Marching on an empty stomach Mateusz Dembiński joins the army

The army mess hall in which I ate didn’t exactly resemble McDonald’s. It was clean, I must admit, but the serving of the meal was not exactly in line with the service economy. Army privates lined up, clasping their metal trays while a kitchen-boy behind the counter dished out the grub. There was no choice; the recruits just got whatever was assigned for the day. The officers who ate in the same room and had a similar menu were, nevertheless, treated somewhat differently. Their tables were cleaner and even had napkins on them. A waiter wearing a white apron brought their meals on a tray. Unfortunately, I didn’t exactly get a chance to eat with either group due to the fact that my appointment for prandial refreshment was delayed by another formidable episode in military bureaucracy, which I failed to foresee. Thus, I dined alone and felt very awkward sitting by myself in the huge dining room that could accommodate at least 200 soldiers. But the kitchen staff was still there, and soon a young waiter with a big smile on his face approached me and said: “ Good day! Do you want soup or shall I immediately give you the second meal?” I was quite astounded that he had actually spoken to me (considering some military red tape about who can and who cannot speak to whom, and about what), so I cheerily answered that if there was some kind of edible soup, I’d be glad to have it. “Today is grochowa (pea soup),” he said. “I’ll bring it straightaway.” And in an instant, I had a bowl of soup in front of me. The second meal consisted of potatoes and surówka (cabbage salad). Next, he brought me a glass of compote and with a big, sincere smile, he said, “Maybe it ain’t what your mama cooks for you at home, but I hope you’ll enjoy it.” Funny thing is that I did, although the food itself was just like in typical milk bars - edible but nothing special. What I liked was that in this grey, often boorish, military reality there appeared something NORMAL. And it was this young, cheerful army waiter. After I finished the meal, I went to thank him. Now it was his turn to be nicely surprised, especially when I told him that I didn’t expect such amiable service there. The affair convinced me that no matter in what conditions people have to work, there are those who have style, despite their rank, their education or their position in society. This guy had “class,” and it’s a pity that there aren’t more people like him in the army. (Aside from me, I hasten to add). However, as the privates told me later, this was one of the better meals served in their mess hall. After they learned that I was a reporter, they laughed: “ Perhaps they knew that you’d be coming, and that’s why they made an effort to cook something better for today.” Private Marek added: “I remember when I was a freshman and we were going to eat our first army meal. They made us line up in pairs like in kindergarten and led us marching to the canteen. Leftovers from breakfast were spread on the tables. Everything was cold and looked unappetising. There weren’t many of us who ate, while the older soldiers sitting beside us shouted and cursed that if we didn’t like their grub, we’d be served such food for the next three months.” Another private, Tomasz, recalled that on many occasions the food is disgusting. “We often get potatoes that are overcooked and tasteless, little piece of something that is supposed to be meat and green stuff that doesn’t resemble salad,” he said. “As for supper, we sometimes get bread with pork fat, while the tea often doesn’t contain sugar because someone in the kitchen forgot to add it.” “That’s not the worst part,” interrupted Robert, a redheaded soldier who was on his way for a cigarette. “The most dreadful thing is when you don’t eat the food at all. That happens when we have manoeuvres. We have to get up early in the morning and lineup in front of the canteen while the weather outside is sometimes freezing. Those who are at the end of the line often don’t even have time to drink their tea because just when they’re about to start, the officer comes in and shouts that we should leave to make room for others, and we can’t even argue.” The things that save these soldiers from malnutrition are the food packages from home. “When someone receives such a package, it’s party time in whole room,” the soldiers laughed. I asked why there was such a difference in the quality of food served to the privates and officers. “This is army,” they said. “We have no right to question. If we did, then most probably we would be in trouble, so it’s better to keep quiet and accept the way things are done here “ Neither the officers nor the cooks were too co-operative and refused to comment. Instead, they simply said: “ This is just how things work here.” When I finally escaped and returned to my mother’s home cooking, I was back in heaven once more. Whew!