A new exhibition at the Museum of Warsaw has sought to shine a light on the capital’s food culture, delving through time to explore 800 years of culinary history.
Opened in mid-October and running until April, the exhibition’s narrative is set around two themes: home cooking and urban gastronomy. Sub-dividing these categories further, it aims to give an insight into how eating habits have developed to become intertwined with Warsaw’s wider social history.
As an exhibition, it offers much to digest. Kicking off with topics related to food preparation and preservation, we learn how medieval times saw meat carved in yards before being cooked inside, often within multi-purpose rooms that doubled as dining rooms or, even, bedrooms.
Spit-roasting was one favored method of cooking meat, with one practice—which originated in England—involving small dogs running inside a rotating mechanism to turn the spit. It is nuggets such as this that lend the exhibition its flavor.
As an exhibition, it offers much to digest. Kicking off with topics related to food preparation and preservation, we learn how medieval times saw meat carved in yards before being cooked inside, often within multi-purpose rooms that doubled as dining rooms or, even, bedrooms.
Spit-roasting was one favored method of cooking meat, with one practice—which originated in England—involving small dogs running inside a rotating mechanism to turn the spit. It is nuggets such as this that lend the exhibition its flavor.
Rarely ceasing to surprise, the exhibition excels in covering these earlier periods. Positioned alongside pots, pans and kitchen utensils, the accompanying texts are often illuminating.
“From the Middle Ages until the end of the 17th century, the dominant taste in Polish cuisine was pungent, achieved with exotic spices such as saffron, pepper, ginger, cinnamon and nutmeg,” visitors are informed.
“A sour, vinegary taste was also popular,” we are told, “and both were combined with sugar or jam. Meat, fish, vegetable dishes, and even scrambled eggs were sweetened.”
“From the Middle Ages until the end of the 17th century, the dominant taste in Polish cuisine was pungent, achieved with exotic spices such as saffron, pepper, ginger, cinnamon and nutmeg,” visitors are informed.
“A sour, vinegary taste was also popular,” we are told, “and both were combined with sugar or jam. Meat, fish, vegetable dishes, and even scrambled eggs were sweetened.”
Given Poland’s enduring reputation for flat, characterless flavors, it is perhaps startling to learn that the capital’s cuisine was once defined by its rich, expressive flavors. In fact, it wasn’t until later that a more nuanced style was embraced.
“A new culinary fashion, which departed from the previously popular juxtaposition of contrasts, came from France,” reads one board.
“Its basic principle was to preserve the natural taste and appearance of the food instead of hiding or altering it by adding lots of spices,” it continues. “Local herbs began being used and vegetables became more popular. The achievements of the French culinary revolution can still be seen on Polish tables today.”
“A new culinary fashion, which departed from the previously popular juxtaposition of contrasts, came from France,” reads one board.
“Its basic principle was to preserve the natural taste and appearance of the food instead of hiding or altering it by adding lots of spices,” it continues. “Local herbs began being used and vegetables became more popular. The achievements of the French culinary revolution can still be seen on Polish tables today.”
Aside from a wealth of cooking vessels—many of them, admittedly, rather fetching to look at—the exhibition does suffer from a lack of physical artifacts, but this affords those exhibits that are present an almost reverential importance.
A case in point is a first edition of Lucyna Ćwierczakiewiczowa’s 1860 cookbook, ‘365 obiadów za 5 złotych’ (‘365 dinners for 5 złotys’). Set behind glass as if it were an ancient, jeweled relic, the stained-looking tome is a feast for the eyes.
A case in point is a first edition of Lucyna Ćwierczakiewiczowa’s 1860 cookbook, ‘365 obiadów za 5 złotych’ (‘365 dinners for 5 złotys’). Set behind glass as if it were an ancient, jeweled relic, the stained-looking tome is a feast for the eyes.
Though not Poland’s first cookbook, it was Ćwierczakiewiczowa’s effort that would become the best-known.
In appealing to the budget-conscious masses, Ćwierczakiewiczowa hit upon an idea still used by cookbook authors across the world. “The flexibility of [her] recipes allowed the reader to modify them by choosing cheaper alternatives without making the dish less nutritious or tasty,” reads the accompanying blurb.
In appealing to the budget-conscious masses, Ćwierczakiewiczowa hit upon an idea still used by cookbook authors across the world. “The flexibility of [her] recipes allowed the reader to modify them by choosing cheaper alternatives without making the dish less nutritious or tasty,” reads the accompanying blurb.
The exhibition also places an emphasis on the struggles of the poor, revealing that by the end of the 19th century, the Warsaw Charity Society was feeding around 100,000 people per year. Hospitals played a critical role in feeding the impoverished, serving orphans and the crippled bread and meat, as well as porridge, noodles, peas, sauerkraut, turnips and carrots. “The main drink was low-alcohol beer,” we are told.
The city’s street food scene is also covered. Dating to the Middle Ages, we are informed that eating at “inns beneath the clouds” was popular “among the poorest residents.” At open-air cooking stations such as the one by King Sigismund’s column, seasonal workers and craftsmen would join vagrants and merchants to dine on delicacies like tripe.
The city’s street food scene is also covered. Dating to the Middle Ages, we are informed that eating at “inns beneath the clouds” was popular “among the poorest residents.” At open-air cooking stations such as the one by King Sigismund’s column, seasonal workers and craftsmen would join vagrants and merchants to dine on delicacies like tripe.
