(Swedish, lit. "place of wild strawberries")
Mr. Antoni, local butcher, in his seventies.
Merely being present in such a place elicits a feeling – happiness, excitement, peace, tranquillity; something you value. The feeling ought to be strong, enduring, and persistent at every visit. This feeling should knock you off your feet, it’s unmistakable. That is a smultronställe.
Preparing natural casing for sausages.
Very strong home distillate.
Polish lamb sausage going to the smoke room.
Nevertheless, Polish food culture seems to be stuck somewhere between tradition and modernity – a reoccurring state of affairs in many other countries alike. The two opposite poles, the authentic villages that serve as banks of traditional food culture and the dynamic big cities fuelled by new blood and novel endeavours, seem to create schism in the foodscape of the country. Seeking a gastronomical identity recognised both home and abroad is a sore battle. How to respect the old and learn from it, but at the same token give up redundant good-olds to make space for fresh and delicious new ideas? The journey towards an established connection between who we are and what we eat is often a schizophrenic combat where utter failure and exquisite invention flirt relentlessly with one another.
A home smokers in the attic.