Don’t you just love markets! The activity, the variety, the colour, the smells…
The Krakow Market was a real treat and ticked all the above boxes with humour to boot. In fact ‘ticked all the boxes’ really doesn’t do justice to the delights on offer there. The stalls were a myriad of colour – selling wooden toys, clay and enamel figurines, boiled lollies, ginger biscuits covered in candied icing, beautiful Polish crockery, artwork of all kinds, traditional Polish costume, bags, jewellery, scarves and of course food.
While Ket decided on sampling a salted halloumi-type delicacy that had been cooked over an open grill and served with cranberry sauce, I decided to indulge in a rather large grilled bratwurst with rye bread and, even though I wasn’t that partial to it as a child, a small helping of bigos. (Bigos is a sort of peasant hunters concoction which uses cabbage as its base.) They would have given me a much larger helping for my zlote, but I indicated using my best possible hand gestures that I only wanted a little. Seems that there’s no such portion as ‘a little’.
I thought that the real McCoy Polish version just might succeed in converting me where Mum’s had failed. It certainly looked and smelled delicious!
I took my seat at a trestle table alongside a local family and duly began my step down memory lane with some trepidation. I soon realised that although I just loved the sausage – I was still not a big fan of bigos. Sorry Dad, but I did try. You always taught us that we couldn’t ever say we didn’t like something without trying it first. The rye bread had a fantastic taste though a little dry in texture – oh no, no butter!!!
I gave the meal my best shot but pushed the bigos around the plate trying to disguise the fact that I didn’t like it. I didn’t want to look like a ‘french poodle’. Spying Ket in the crowd, I waved (and called) to attract her attention thinking that she might like to sample the bigos. She didn’t see me, so I got up and took a few steps toward her.
When I turned back to show her ‘what I’d kept for her’ my place at the table had already been taken – and my plate!
Well, why not … saved …