Surprisingly, given the wealth of source material relating to the period, the exhibition stutters and wobbles when it comes to later years.
Milk bars, a long-embedded feature of Warsaw gastronomy, are given just a cursory mention.
Menus are also notably absent. With restaurants inside the likes of the Europejski and Bristol Hotels celebrated for their lavish banquets, it is impossible not to feel that the exhibition would have been significantly enhanced by some menus from the time.
Milk bars, a long-embedded feature of Warsaw gastronomy, are given just a cursory mention.
Menus are also notably absent. With restaurants inside the likes of the Europejski and Bristol Hotels celebrated for their lavish banquets, it is impossible not to feel that the exhibition would have been significantly enhanced by some menus from the time.
In fact, this whole ‘golden age’ is largely skipped, despite the era seeing a boom in venues such as Adria, a prestigious address envied for its exotic winter garden, fashionable American cocktails and 1,500-capacity basement complete with a rotating dance floor.
We are, at least, told about Antoni Salis’ inter-war bar on Zgoda 4. One of the first restaurants in the city to offer takeaway meals, it specialized in roasted game, pies, boiled tripe, fish salads and sausages. A charming cartoonish picture of the bar depicts a whiskered crowd of tipsy gentlemen carousing while a cat prowls between the tables.
We are, at least, told about Antoni Salis’ inter-war bar on Zgoda 4. One of the first restaurants in the city to offer takeaway meals, it specialized in roasted game, pies, boiled tripe, fish salads and sausages. A charming cartoonish picture of the bar depicts a whiskered crowd of tipsy gentlemen carousing while a cat prowls between the tables.
We do also learn more about the ‘saturator’ mobile soda machine, an endemic feature of life under Communism. Imported en masse from the Soviet Union, these carbonated drink dispensers enjoyed immense popularity despite the health hazards that they posed.
“The water [they used] came directly from fire hydrants,” reads the caption next to one picture. “Due to the questionable hygiene in the drinks preparation process, the water from these ‘saturators’ was ironically referred to as ‘TB water’.”
“The water [they used] came directly from fire hydrants,” reads the caption next to one picture. “Due to the questionable hygiene in the drinks preparation process, the water from these ‘saturators’ was ironically referred to as ‘TB water’.”
Although the latter part of the exhibition does a commendable job of spotlighting Warsaw’s fixation with picnicking (a fad that enjoyed particular popularity in the areas of Saska Kępa and Bielany in the 17th century), other topics of arguably greater relevance are roundly ignored.
Notable omissions include the 1992 launch of the country’s first McDonald’s. Mobbed by thousands on opening day, many remember this as a red-letter day—a cultural turning point that affirmed that Warsaw was finally facing west.
Forgotten, too, is the role the city’s restaurants played during the gangland wars of the 90s and early 00s. Regarded as one of the city’s most volatile periods, Warsaw’s restaurants became a battleground for the capital’s warring mafia factions, a point underlined by high-profile shootings in TGI Friday’s, Klif’s Wiking restaurant and a venue called Gama.
Notable omissions include the 1992 launch of the country’s first McDonald’s. Mobbed by thousands on opening day, many remember this as a red-letter day—a cultural turning point that affirmed that Warsaw was finally facing west.
Forgotten, too, is the role the city’s restaurants played during the gangland wars of the 90s and early 00s. Regarded as one of the city’s most volatile periods, Warsaw’s restaurants became a battleground for the capital’s warring mafia factions, a point underlined by high-profile shootings in TGI Friday’s, Klif’s Wiking restaurant and a venue called Gama.
Frustration mounts with the exhibition’s presentation of ethnic food. While a sterling job is done paying tribute to the city’s taste for Vietnamese food—something originally popularized in the vending cabins by Plac Konstytucji and then in the environs of the open-air bazaar at the long-demolished 10th Anniversary Stadium—a misstep is made when it comes to Middle Eastern.
“The first two restaurants serving kebab opened on Marszałkowska Street in the early 2000s,” we are told, this despite the museum’s own permanent exhibition stating otherwise (the city’s first kebab was, in fact, Efes, opened in 1994 in the Saska Kępa area).
It is curious, as well, that the modern food revolution has been overlooked, notably the growing cult of the chef, the revival of artisanal practices and Warsaw’s soaring international reputation as a vegan mecca.
But rushed as this last section may feel, the exhibition succeeds on many other levels; by zeroing in on the city’s food history, the Museum of Warsaw has lifted the sheets on a subject that, until now, has been largely viewed as being of secondary importance.
“The first two restaurants serving kebab opened on Marszałkowska Street in the early 2000s,” we are told, this despite the museum’s own permanent exhibition stating otherwise (the city’s first kebab was, in fact, Efes, opened in 1994 in the Saska Kępa area).
It is curious, as well, that the modern food revolution has been overlooked, notably the growing cult of the chef, the revival of artisanal practices and Warsaw’s soaring international reputation as a vegan mecca.
But rushed as this last section may feel, the exhibition succeeds on many other levels; by zeroing in on the city’s food history, the Museum of Warsaw has lifted the sheets on a subject that, until now, has been largely viewed as being of secondary importance.
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