Oto Pan Bóg przyjdzie

You know, I haven't inflicted many Polish quotations on all of you, and it's about time. Because this weekend (as part of my "work") I heard a carol with the above incipit sung by small boys many times (maybe 6?). And the message of the service was clearly...Christmas is coming. It's almost here. YAY. For those interested, the direct translation of the hymn is that God is coming, the holy day (holiday!) is coming, and a great light will be in the coming days. Alleluja.

So, in the spirit of my avoidance of sausage post-Thanksgiving (no sausage, but definitely gluttony) and preparations for Xmas, I want to get back into talking about Polish food and nourishment more generally. I'm preparing to make a traditional feast for Wigilia (Christmas Eve). It's traditional to "Catholic-fast"--eat only fish and not-porkbeefpoultry. So there will be no sausage. Kind of.

That doesn't mean I haven't been eating it while I browse the carp recipes in my cookbook. (I'm going to cook it "Jewish style". I don't know why it's called that. It definitely has no bacon.) This was chicken sausage. It was so BORING. And salty. Only suited for sandwiches, I tell you.

And, of course, I have no obligation to stick with fish at the big feast. So I bought some pork-centric gifts for myself to unwrap. Krakowian sausage, dried and sliced. It looked really precious. And some pate.

Mikołajek!

It's the time of year during which I can, should I desire to, leave one of the archives in which I spend the day and go and eat sausage within two seconds. That's because there is a "Jarmark" (a Christkindlmarkt, a holiday "fair") right outside the door. In general, it's filled with goodies (mulled beverages, many ornaments, an organ grinder, multiple singing Christmas trees), but the most exciting places for this sausage connoisseur are the meat stands. Ok, also the stand that sells bread with lard and cracklings ....

It's the second Sunday in Advent and also St. Nicholas Day. Have you given your friends little gifts? Maybe they would like some smoked sausage? In a basket?

Mapping Europe sausageologically

So, my roommate having just made a whole mess of delicious chili, I'm about to embark on a little interlude in my sausage journeys devoted to the hot dog, frankfurter, or -- as in the photo above -- Bavarian sausage. With chili dogs on my horizon, I'm looking forward to trying to figure out what the different salt contents of the 10 different hot dog-esque offerings of the butcher are. Will I survive?

I have to say, these little links were really good. Not too salty -- something I cannot say for the beef (!) kiełbasa "with pepper" that I ate last week which may or may not be making an appearance here. I'm still mad that it didn't taste beefy. Anyway, the best feature of this sausage, and you can spot this if you've got a keen eye in the picture, is that it was "knackig". The texture, with bread and mustard, and a teensy bit of ketchup (don't tell) was energizing, like eating popcorn can be. If you don't understand what I'm talking about, I am sorry that you have never had a sausage this good.

Living it up in Berlin

Andres ran a half marathon to raise money for the American Liver Foundation this weekend! (Note: That is not a typo: I would never ever willingly do such a thing.) In honor of him, I want to share my wonderfully comforting liverwurst breakfast from last weekend in Berlin.

Actually, I technically ate this on The Day The Wall Fell (+20 years)! But the meal was more symbolic just because it was an everyday breakfast, enjoyed over delicious espresso and conversation. I just love German bread -- packed with sunflower seeds, pumpkin seeds, seeds the English language has no words for -- and spread with liverwurst? Excellent. It's creamy and packed with protein, so it's comforting in a way that salami never will be. Plus, ours was "Bio", which means that the people of Berlin will accept us into their fold. We did good.

Sausage in mysterious places

If you can't tell, these pierogi are Ukrainian, ordered in a German brew house in Warsaw. They are very straight-forward. Meat with some seasoning (not much) folded into rather hearty dough. These are boiled, so it's essential to douse them in sour cream. The texture is terrific, actually, warming and filling. This food tastes fundamentally nourishing.

I'm not _quite_ sure if I'd call it sausage, but I think the principle is the same. Package up the less-than-awesome meat in a new way, tastes like new!

Guest sausage: Boudin from Paris!

I don't exactly believe that sausages are universal. Because, that would be universalist. Also, it's not true. I do think, however, that often times people around the world have tried to preserve meat (or "other") using spices. Because meat goes bad, and refrigeration was invented relatively recently. And obviously I know it's fun to try sausages from different places. But, I can't be everywhere at once or eat sausage all the time (rather, that's not a risk I'm willing to take for my heart). So, I get a little help from my friends. Louis and Maggie sent me this picture of a totally awesome meal they made in Paris one night. There was another photo, too, but my computer doesn't like it. Trust me, really awesome. And probably healthy(ier that Polish sausage)!

Louis wrote:
"Well we had a delicious sausage-centric dish tonight that I wanted to tell you about. In France, weisswurst is called boudin and you can get it in the supermarket for cheap (and therefore mediocre). Here, they eat it with baked apple - Maggie had it at the house where she babysits and liked it. Tonight, we tried something different, cooking it, chopping it up, and throwing it in a stew/soup with white beans, zucchini, tomato, garlic, and various spices. It was delicious! We definitely plan on trying it again with higher quality boudin."

