The Best Pierogi in Krakow

I have a long-cherished memory of the first time I tried pierogi.  I say long-cherished because I have clung to this memory, as though it reveals some important detail from my past or explains the significance of my pierogi obsession.  It doesn’t.  And I’m even willing to acknowledge there is an excellent chance I’ve crafted this memory out of my imagination. Maybe it never happened.  Maybe I’d tried pierogi before this time.  Maybe I wouldn’t try them for many years yet. I suspect that many of our memories are woven together from hazy details, given a shape and meaning we ourselves inscribe onto them.  I think maybe this memory has become so important to me because when I was a child, we traveled a lot, and I didn't feel very stably American (or Polish).  Pierogi somehow became a point of consistency in my life.

Either way, I remember being in Olsztyn, the town near my mother’s hometown of Ostroda, and which my mother’s sister and aunt lived in.  It had been raining, which seemed to be common for Olsztyn in the summer (and was one of the reasons that, as a teenager, I dreaded the thought of going to Poland in the summer.  For a California girl, summer should mean dry heat and sun).  But at last the rain had stopped, even if the rain hadn’t stopped.  My Wujek Krzysztof (my uncle) and my father decided to take the three little girls (my cousin Natalia, my sister Magdalena, and me) into the Stare Miasto, possibly to get us out of our mothers’ hair.  At this point, I must have visited Olsztyn at least once or twice already, but while some things about the town seemed beautifully familiar, other things remained a surprise.  I was always excited when Wujek Krzysztof turned onto Ulica Lipowa (Linden Tree Street), and my sister and I would try to remember which red-roofed house was Ciocia and Wujek’s.  Walking down the steps that ran along the side of their house, we followed side paths (I think) and eventually came up to the small river, Rzeka Lyna, that runs through Olsztyn.  Compared to the Wisla, which runs through many of the main cities in Poland, the Lyna is very small and narrow.  But for all that it’s much lovelier.   Many parts of its winding path are lined with old, leaning trees, and even in the dead of winter you can find swans lazily floating by.  I remember thinking that Olsztyn was a beautiful city, and although I then didn’t visit it for quite a long time, the last few times I went back I was again struck by its small, picturesque beauty.

Rzeka Lyna in winter

Eventually, our walk led us to the Stare Miasto in Olsztyn.  Wujek or Natalia had a place in mind for us to go to, so we went in, and each of us ordered a plate of pierogi z miesem (pierogi with meat).  We sat at a big wooden table with wooden benches around it, under a big umbrella, right on the town square.  It was still overcast but no longer cold.  My father and uncle must have managed to communicate, probably through some translation (and interpretation) on the parts of my cousin, sister, and me.  Eventually, the pierogi arrived.  I don’t recall if there was anything spectacular about these particular pierogi—there probably wasn’t.  And there’s no real reason why I am so convinced that this was the first time I ever tried pierogi.  But I think of this as my first real pierogi experience, and from that point on, pierogi became one of the main things I associated with Poland.  

Each time we were getting ready to go to Poland in the summer, I would start dreaming of pierogi z miesem.  Within 24 hours of our arrival, I usually managed to get a plate in.  One year, my aunt confused the day we were arriving, and when we got into Warsaw, my uncle wasn’t there to meet us (keep in mind this was in the days before cell phones).  My parents were exhausted after traveling by overnight train from Italy with two little girls in tow, but I was ecstatic to eat pierogi in the grimy Warsaw train station and drink my orange Fanta.  I tried them everywhere we went.  There were some traditional Polish foods like barszcz that I refused to try, all for love of pierogi.  One summer my uncle’s sister, Pani Hania, made huge pierogi with blueberries (even the name--pierogi z jagodami--sounded magical).  Fruit pierogi are traditionally served with cream, which horrified me.  But my mother convinced Pani Hania to give me some just with sugar sprinkled on them, and then I devoured those, too.  My mother’s friend Lucyna once made pierogi with strawberries when we went to visit her, and at first the pink-tinted dumplings caused me some anxiety.  Eventually I overcame it.

Once we started going to Krakow, my quest became to find the best pierogi in town.  Krakow is a big city, and it was no easy feat.  Some places, like the chain restaurant Chlopskie Jadlo, clearly served frozen pierogi they’d bought in bulk and warmed up.  Other places, like the wonderful U Babci Maliny, experimented with different fillings and even baked their pierogi.  I’ll never know how she did it, but one day in the first year we were in Krakow, my mother found the best pierogi in Krakow.

If you walk down Dietla, one of the main streets in Krakow, eventually it will veer off and become Grzegorzecka.  Grzegorzecka is far enough from the center of town that its buildings haven’t been restored after World War Two and Communism.  They are sooty from factory pollution, imposing, and somewhat ominous.  If you walk down Grzegorzecka long enough, you’ll arrive at Rondo Grzegorzeckie, a roundabout, and from there it’s a straight path into Nowa Huta, the city that was a Communist pet project.  If you are walking somewhere with a purpose, as most people who walk down Grzegorzecka are, you’ll probably notice the occasional billboard or see a tram go by, but you’ll mostly remain undistracted.  If, however, you are simply wandering down this street, your eye may catch a dingy yellow sign that says “BAR POD 17, KUCHNIA DOMOWA” (this roughly translates to “Bar at 17, Homey Cooking).  If you decide to go into this place, your eyes will take a second to adjust to the dimness.  You’ll see a bare, tiled floor with about half a dozen little tables in the main room, and a low counter at the back of the room.  Behind this counter will sit a middle-aged man, with dark brown hair and a thick mustache.  He’ll greet you kindly and ask for your order.  He’ll pass on the message quickly to the three ladies in the kitchen.  He’ll tell you to sit anywhere you like, as though there were dozens of tables to choose from, although during the dinner hour, the place is so full of regulars who come in for their break, you might be hard-pressed to find a seat. 

Bar pod 17 decorated for Christmas

Within about ten minutes, he’ll bring you a plate of ten, beautifully-shaped, steaming pierogi.  And when you try them, you won’t be able to stop from scarfing down your plate.  The pierogi are very simple.  There’s no secret filling, no unusual way of preparing them.  If you get ruskie, they’re prepared with pureed potatoes, a bit of onion, and twarog, or farmers’ cheese.  The meat ones are just ground meat.  They’re boiled, then heated on low heat with a little butter and pork fat.  That’s it.  They are perfect.  They are exquisite.  They are delicious.  And if you love pierogi, you will probably go back there almost every day.  When you meet your future husband, you’ll convince him that these are the best pierogi in Krakow, and he’ll start going there, too.  Although his Polish is not too advanced, he’ll manage to communicate to the man that he is your boyfriend and he is there to pick up two portions of pierogi.  When your parents arrive in Krakow for a visit, you’ll go to the man as soon as the place opens, and after you explain why you need six portions of pierogi, he’ll ask his wife to bring you a jar with some of their pork fat so you can reheat them correctly.  Sometimes you’ll see him at the Farmers’ Market and he’ll nod, but even though you see each other most days out of the week, for three years, he’ll properly refer to you as Pani and you’ll address him respectfully as Pan.  When you go there for the last time before you leave Krakow for the States, you’ll thank him for feeding you for all these years, and he’ll shake your hand goodbye, and as you leave, you’ll burst into tears for the first time.

Bar pod 17

And even though you’ll learn to make pierogi on your own and will learn to enjoy the process, you’ll never, ever forget the secret little place on that gritty street, the place with the best pierogi in Krakow.

Making my own pierogi