Harold and I recently made another visit to our (so far) favourite Polish city, Krakow. We arrived hot-foot, in a manner of speaking, from the snows of Zakopane, Harold still sporting his reflective goggles, thermo-nuclear ski jacket and bobble hat and insisting on being called “Sven”. He might even learn to ski next winter. Although a super place for a short winter break, Zakopane is not exactly the culinary capital of Poland. After three days of grilling our own kielbasy to the haunting wails of piped Górale music, we were ready for something a tad more sophisticated.
A nice hot chocolate was just the thing to keep out the cold until aperitif time. Kawiarnia Jama Michalika (ul. Florianska 13) is the height of sophistication, an instant antidote to the hillbilly atmosphere of Zakopane. Do give the cloakroom attendant your Puffa jacket, otherwise you’ll feel rather out of place. The interior is dark - “Sven” even had to take off his ski goggles - but once your eyes adjust, it’s breathtaking. Totally art deco, as one would expect of the birthplace of the Mloda Polska movement - who were actually still hanging around, if the rather noisy OAP’s tea party was anything to go by. There are four rooms which get darker and more atmospheric as you go further back. The last room looks like an opium den. We sat under the beautiful stained glass dome, in giant chairs straight out of Alice in Wonderland, and listened to Chopin’s Polonaise, expecting Oscar Wilde or Diaghilev to sweep in at any moment. The waitress wasn’t quite Nijinsky - we waited an eternity for the menu - and the view of the Coke machine through the kitchen door took something of the atmosphere away, but the hot chocolate when it did arrive was thick and creamy, although sadly not served in a giant cup. Make sure you get a table with a lamp, Harold couldn’t even see the black-on-green menu with his specs on. Prices are reasonable, and it would be a nice place for an early-evening snifter for non-smoking Aubrey Beardsley fans.
Saturday lunchtime we fancied a change from Polish, without going completely off the map, so decided to eat in a small Hungarian restaurant called Balaton (Ul. Grodzka 37). We ordered potato pancakes Hungarian style - more by luck than by judgement, as the menu was in only Hungarian and Polish. The service was brisk and efficient, and the place filled up quickly, so it’s obviously a popular weekend lunch spot. The pancakes are the size of omelettes, and are groaning with goulash filling, served with a generous side portion of raw veg salad. With a pint and a Coke it set us back a colossal 66 zlotys.
A nice hot chocolate was just the thing to keep out the cold until aperitif time. Kawiarnia Jama Michalika (ul. Florianska 13) is the height of sophistication, an instant antidote to the hillbilly atmosphere of Zakopane. Do give the cloakroom attendant your Puffa jacket, otherwise you’ll feel rather out of place. The interior is dark - “Sven” even had to take off his ski goggles - but once your eyes adjust, it’s breathtaking. Totally art deco, as one would expect of the birthplace of the Mloda Polska movement - who were actually still hanging around, if the rather noisy OAP’s tea party was anything to go by. There are four rooms which get darker and more atmospheric as you go further back. The last room looks like an opium den. We sat under the beautiful stained glass dome, in giant chairs straight out of Alice in Wonderland, and listened to Chopin’s Polonaise, expecting Oscar Wilde or Diaghilev to sweep in at any moment. The waitress wasn’t quite Nijinsky - we waited an eternity for the menu - and the view of the Coke machine through the kitchen door took something of the atmosphere away, but the hot chocolate when it did arrive was thick and creamy, although sadly not served in a giant cup. Make sure you get a table with a lamp, Harold couldn’t even see the black-on-green menu with his specs on. Prices are reasonable, and it would be a nice place for an early-evening snifter for non-smoking Aubrey Beardsley fans.
Saturday lunchtime we fancied a change from Polish, without going completely off the map, so decided to eat in a small Hungarian restaurant called Balaton (Ul. Grodzka 37). We ordered potato pancakes Hungarian style - more by luck than by judgement, as the menu was in only Hungarian and Polish. The service was brisk and efficient, and the place filled up quickly, so it’s obviously a popular weekend lunch spot. The pancakes are the size of omelettes, and are groaning with goulash filling, served with a generous side portion of raw veg salad. With a pint and a Coke it set us back a colossal 66 zlotys.
Harold refused to go into Jama Michalika again without a torch, so I dragged him to the Czartoryski museum to look at the shotguns. I did make a point of sitting him down in front of Leonardo’s Lady with an Ermine, and was surprised at how long he stayed there gazing in deep contemplation. Afterwards he said he didn’t think much of the painting at all, that chap who was in Titanic was a waste of space all round, but he was very impressed, however, with the alarm system.
On Saturday evening Bambus was pulsating with loud music and raging hormones, so I took Harold away before his old trouble started playing up, and parked him in the testosterone-filled Elefant Pub, a cavernous beer keller away from the Rynek, on the corner of ul. Karmelicka. The house draught lager and a darker version, brewed by C.K. Browar, was real-alish - slightly cloudy and not very gassy, with a faintly bitter aftertaste. Harold sampled quite a lot of it, and pronounced it to his liking . Even better, it costs less than 5 zlotys a pint.