"So good, so good, so good!"

The perspective in this photograph makes it appear as though I ate enough egg noodles for an entire family. This is not the case. Well, it was the case earlier in the week, but this portion was actually totally acceptable in size. It is even blessed by fresh spinach and cumin, a recent triumphal find from the nearby Asian market.

What is excellent about this meal is everything. The hearty noodles, the caramelized onions, and the Potocka Kiełbasa. The Potocki family is one of the legendary aristocratic families of Poland, and it is unclear to me whether or not the name of this sausage references the elite excellency of the family or its place of origin (Potok). The internet will not tell me. It's kind of irrelevant, though, because my attempt to grill this in a pan with the onions (yes that means butter and pork fat!) produced something worthy of the elaborate plumage of the coat of arms most associated with it. Smoky, woody, but not salty, so that my chilled Żywiec actually lightened up the meal.

Indian food!

Though I am firmly invested in the belief that sausage makes pork a fascinating meat, I was pretty excited that the British Isles offer some terrific Indian food. At a buffet one evening, there was a whole tray of lamb sausage with onions, peppers, and spices that I'm sure I have yet to taste in Poland.

The surprise sausage! And look at those: chick peas, too! I'm wistful just thinking about about the layers of flavor in these dishes.

Sausage on the Move

I've been traveling around, mostly to various concert venues across Warsaw. Often these are churches, and I'm here to settle one question for all time: no, there is not sausage sold outside of Polish masses.

There is one thing we can always count on, though: full English breakfast and the "banger" that comes with it. I'm a big fan of the energy eggs provide with a morning meal, always. The sausage is shifty, though. Do we fill it with flour to save on the meat, soak up the fat, and help create a crispy shell? Or, is this meal a tribute to protein: eggs, beans, sausage, ham?

Doesn't matter, I've only ever eaten this meal in hotels, and on this trip the sausage was dry, but tasty. And, it had less salt than the ham. Thankfully.

Stormy weather

The sun has shone down on Warsaw frequently this fall. So, usually, I trot about town in the late afternoon, making sure to wiggle after a day of sitting and reading. I peek at food stands and pause in parks. In other words, I generally enjoy the brisk weather but am somewhat aimless. In the height of discovery, the sun tends to set, a couple of rain drops fall, and I realize that I've got a place to be: home. These earlier and earlier evenings encourage meals that percolate for a while, and so I've taken to making stews and soups. (Plus there's nothing like a cold eggplant curry for lunch at the archive to inspire you to get back to work!)

Good thing sausage tastes mighty delicious in soup. I bought a smoked sausage, chopped it up, and browned it. The whole apartment smelled like a campfire, and my roommate even had an allergic reaction to this suffocating aroma. Tantalizing, though: what would it taste like? The smokiest beef jerky? I crafted a split pea soup around the idea that this was a salty, strongly flavored sausage. All in all, I would say my white sausage experience leaves me over-cooking things a bit...but this sausage packs a punch. It ended up being a much-needed textural counterpoint to the soup. And crunchy, too. The triumph of my work was drizzling balsamic on this soup, the sweetness made the meatiness of the sausage make sense.

Not Polish Sausage

Fusion restaurants embrace the idea that all ethnic food is good and "fuse" different countries' flavors to make what they presume is the food that triumphed in the survival of the fittest. In many countries in which I've lived, usually that's Asian food, what with the flavors that one cannot find at home being the most attractive. However, one day wandering through Praga, we found a fusion Mediterranean place. Well, I'm not sure they would have called it that. But wooing us in with moussaka (MICROWAVED, boo) as a lunch deal and then offering an appetizer platter with salami! Fun! Made me want to buy some of the not fresh pasta on the wall.

The amazing thing about Poland is that I would never order this particular sausage from abroad again [watch out for future posts on Czech, Serbian, and Ukrainian, though]. Because, delicious and peppery as it is, it was exactly what I expected. Fresh mozzarella, though, might be worth the price of the whole platter.

Biała Kiełbasa II: What's in a Name

I insist: I am not an inept cook. In fact, beyond never giving myself food poisoning, I am usually quite sure that something I have created is awful, when it is merely ugly and delicious. I walked home after my triumphant, grammatically-correct purchase of sausage (which left me, of course, dreaming of buying all sorts of meat products, the names of which I know in neither Polish or English. And of course, the physiology of which is probably mysterious as well. But I was empowered! And ready to cook!) I thought I'd planned the best meal ever: lots of peppery broccoli with a wee bit of fennel, and then sausage with my Strong and Old Polish Mustard, chosen at random from the local shop.

