was relatively instant. We stepped off the train and I said, “He said he’d meet us but I don’t know if that meant on the platform or...” but at that moment we both saw each other and knew quite obviously that we were related. He walked up and said, “Hey Cuz!” and we were off to explore Krakow. And how lovely it is to have family in such a place. He lead us to his apartment only 5 minutes walking from the station where I met his wife Scotia and 6 year old mountain climber MIlo. They live a perfectly adorable Bohemian lifestyle. Soren is a freelance translator, Scotia a working accordion player and, as I mentioned, Milo likes to climb mountains, read Tintin and eat “hot cheese” which I will get to later. Their apartment was a type of enviable classic vintage; the kind which is becoming almost trendy these days- I myself have been known to purchase new, old looking Anthropoligie items- but here their style was legit. In the room we stayed in there was a stack of 4 large blue and orange, on top of which sat 3 xylophones and an old typewriter. They, I’m sure, were placed there not to look quaint but because 4 trunks, 3 xylophones and an old typewriter have to go somewhere.

We were welcomed in to a delicious, homey dinner of homemade pasta- half of which Milo made. It was about 9 when dinner was over and Soren asked if we were totally exhausted or had some desire to go out. When asked what kind of “going out” he was implying he said an old warehouse turned bar, music venue, art gallery (of which Krakow apparently has several) was showing of Plan 9 From Outer Space, and afterward a few of his friends were having drinks at some classically Polish bars if we wanted to experience them. Soon we were walking to the movie and Soren was giving us a rough description of the neighborhoods he was taking us through. We sat in lawn chairs drinking beer and watched the last half hour of Plan 9- which is plenty- after which followed an old public service announcement featuring Little Jimmy and some sleazy man in a business suit lurking in the bushes, warning against the dangers of homosexuals.

Thoroughly warned, we headed to a dark, charming, stoney walled bar where Soren introduced us to some classically Polish drinks including a “Mad Dog”- a shot of vodka, raspberry syrup and tabasco- and some beer which he warned us to take slow because it was higher alcohol than we’d be used to. We met some of his lovely friends who have dinner parties every Saturday and upon hearing that Michelle and I were learning about pastries, invited us to dinner the following night if we’d bring the dessert. We agreed. From there we transfered to another similar bar where we got some more classically Polish drinks, these tasting like apple pie. Again he warned us they were more than they seemed. You can warn all you want, but is one not supposed to finish their drinks? Of course we did. On the way home we stopped at a kielbasa stand where he insisted we try what he claimed would be the best sausages we’d ever have eaten. Although I was unable to recall exactly every sausage I’d ever eaten, I was quite sure this was right up there with the best. The next “morning” I thought about all the times I’d been handed a drink and told to “take this one slow” and probably didn’t. A few glasses of wine with dinner, a large beer at the movie, mad dogs, stronger than average beer, and a mystery apple pie drink later led to quite a persistent hangover. I was determined to work through the pain. This was, after all, my only full day in Krakow. I got up at about 10:30, took a cold bath, shakily ate one egg, tried to chat with some conviction, then went to wake up Michelle and fell back asleep for an hour. I got up again, at about 12:30 having slept most of my opportunity to see the city away. The dinner party was at 4, we still had to shop for ingredients and make the dessert, as well as stop by the train station for tickets to Berlin. I dragged Michelle out of bed and Soren walked us to the train station. We saw a little of old town where Soren pointed out some gruff old women from the mountains selling smoked cheese (or “hot cheese” as Milo called it) out of baskets. Apparently the government had recently declared this act illegal so these women were gravely sticking it to the system. Soren needed to get home to get a little work done so Michelle and I went to the store to grab the ingredients for our Chocolate Mousse. This is when we realized we didn’t know the names of any ingredient in Polish. I was little to no help as I nearly doubled over from nausea and the mere idea of food would force me to sit down from time to time and take a few deep breaths. Eggs we were obviously able to figure out as well as chocolate. Sugar Michelle figured out by taste and cream... We we had some trouble with cream. We were tipping all the bottles over to see how thick they were but after concluding they were all milk, we found that the cream is actually kept on shelves, not refrigerated. Unable to tell the difference between the brands, we bought the one in the cutest looking box, yes box, and we were on our way.

