DISCLAIMER: This will obviously come off as a "shaggy" Pierogi story. The difficulty is that the strict economy of language in the Olde Polish tongue does not translate at all into English while keeping with the original's economy. The deliciousness, however, has been retained. Some would say, even more so with the extra umami from the garnishment of the English "condimentisement".
Okay ... on to the tale ...
It claims to be the best Pierogi in Warsaw? That's quite a place holder in a town — in a country! — where the humble Pierogi is the esteemed non-pariel national culinary sacrament.
Never mind the hyperbole, you want to know where that joint is what boasts the best in a world in a culture where each and everyone only partakes of the best all the time, every time? And, by "best", we're talking about what your Babcia makes. Or mine. That which each and every Polish boy and girl is stuffed full with from day one, and is engrained as the gold standard of such. "Mom's Apple Pie" sort of thing.
If you got Polish blood in you the gold standard for Pierogi is always and ever shall be ... Babcia's. And, don't let's go off on a nostalgic culinary imagining of her Chicken soup; always served with the requisite Chicken foot.
Kielbasa? As any Pollack worth their salt will tell you, there's no such thing as the perfect Kielbasa. Life is just a search for Kielbasa perfection. Forever sought, but never attained. Like balancing the body with the Gravitational field of the Earth. An open ended potential; not a fixed goal to reach. But that's a whole other story.
Heck, part of the appreciation of the Kielbasi is in the endless varieties. The search itself. Choice of smoke. Grind size. Garlic/no Garlic. Terroir. Fresh vs. Smoked. How much smoke. Ready to eat vs. uncooked. And, of course, the love what the maker has invested into it. As you can tell, it's an alchemical challenge.
Where is this joint? If you turn left facing north at the south side of the light fountain in the old town section, then go to the middle of the next block and look down the narrow lane to your right, you'll see the small inky light lit shingle on the left with these words carved in relief: [Loosely translated from the Olde Polish vernacular.] "This Babcia Done Do Smacks All Other What You Call Your Pierogi!". The word in Polish is Smakosz.
The place, it's called "Who's Your Babcia?". So you already know the gauntlet in definitely down on the claim to be the best.
Okay. Come on in.
The place is what you'd expect. Scrupulously clean. That scores a solid "One Babcia" on the Polish Michelin Guide's counterpart. Polish homes are kept clean. Immaculate. Fact.
Sit yourself down at a table or a booth. Linen tablecloths and napkins. White, white. Like I said ... clean. Spic and Span.
There's no menu. Just a lovely serving of Pierogi. You do have a choice however; three, or four. The three are served together on one plate; the fourth on it's own, and smaller plate-wise. Why we'll get to that shortly. That is, if I can write this shortly. Light a candle.
So what's on the plate? Pierogi! Duh! Okay, what kind? There are varieties you know.
Your plate of three Pierogi presents to you three triangular shaped dumplings, plump with fillings, and crimpted to seal the folded edges traditional Babcia-style with fork tines. Oh sure, there's the fancy fold over ones, but Babcia as she says, "I give them a good forking!". She don't mince her words. Doesn't mind either the double meanings. In fact, she's one down for an off color joke. "Clean in the kitdchen, dirty in the bedroom."
One variety is the classic Potato and Cheese filling. Mashed whole boiled starchy Potatoes with a good portion of plain old melty yellow cheese. No fancy-ass Cheddar or some other $32.00+ per pound artisanal rarity ... just some plain old melty yellow Cheese. Kapische? Pierogi has simple roots, so keep it simple. K.I.S.S.
The dough wrapper is a thing in itself. Not thin and springy like a Wonton wrapper. Or, thin and even like for Ravioli. A dough mixed with as many farm happy Hen eggs as can be mixed in to the finely milled [ground in house] hard Wheat flour, then hand rolled to cover a large table top, then cut into wide strips, then squares. 12 centimeter squares, that is. How come 12? 12 Apostles ... anybody? Duh! How thin? That's a master class in itself on how thin is it. She knows, and you just have to get it from standing by her side as she does her thing. How thin? Thin enough so it's not a belly stuffer, but thick enough so you know you're biting in to some dough. Duh! Okay?
