I really connect with Polish food. It’s rustic, seasonal and
affordable, as well as being influenced by just about anyone who’s passed
through at some point; notably French, Jewish and Russian cuisines. I know this
is silly but it feels really earthy and spiritual somehow when I cook something
Polish for dinner; I feel transported to a scarred land of wheat fields,
cabbages, harvests and preserving. I want to go to Poland at some point to get
the “peasant making delicious stew on farmstead” image out of my head; I’m sure
that it doesn’t actually resemble a Bertold Brecht play. This aside, what’s
most important to me is the food, and it’s really delicious. One café,
Barbakan, situated on Walmgate in York was one of my favourite lunchtime spots
when I was a student. Small, bustling and cosy, Barbakan really opened my eyes
to the wonders of Polish food. Baskets of sourdough bread would be served
alongside piping hot dishes of goblaki -stuffed cabbage leaves- potato and
cheese stuffed pierogi -dumplings- or peppery, juniper-spiked bigos. According
to my worn cookbook, The Polish Kitchen,
by Mary Pininska, bigos is the national dish of Poland and was traditionally
made with any food harvested from the land; game, juniper berries, mushrooms,
all bolstered of course, by sauerkraut. See this as a base recipe to expand upon and make additions to; there is only one prerequisite, which is
that you absolutely must make bigos at least one day in advance to let the
flavours mature.
Now that I’m based back in West Yorkshire, Manchester is
only a half hour train ride away, rather than a two-hour trek. Exhausting all the
restaurant options in York really made me feel like it was time to be moving on
and Manchester, with its seemingly endless eatery options really gets me
excited. I get the sense that the city cares about its food; Simon Rogan's The French narrowly missed out on a Michelin star this year but has raised the bar pretty high, and there's enough money knocking about to warrant some pretty good cocktail
bars. If I had the money I know where I’d spend it. But I don’t have the money.
And as for drinks, the 10.30 curfew of the last-train-home doesn’t really give
me the option for a night on the tiles, nor am I an afternoon cocktail person.
