Mūčhkię blahžny

So I went out to eat. Inside a restaurant. I had called in advance and asked if they were social distancing and the person on the phone snorted out a laughing yes. When we arrived it was obvious what she was laughing at. I’d eaten there before and really liked the food. I did remember that the place was not exactly darling but I didn’t recall it being as drab as this. Maybe it is the COVID. In any event I hadn’t needed to worry about people in my proximity.

The food, though, was indeed drab. Not just how it looked but its taste, too, was less than pyszne, if you know what I mean. Aside from a shared Reuben pierogi which was delicious but hardly something you’d find in say, Bydgoszcz, a place I’ve never been and don’t plan on going to any time soon, but I imagine there are no reuben pierogis there. The rest was pretty unremarkable. The dill pickle soup was bland-o-rama, the rouladen was OK and I ate it all but my grandfather’s was better, even if he called them rollmops, or roll-em-ups, or something like that. The potato pancake was actually a pancake and the bigos, well, it wouldn’t have been out of place in a scene from Oliver only no one would have been saying, “Please sir may I have some more.”

The upside here is that I am going to make all of this stuff. I love it. I can make it better. Winter is upon us and this is the kind of rib-sticking food that I love, and love to make. Reuben pierogis, here we come. Nie mogę się doczekać.