|A Wenceslas Square wiener|
|Zapiekanka at Plac Nowy in Krakow|
If you've been following my posts chronicling my recent trip to Eastern and Central Europe, you'll have figured out by now that Poppa Trix and I can eat like nobody's business. From huge bowls of pho to piles of raw meat to kilos of ham to multi-course chef's menus, we are no wilting flowers when it comes to tasting new things and experiencing other cultures through food.
So it only stands to reason that we were all over the street foods of Prague and Krakow. In Prague, many late nights found us in Wenceslas Square, staving off a hangover with deliciously greasy sausages:
|You say kielbasa, I say klubasa ... |
I loved watching the great variety of humanity on display here, from silly girls ...
While we enjoyed the street food in Prague, it wasn't the focus of our dining experiences, but once we got to Poland, street food became a staple. We discovered this local outdoor place at the foot of Krakow's Wawel Hill, sort of a cross between a food stall and an outdoor restaurant. We ate here several times:
To give you a full idea of my dedication, I should tell you that just a few days before, I severely twisted my ankle in a hole in Krakow's Medieval streets, and was medicating myself with Nurofen Plus (an over the counter medicine with codeine - I love Poland!) in order to be able to get around. But not even a broken leg would have kept me from sausage man. Our excitement when we spotted the blue van was worth every bit of ankle pain:
And after eating the sausage, I can tell you that I would have crawled twice the distance for it:
Be warned, though, the eating experience is a bit odd. You take your sausage and eat it at a sidewalk table, where a very serious assortment of men - and except for me, it was all men - methodically devour their late-night meal. They keep their eyes down and their elbows pressed close to their sides, neither speaking nor looking at one another as they methodically cut pieces of kielbasa, throw it into their mouths, chew vigorously, and repeat until it's gone, occasionally punctuating their meaty mouthfuls with a torn-off hunk of bread and a sip of Polish soda.
This business-like atmosphere made me afraid to ask if we could photograph Sausage Man, but I turned on the charm and was granted permission. But I don't think any of my apprehension was necessary - turns out he's not scary at all! Behold a master and his assistant at work:
Think Poppa Trix and I couldn't have eaten any more on our trip? Think again. There's more Polish food coming up in a future post!