A different journey

"SsSoup!"
Behold the fluorescent pink delicacy known as Borscht- Polish style, a traditional soup my friend’s Bapcia (Nan) has specially prepared, whose face is currently crinkled in an encouraging grin. We visitor's exchange a look, both with each other and our bowls; halved eggs bob on the surface streaked with beetroot, looking like tired eyes, watching, waiting, for their doom.

It wasn't the first meal I'd queried since I'd been in Krakow, I'd asked for what I thought was Moussaka at a restaurant to meet a curious pile of round objects. The only Polish we knew being “nie” (no), “tak” (yes), “Nie znam polskiego” (I don’t speak Polish) teamed with Babcia’s complete lack of English meant eating was now an act of conversation, language replenished with extensive offers of food, agreeing empty plates and all round smiling faces.

I slide my spoon into the bowl and up again, letting the liquid drip down. It looks like fairy blood and smells like jelly, but I scoop it up and dig in. My teeth burst the egg like a berry; sweet yolk entangled with bitter beetroot, I must be at the mad hatters tea party! My friend, Kayleigh, decides to leave the eggs, drinking only the fairy blood, but her granddaughter and I consume as much as we can, leaving hardly anything. Bapcia comes back inspecting each bowl; she frowns, tilting her head at the one with eyeballs remaining and passes a spoon back to Kayleigh, who shakes her head but smiles thankfully.

Clearing the table Bapcia sighs heavily and we can't help feeling we've caused an offence.

Later on she returns thrusting a plateful of sugared dumplings in Kayleigh’s lap, to which her granddaughter peers at, reaching out an eager hand- Smack! Bapcia thwarts her grandaughter’s scheming fingers and throws her head back letting out a throaty laugh, "tut tut" she puffs out her cheeks "nie!", then sucking them in pinches Kayleigh’s wrist "tak!". I burst out laughing, it dawns on me; three days of non-stop Polish delicacy with unusual heavy portions on Kayleigh’s plate, our beauty of communication through the stomach is simply a clever Nan’s hope of fattening up the skinny one! Her granddaughter pretends to be offended whilst quickly swiping a dumpling, Bapcia chases her around playfully laughing in Polish, which I imagine to be things like “greedy” “pest” and “come back”.

It reminds me of my Nan at home frying soda bread to go with our chucky eggs. No matter what the culture, a grandparent’s food means business!