Scroll down for Polish version./Wersja polska na dole.
I <3 Silesia
Today you can read about the intercultural food journey. Two of our friends living in Silesia showed us the best part of the region, but I was so agitated that I didn't even think about taking photos of my food and places. I just did one, very Silesian photo. But don't be fooled. It's an excellent place.
Chapter one. Sharing is caring.
We started our journey on some square in Katowice, went to some vegetarian restaurant (that looked a bit like Cornucopia but the food wasn't as good), and from then we moved to the real deal.
The place was grey with thick smoke from shishas, rock music was in the background, loud enough to enjoy it but also to chat without shouting.
Inside our friend was waiting for us, talking with a loud, ginger-haired temperamental girl with a nick "Wiewióra".* She said that she's not pretending anymore that she's not the part of the interior. When she left, we started to catch up on the last half a year, smoking the biggest and the best shisha I had in my life. The table was full with a wooden tray with tiny tea goblets (is that the word?), glass jar for the filtered tea, the teapot for brewing and a large thermos filled with hot water. I drank the best pu-erh tea so far, it didn't taste like smoked fish but like earth (not that I've ever eaten that). After some time, when the shisha started to lose its power, the ephemeral Ukrainian with long dreadlocks came and changed the coal, smoking nonchalantly. M., seeing my look, said that they always share everything in here, so when the situation happened again with the other guy, I wasn't surprised. Soon the place was so crowded that they've opened another room behind the bar and so grey, that we could cut the air with an axe. Its name: Kominiarz** is well earned. We left.
Chapter two. Mamma Mia!
This time, we spent almost two hours (or maybe more?) to get there: forty minutes by bus, another by train to finally take a taxi. Was it worth it?
After we opened the doors, we've seen a cosy place with gentle light, huge tables, arcades and walls made of red brick. The walls were decorated with painted sculptures made of tiles that in every other place would look kitschy, but here they fitted perfectly. The overwhelming smell from the kitchen made us suddenly hungry.
After we had ordered, the Italian, white-haired skinny owner Maurizio joined us to ask what we took. Guys have ordered pizza and soon the huge pie, that I think could have 70 cm diameter, was on our table. I didn't eat it because I couldn't. Maurizio showed up again.
- Why you don’t eat?
- I can’t. - Mamma Mia, kurde mol*! You can’t pizza?
- I can’t.
- Mamma Mia, what life?! What’s the point to live then? But wine you can?
- No. No wine, no beer for me.
- No?! Wine you can’t? Mamma Mia! In that case I know what you can. You can grappa. I will bring you grappa. And you’ll get the wine. The best - he said to others. Kurde mol! He poured the alcohol.
- You too pale. Your chicks so pale. Drink!
To the surprise of our friends, I enjoyed the taste of grappa as for me; the aftertaste resembled the Malvasia wine from Lanzarote.
Maurizio came back, looked at my glass.
- You lying. All you women, you liars! You’re very picky with your allergies. You like dorada?
- Olga! Dorada! - he shouted to his wife in the kitchen.
- You like potatoes? Yes? Olga! Dorada with potatoes because she has allergies, she can’t eat gluten and all. He poured more without asking.
Soon the waitress brought my soup in a white plate looking like a huge boat. It was full of tomatoes, parsley, mussels, prawns, calamaries and fish and garlic. Gorgeous.
Just after the soup, they've put dorada on the table. We’ve put the plate in the middle of the table to devour it together.
Maurizio came again.
- You like it? Great! Do you want a dessert? You all get grappa. You don’t like grappa so you get limoncello – he said to our friend. He poured again.
I don’t want to write that the dessert was awesome or delicious or mind blowing. It was so simple and full of tastes that were blooming on the tongue that no expression seems to be right. The meringue with a hot raspberry sauce was as impressive as the dessert in Atelier Amaro (gave me goosebumps).
We left a few hundred zlotys poorer but so much happier. The journey back was also long, but it was so worth it. We were so impressed that we didn’t go to sleep until 5 in the morning.
*Something like "damn".