We then headed off by taxi to Ariel, the famed Jewish restaurant in Kazimierz (ul. Szeroka 18). A word of advice on this one - book well in advance. The restaurant only seats about 26, and as we’d only reserved that same evening, we found ourselves seated in the souvenir shop almost on the pavement. Fortunately, due to a cancellation we got re-seated in the main restaurant. Although the food at Ariel is fine - and cheap - you don’t go for the food. You go for the music. There are two regular Klezmer bands who take it in turns to squeeze themselves into a tiny space between the bar and the diners and perform the most fabulous music. It’s more Schindler’s List than Fiddler on the Roof, so don’t expect to come out singing “If I were a rich man, biddy-buddy-boom”. Expect to be amazed. The concert costs 18 zlotys per head on top of the meal. For the record, Harold had goose leg served with croquette potatoes, I had chicken cutlet Jewish style served with salad vegetables, and we got so carried away on the music we had two bottles of very palatable Hungarian Egri red, at … 37.50 zlotys a bottle. Yes, that’s right. 37.50 a bottle. Total damage 150 zlotys, music included. Oy veh.
Harold fancied a quick one after dinner (I thought he meant a brandy) so we returned to Panaceum where Blondie positively quivered with excitement. She shimmied up in a split skirt that hardly covered her modesty, and was all over Harold like a dose of shingles. I almost expected her to launch into a rendition of “Hey Big Spender”. Still, she was a nice young gel and made an old man very happy. She was still waving happily through the glass door as we headed off to the Harris Piano Jazz Bar across the square. Not a terribly late-night place, as the excellent Polish jazz group were just finishing their last number as we arrived about 11.30 p.m., but quite late enough for a couple of old fogeys like us.
On Sunday, after marching Harold round the Wawel Royal Apartments where I giggled at the rude Hieronymous Bosch and Harold inspected the wiring, we returned to the Rynek. In the Town Hall Tower is a door leading to an underground theatre and a restaurant, the Kawiarnia Ratuszowa. The totally Gothic bar with a pair of life-size medieval types sitting on the counter looking like they’ve had a few too many vodkas was featured on one of the BBC’s travel programmes recently. The background music however (at least on a Sunday lunchtime) is mellow and jazzy, and the food is good and served in massive portions. Harold’s sirloin steak was pink and perfect this time, served on a wooden platter with chips and salad. My onion soup was tasty and the bacon salad was gargantuan. With 2 beers and 2 cokes, 72 zlotys.
Krakow is excellent value for money, although charges for little extras such as cloakrooms and toilets is annoying, and watch the taxi meters like a hawk - the name “Ariel” seems to add zeroes automatically. Otherwise, it’s a case of he who is tired of Krakow is either tired of life or seriously in need of a large box of Rennies.
On Saturday evening Bambus was pulsating with loud music and raging hormones, so I took Harold away before his old trouble started playing up, and parked him in the testosterone-filled Elefant Pub, a cavernous beer keller away from the Rynek, on the corner of ul. Karmelicka. The house draught lager and a darker version, brewed by C.K. Browar, was real-alish - slightly cloudy and not very gassy, with a faintly bitter aftertaste. Harold sampled quite a lot of it, and pronounced it to his liking . Even better, it costs less than 5 zlotys a pint.
We then headed off by taxi to Ariel, the famed Jewish restaurant in Kazimierz (ul. Szeroka 18). A word of advice on this one - book well in advance. The restaurant only seats about 26, and as we’d only reserved that same evening, we found ourselves seated in the souvenir shop almost on the pavement. Fortunately, due to a cancellation we got re-seated in the main restaurant. Although the food at Ariel is fine - and cheap - you don’t go for the food. You go for the music. There are two regular Klezmer bands who take it in turns to squeeze themselves into a tiny space between the bar and the diners and perform the most fabulous music. It’s more Schindler’s List than Fiddler on the Roof, so don’t expect to come out singing “If I were a rich man, biddy-buddy-boom”. Expect to be amazed. The concert costs 18 zlotys per head on top of the meal. For the record, Harold had goose leg served with croquette potatoes, I had chicken cutlet Jewish style served with salad vegetables, and we got so carried away on the music we had two bottles of very palatable Hungarian Egri red, at … 37.50 zlotys a bottle. Yes, that’s right. 37.50 a bottle. Total damage 150 zlotys, music included. Oy veh.
Harold fancied a quick one after dinner (I thought he meant a brandy) so we returned to Panaceum where Blondie positively quivered with excitement. She shimmied up in a split skirt that hardly covered her modesty, and was all over Harold like a dose of shingles. I almost expected her to launch into a rendition of “Hey Big Spender”. Still, she was a nice young gel and made an old man very happy. She was still waving happily through the glass door as we headed off to the Harris Piano Jazz Bar across the square. Not a terribly late-night place, as the excellent Polish jazz group were just finishing their last number as we arrived about 11.30 p.m., but quite late enough for a couple of old fogeys like us.
On Sunday, after marching Harold round the Wawel Royal Apartments where I giggled at the rude Hieronymous Bosch and Harold inspected the wiring, we returned to the Rynek. In the Town Hall Tower is a door leading to an underground theatre and a restaurant, the Kawiarnia Ratuszowa. The totally Gothic bar with a pair of life-size medieval types sitting on the counter looking like they’ve had a few too many vodkas was featured on one of the BBC’s travel programmes recently. The background music however (at least on a Sunday lunchtime) is mellow and jazzy, and the food is good and served in massive portions. Harold’s sirloin steak was pink and perfect this time, served on a wooden platter with chips and salad. My onion soup was tasty and the bacon salad was gargantuan. With 2 beers and 2 cokes, 72 zlotys.
Krakow is excellent value for money, although charges for little extras such as cloakrooms and toilets is annoying, and watch the taxi meters like a hawk - the name “Ariel” seems to add zeroes automatically. Otherwise, it’s a case of he who is tired of Krakow is either tired of life or seriously in need of a large box of Rennies.