We bought the ingredients by memory of what is in a mousse but needed to look up a recipe for the exact proportions. Of course then we couldn’t find one with exactly the ingredients we used so we picked one that was close and made some changes. The changes, however, began to get so great that we weren’t sure it was really chocolate mousse that we were making. This one had called for egg yolks but we cut those out. Then when trying to whip the cream, two things happened. We were using an electric hand mixer they’d just purchased and never before used. In any bowl we tried to use it splattered more cream out of the bowl than kept in. I was covered in cream as was the kitchen- repeatedly. Finally we figured out a strategy of covering it with a towel as we whipped it. But as I was not looking at it, next time I check the cream, it had turned to butter. Luckily we had enough cream to try again. We did. It did the same thing and this time I was watching it closely but it went straight from liquid to butter. Again, improvising happened, We strained, we folded, we guessed and we made something. We had bought some crispy wafers to use as the bottom and middle layer, spread our chocolate puddingish mixture in between, threw some raspberries on top and we had some sort of chocolate dessert.

We took the bus out to their place. An interesting spot- it was out in the countryside, yet in a little housing complex of duplex type apartments. The dinner was delicious and the company was entertaining. Scotia brought her accordion and wowed us all her talents. When our dessert came out we were a little nervous. The chocolate pudding layers were quite tasty although quite rich but as the moisture soaked into the wafer layers they had become extremely chewy and tough. A slice of cake held its shape surprisingly well but trying to cut the wafers that had become like fabric caused the soft chocolaty layers to smush out in a rich chocolaty mess. The guests praised the dessert but as we looked around the table at everyone intently leaning over their plates and sawing away with their forks, we knew in the future we’d do something differently with this one.

On the way home Milo piped up, “so because I’m still just a little bit hungry when I get home I should have some hot cheese.” Soren: “No, Milo, that was your dinner and we don’t have any hot cheese right now.” Milo: “But I think that hot cheese is... It’s very good you know?” The way kids get hung up on a phrase and use it too often, this was how Milo was with, “you know?”

On the bus somehow I brought up a story about when I was in the pickle isle at a grocery store and leaned over to set my basket down and drooled a small puddle on the floor. Soren said I should have told him earlier that I felt that way about pickles because Krakow was the home of pickles. Apparently they were invented there. So it was his idea that we would go get a drink and get a jar of pickles from a 24 hour grocery store and eat them. We agreed quickly and soon were off to a bar called the Art Bunker, which looked like an old bunker, and had some nice vodka then headed to the grocery store to see the entire isle of pickles he’d told us about. However, it was closed. The 24 hour grocery. A little crestfallen but not giving up yet he took us to another. This one was closed except for the alcohol and candy section. He cursed the heavens but was determined to find something. Soon we passed a small store, hardly more than a tobacco shop but had some food, and sure enough pickles. They were a kind he’d never had but the shop owner said they were the best and we really had no choice. We grabbed them and Soren also noticed some Canadian maple syrup he had to pick up as well. Being originally Canadian and all. They love their syrup. But then Soren insisted they’re actually best as chasers to vodka and that we should sit outside at a bar and eat them all. I asked if they’d care if we brought them to a bar and he said, “ehhh we’ll be outside,what are they gonna do?” So we sat out and ordered our vodka, eating our jar of pickles when the waitress came up and told us unfortunately we couldn’t eat those there since they served food. We smiled and nodded but this did not persuade us. We were feeling a little reckless having already taken the bus without paying, and so he just hid them under the table and would hand us one from time to time. She seemed to be standing guard very close to our table and we often had to palm the pickle in our hand, dripping brine all over our laps. By the time we left there were only 3 left in the jar so we walked them to the park, sat on a bench, cheered our Polish pickles and finished the jar.

We got home and chatted a bit more but then had to say our goodbyes. We were leaving early in the morning ant didn’t expect them to wake up at 6 to say farewell. Upon saying goodbye Soren gave me a copy of his book- ya’ll should check it out. It’s a book of short stores called “Hymns for Millionaires” and I read half of it on the 10 hour train ride to Berlin. That’s right. 10 hours. Yikes. But now were in Berlin, a little groggy and beat. Krakow was wonderful. A beautiful town. Great to see family and something other than museums and churches for a change- as great as those are.