Each one filled generously with as much as can be held tight when the two opposite corners of the squares are brought together to form a triangle. This step is pure Babcia. How much filling to make it a delight, but not too much to not let you close off the crimped edges ... that there skill is long learned in Babcia's kitchen. She eyeballs every one with exactitude of a rocket scientist. A skill which can't be told, just shown and followed ... and followed ... and followed. In the Olde Polish it is said: "Just do it like I do it, you Kapusta for brains!".
And, speaking of Kapusta ... we now put a fork into the second PierΓ³g. Homemade Sauerkraut flavored with Juniper Berries mixed together with thinly sliced Onions sautΓ©ed to just a trace of caramelization ["browning" as Babcia would say] with a generous grinding of house speciality lightning-zinger black Peppercorns foraged wild in the deepest jungles of Sumatra. On special occasions she may even dot the mixture with flecks of house smoked Ham hocks. Sometimes in season when she forages for wild Mushrooms, she'll add some chopped up into the filling. No telling, though, when that delicious extra will show up. Good karma at work when it happens.
On third base we see another classic. That firm, dry Farmers Cheese, moistened with a bit with house made Sour Cream and generously flecked with chives from the roof garden. Which by the way is also available for dining; but the demand is high and there's a wait list. Don't be fussy. You came for the Pierogi, don't forget.
All three served with points toward the center on the round plate. [Square plates! Ugh! Might as well have them marked with bold letters "TRENDY". Babcia goes with solid tradition. She says, "You mouth round ... so you plate round! Now eat!"]
There's a generous dollop of Sour Cream in the center, maybe if she's in the mood, a spoon of Ossetra Caviar on top. The Pierogi after having been boiled are given an ever so light fry in her home churned Butter from the Cows she herself milks herself. Always with some bits of browned Onions and Bacon bits to garnish. The latter, as you might guess, from the heritage breed Porkers she butchers herself; then, of course, smokes dem critters too. What kind of smoke? Her secret. Rumor has it she uses generous amounts of Buffalo Grass with the hard woods of her choosing, the same grass which she uses to make her famous Ε»ubrΓ³wka . And, yes, she distills her own Vodka too. Illegal now, but she's "Grandmothered" in on account of having been making it for who knows how long now.
Almost forgot ... the whole presentation is sprinkled with fresh Dill fronds. And, of course, from the roof Garden. Which by the way is especially romantically atmospheric at night with the surround of Beer Garden stings of colorful lights. Great for proposals. Which are attempted often, but on account of that Babcia has a say in everything of what goes on in her place, don't always pan out as hoped for.
The fourth offering is optional. Sort of like a dessert, but not really. Fresh Plum filled, sometimes Prunes. It may seem like it doesn't go, but it does. And then some. Most delightfully delicious. Always with the Sour Cream. A must. On a plain plate. Just that.
With what to wash it down, you ask? Two choices. Both house made. Vodka. Beer. It would take as much or more amounts of words what have already been written so far to describe the Vodka and the Beer. Just to say all the ingredients are locally sourced. Potatoes only for the Vodka. Beer is whatever the F the old lady feels like brewing up. Never disappoints, so feel free to partake. Vodka-wise it's plain, or Ε»ubrΓ³wka. That latter is the classic flavored with Buffalo Grass. Sometimes if Babcia likes you and who you're with she'll send over a "Polish Kiss". It's a cocktail with homemade Apple Cider with a kicker of Ε»ubrΓ³wka.
Anything else. Well ... Pickles. Made on premises. Dills with Garlic. A complimentary one or two depending on size sliced lengthwise in the traditional Polish way. More, if you want ... but, for the money.
By the way, there's a mean old shaggy dog* lazing in the corner near the fireplace. Don't look at the dog! Look to your Pierogi! Kapische?
* That shaggy dog is another whole story. A "shaggy" dog story that is. Let's not go there. You've probably had a sufficiency, and any more would be a super abundance.
DzieΕ dobry!
