Breaking the fast in traditional style
Dear hippo ne'er filled up his stores 'cause he couldn't squeeze through Blikle's doors! (From Ewa Wende's collection: 'Fairy tales for my grandson, Anthony.')
I could not resist copying this from the back of Blikle's menu. A nice happy little rhyme for a really first-class cafe. However, as my reader will already suspect, I am not a habitue of cafes. Bars are for drinking, and restaurants are for drinking and eating.
In fact, what got me to Blikle was the breakfast. Breakfast is a meal I do not normally indulge in unless it is preamble to murdering feathered friends with the eventual idea of turning them into dinner. A good lunch and light evening meal will normally suffice. However, I was about to enjoy the pleasures of a flight on an AT7, which promised little gastronomic excellence, and somebody had mentioned that Blikle's did a good breakfast.
Blikle (Nowy Swiat 33, Tel: 26-66-19) has a slightly confusing entrance, because there are two sides and the public areas do not come together.
I visited the left side which, I was assured, is the same as the right. It was a snowy Sunday morning, and I found a table reasonably easily, although those arriving little later, around 1 p.m., were having difficulty in getting in.
The layout is as one would expect for a comfortable turn-of-the-century cafe. Blikle was founded in 1869 and is now run by a Frenchman. The entrance area has a good bar area and a display of cakes that would indeed have made Hippo very much fatter had he been able to get to them. The menu is essentially a cafe menu, with a really good cake and confectionery section and an alcohol section which includes good range of cocktails.
However, it was for the breakfast menu that I was there. The menu is divided into a range of snack options - featuring caviar, herring and Blikle's homemade sausages - and breakfasts.
There are six different breakfasts identified by nationality. It seems the Polish like cold meat, the Viennese an egg in a glass, the continentals quite rightly save themselves for lunch and the Americans, as usual, cannot make up their minds and have something of everything. We Brits get lumbered with a skimpy plate of bacon, egg (not eggs) and a very solid Gloucestershire sausage.
But for once in my life it is the Russians that I am envious of, for not only do they spend the most money (zl. 30 or $12.50), they also break their fast with French champagne and caviar.
There is also a section where most of the goodies in the various breakfasts are offered individually, so that those who want can have caviar with their sausages.
Trying out a breakfast menu is more complicated than one might think. Particularly when my delightful waitress, Anna, compounded the problems of my strange meandering all over the "carte."
I started off with blinis and herrings in sour cream, washed down by a beer. Blinis, or pancakes to me, were nicely fresh and warm. Next, I decided that I had better try one of the breakfasts, so I naturally ordered an English one. I was disappointed to see that deviled kidneys and kedgeree were nowhere to be found, but settled for the promise of the solids as above plus toast and marmalade. The tea, or coffee, I would pass on.
Anna returned to ask what juice I wanted. I was confused, because I did not recall any juice on the menu but agreed to take tomato juice, with maybe a little vodka on the side. Eventually the penny dropped - a bloody Mary would do nicely. It was not a very good one, a distinct lack of spice.
When my breakfast arrived, it was a Polish version.
Cold meat I could live without. So it was changed to the English version, although it was insisted that I should eat the cheese bun, offered to the Poles, while waiting for the changed order to be cooked. In the menu it was described as a yeast roll with cheese - and it was very good.
I was not particularly impressed with my English breakfast. It was not a real fry up, and the fixings looked almost naked on the large plate with a single egg, a single sausage and few small rashers of bacon.
I used another couple of beers to wash it down. In the end I had to dash for my flight. I paid the bill for zl. 47 ($19) well replete and knowing that I would have no problem in turning down the sandwich that LOT would soon offer me.
I could not resist copying this from the back of Blikle's menu. A nice happy little rhyme for a really first-class cafe. However, as my reader will already suspect, I am not a habitue of cafes. Bars are for drinking, and restaurants are for drinking and eating.
In fact, what got me to Blikle was the breakfast. Breakfast is a meal I do not normally indulge in unless it is preamble to murdering feathered friends with the eventual idea of turning them into dinner. A good lunch and light evening meal will normally suffice. However, I was about to enjoy the pleasures of a flight on an AT7, which promised little gastronomic excellence, and somebody had mentioned that Blikle's did a good breakfast.
Blikle (Nowy Swiat 33, Tel: 26-66-19) has a slightly confusing entrance, because there are two sides and the public areas do not come together.
I visited the left side which, I was assured, is the same as the right. It was a snowy Sunday morning, and I found a table reasonably easily, although those arriving little later, around 1 p.m., were having difficulty in getting in.
The layout is as one would expect for a comfortable turn-of-the-century cafe. Blikle was founded in 1869 and is now run by a Frenchman. The entrance area has a good bar area and a display of cakes that would indeed have made Hippo very much fatter had he been able to get to them. The menu is essentially a cafe menu, with a really good cake and confectionery section and an alcohol section which includes good range of cocktails.
However, it was for the breakfast menu that I was there. The menu is divided into a range of snack options - featuring caviar, herring and Blikle's homemade sausages - and breakfasts.
There are six different breakfasts identified by nationality. It seems the Polish like cold meat, the Viennese an egg in a glass, the continentals quite rightly save themselves for lunch and the Americans, as usual, cannot make up their minds and have something of everything. We Brits get lumbered with a skimpy plate of bacon, egg (not eggs) and a very solid Gloucestershire sausage.
But for once in my life it is the Russians that I am envious of, for not only do they spend the most money (zl. 30 or $12.50), they also break their fast with French champagne and caviar.
There is also a section where most of the goodies in the various breakfasts are offered individually, so that those who want can have caviar with their sausages.
Trying out a breakfast menu is more complicated than one might think. Particularly when my delightful waitress, Anna, compounded the problems of my strange meandering all over the "carte."
I started off with blinis and herrings in sour cream, washed down by a beer. Blinis, or pancakes to me, were nicely fresh and warm. Next, I decided that I had better try one of the breakfasts, so I naturally ordered an English one. I was disappointed to see that deviled kidneys and kedgeree were nowhere to be found, but settled for the promise of the solids as above plus toast and marmalade. The tea, or coffee, I would pass on.
Anna returned to ask what juice I wanted. I was confused, because I did not recall any juice on the menu but agreed to take tomato juice, with maybe a little vodka on the side. Eventually the penny dropped - a bloody Mary would do nicely. It was not a very good one, a distinct lack of spice.
When my breakfast arrived, it was a Polish version.
Cold meat I could live without. So it was changed to the English version, although it was insisted that I should eat the cheese bun, offered to the Poles, while waiting for the changed order to be cooked. In the menu it was described as a yeast roll with cheese - and it was very good.
I was not particularly impressed with my English breakfast. It was not a real fry up, and the fixings looked almost naked on the large plate with a single egg, a single sausage and few small rashers of bacon.
I used another couple of beers to wash it down. In the end I had to dash for my flight. I paid the bill for zl. 47 ($19) well replete and knowing that I would have no problem in turning down the sandwich that LOT would soon offer me.
