Take-away – po polsku

Wherever we go these days we are confronted with similar options for a take-away. But this na wynos globalization has its local varieties. In Poland, these varieties can be quite bizarre.

For instance, when I came here the first time in 1995, the streets around Plac Konstitucji in Warsaw were lined with hamburgery and hot dogi stands, selling nasty stuff that emerged steaming, damp and limp from microwave ovens.

But what could be good were the ‘bar orientalny’, selling what they claimed was ‘Vietnamese food’.

To this day, Poles must think that a typical family in Saigon sit down to Sunday lunch and tuck into sweet and sour prawn balls, five spice beef and spring rolls. Maybe they do. Strange, then, that the food they call take-away Vietnamese in Poland is remarkably similar to what in Britain we call take-away Chinese.

But take-away Chinese food in London has nothing much in common with Chinese food in China. Someone from Shangri probably never heard of Chop Suey or Chow Mien. That’s because these dishes were invented in the Chinatowns of America, and designed for American taste buds.

The Vietnamese in Poland have designed their take-ways for the Poles. The first time I had one of these dinners in plastic pots they served up the chicken and cashew nuts and rice with a large dollop of sauerkraut on the side. I was shocked. But it went down quite well. I became hooked.

Other variations and culinary ad libs are not so successful.

What must bring tears to the eyes of an Italian boy in Warsaw, and make him miss his mama back home very much, is what they do to pizzas in this country. Why, oh why, do they smother their margarita in tomato ketchup? This culinary abomination has become institutionalized by the telepizzas of Poland when they ask you if you want ‘sauce’ with your hawaiian.

Things have got so bad that many Italian restaurants – such as the great Nonsolopizza in Ochota – have signs on the tables advising that the tomato sauce is already on the pizza – it's that red stuff under the mozzarella – and not in a bottle on the table.


My theory is that this nasty habit started in the late 1980’s with the first Polish street food, zapiekanka.Basically just a bread pizza with cheese and mushrooms, it cried out for ketchup. And ketchup is what it got. Lots of it.

If the sticky goo doesn't dribble down your chin then it goes straight down the sleeves of your shirt. Nasty.

And have you ever wondered why kebabs just don’t taste like they do at home? The first time I ordered a szysz they asked me if I wanted ‘thin or fat bread’? I said I wanted neither – pitta bread would nicely, thank you. But a kebab will never taste right in Poland because it is made, not with lamb, but with beef. Making a kebab from beef is like trying to cook up galonka using chickens feet.

It’s just wrong, wrong, wrong.

So I think it’s time we got our own back on take-away po polsku. I am going to open a little kiosk - take-away po angielsku - selling bigos made from fermented newspapers, and pierogi stuffed with politicians' toenail clippings.