But I put the kiełbasa in a pan and covered it with water, just like I would any other raw sausage in the world. Because, at the end of the day, don't we all want a little bit of that crispy brown fat from the pan on the sides of the sausage link! Yes. We do. But this sausage would not, did not cook. For 15 minutes it looked like it does in this photo, refusing to claim the "whiteness" that defines it! I poured water over it, drank a beer, listened to music. Finally, I covered it and waited, resigning myself to over-cooked sausage. Why?! Why would cooking leave me in this time when I can't even order a drink anywhere without revealing my cultural discomfort!

Actually, I'm being dramatic because that steaming pan of sausage conjures up the urgency that I felt while watching the meat luxuriate in its water bath. It was fine, turns out white sausage doesn't really look white, even when it's definitely cooked. And! It was still totally "knusprig" and juicy, even if I could never focus for the intense hunger the long cooking process added. So there.

Kiełbasa Biała

Ok, ok. I've got a home. I bought furniture for it. Now it's time to share some images of the domesticated sausage. On the way home the other day, I stopped by a butcher just on the other side of a nearby church. I was excited to begin the process of figuring out how much meat weighs in kilos. This is critical for keeping myself nourished and preventing the purchase of enough meat for a village. Even if that meat would still only cost 3 USD.

Silly me, because buying sausage doesn't happen by the kilo, of course! This is why the link was invented. With a twist of one's hand, portion size is dictated! These two links of white sausage -- this means fresh (not dried) and lean meat with only light peppering -- were quite a project. But don't they look healthier next to broccoli?

When a hot dog is perfect

I suppose the whole premise of writing about sausages is that lingering on their flavor and individuality is crucial to "proper" enjoyment. After all, since coming to Poland, no sausage I've tasted has been alike. The photo-blog offers me the opportunity to archive my food for posterity. In other words, hypothetically, no sausage is ephemeral.

But that's not true in the real world. Because sometimes food is so perfect and you are so hungry, that you can't even know how much you want to remember the food until you've eaten it (and, maybe, chugged a Coke or beer to wash it down). One recent time this happened to me, I was enjoying my standing room "seats" at Wrigley Field with the assistance of a juicy kosher hot dog. Yes it had celery salt, onions, relish, and mustard, so I was feeling so Chicagoan I couldn't think at all. Whoops, the only way I can prove that this happened is with the above lonely, ketchup soaked fry.

Last week, I bought what felt like 67% of IKEA over the course of 7 hours (one of those numbers -- only -- is an exaggeration). Despite a silly little lox salad consumed before entering the passageway of model bedrooms, offices, and kitchens, I was starving by the time I made it to the concessions stand at the end.

The 2 hot dogs I ate for 1 złoty a piece were perfect even though they were the skinniest little things. You'll just have to trust me, because there's no photographic evidence.

Home-y Soup

After negotiating a plum deal for an apartment in which to live (!), another comforting meal was in order. Well, to be honest, we picked a restaurant that met two requirements: outdoor seating and a "biznes lunch" deal. As is apparent by now, żurek is a common vehicle for sausage. Rather, sausage makes any soup taste like magic. The sour soup at this terrifically idyllic spot in Warsaw's New Town was incredible.

Note the bread bowl? It had been pulled from the oven moments before landing on our table. A hard-boiled egg and crispy kielbasa boosted the soup's protein content while providing crucial texture to this otherwise rather thin broth. It's hardly a meal in a bowl, though, since the wee parsley sprig was the only possible source of vitamins, whatever those are...

Sunday at Wilanów

I think we can all take for granted that sausage isn't the prettiest of foods. It is one of the foods that illustrates that beauty and richness can be embedded deep within. There's no doubt that this white sausage lives up to the pastiness suggested by its moniker. However, chopped up and served in a delicious żurek (sour soup), the creamy and slippery sausage adds substance while contributing to the sense that this soup melts in your mouth.

In Poland one ought to eat soup before every lunch. After spending a Sunday afternoon wandering around the grounds of a palace in the southern districts of Warsaw, the soup course helped make us feel like the 70 year olds who surrounded us at the restaurant. If only we could have sung local drinking songs along with the accordionist roaming the restaurant's patio...

Sausage on the Run

My first week in Warsaw has been flooded with sunlight and only occasionally sprinkled with rain. Nonetheless, having spent a lot of time on public transport in search of a place to live, I've had to resort to buying instantly consumable food from grocery stores, which my friends and I bring back to a teensy hotel room to consume. So here's some "dry" kiełbasa from Cracow, with three types of cured pork in it.

On a sandwich, it tasted juicy, salty, and delicate when complemented by the almost perfect glass of tangy black currant juice perched alongside my plate. Sliced on a pumpkin seed roll that's already spread with cheese, this gave us just the energy to escape the tower, one of Warsaw's well-known apartment "bloks," and run off to view a perfectly located apartment with nary enough space to live...

Camping in New Hampshire is filled with charm, but the breakfast sausage leaves me no where to go but up as I depart for a year of research -- and exploration of the many variations on spiced, flavored, encased ground meat across Europe -- based in Warsaw.

This salty little link was crispy and flavorless. I can't wait to share pictures of some of Eastern Europe's most inspired cuisine.