​​Adam Mickiewicz's Favourite Flavours

Adam Mickiewicz's Favourite Flavours

rydze_jar_2_0.jpg, default, Adam Mickiewicz's Favourite Flavours, Pickled red pine mushrooms, photo: Piotr Wołodzko/IAM, center, #000000

#polish cuisine

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#heritage

There aren’t many historical accounts regarding Adam Mickiewicz's culinary tastes, and most of them repeat the same facts. 'He enjoyed traditional cuisine, but it would be difficult to recreate the poet’s preferred menu', writes Alina Witkowska in the entry devoted to the bard’s 'culinary tastes' in 'Mickiewicz. Encyklopedia' [Mickiewicz. An Encyclopaedia].

Perhaps in spite of Mickiewicz’s biographers and experts, I shall try, perhaps somewhat haphazardly, to propose Mickiewicz’s 'favourite menu' although we’ll probably never know what it would actually look like. However, it is definitely worth embarking on such intellectual and culinary exploration and taking on all risks that might follow.

Émigré tastes & hunger

In creating Mickiewicz’s menu, we can rely on the available, even if incomplete, historical data about what the poet consumed, as well as the culinary expertise and ingenuity of the chef Maciej Nowicki from the Jan III Sobieski Museum in Wilanów. Nowicki began his research by going right back to the first text of Polish culinary tradition, the 17th-century Compendium Ferculorum by Stanisław Czerniecki, and later turned to contemporary Polish cuisine.

Thumbnail — Maciej Nowicki and Bogusław Deptuła, photo: Piotr Wołodzko/IAM

What can we say about Mickiewicz's tastes? When examining the language of culinary descriptions in his work, we find plenty of references to Czerniecki’s 17th-century vocabulary, such as brunele (prunes), figatele (meatballs), pinele (pine nuts), and many others.

The culinary paradox of Mickiewicz lies in the fact that although the poet was an extremely important part of the 'Great Emigration', he simultaneously was an exception to its rule. He does not really match the description of Polish émigrés contained in the outline of the seminar of the Institute of Literary Research entitled 'Style zachowań romantycznych' [Styles of Romantic Behaviours]. In it, we read that emigration is a 'cultural product of single men.' It is characterised by 'the dissolution of domestic and family ties; living in one’s club, drawing room, or reading room; community substitutes – celebrations, anniversaries, lunches.' Mickiewicz fits, and yet doesn’t fit, such descriptions. 'Celebrations, anniversaries, lunches' – indeed. At the same time, however: a wife, family, children, home, and consequently the pursuit of income, possibly more determined than other migrants, usually deprived of families.

The tastes of the Great Emigration – the theme of a seminar organised by the Museum of King Jan III's Palace in collaboration with the Adam Mickiewicz Institute and the Department of Slavic Studies at the University of Sorbonne, probably often equalled the taste of hunger. What does this mean, exactly? What did emigrants, scattered around many European countries, dream about and crave at times of culinary scarcity? Did their hunger taste of the last, or the first, meal eaten in their homeland? Perhaps it tasted of family dinners, romantic suppers, friendly get-togethers, or perhaps even the traditional black soup [czernina]… The number of possible answers seems infinite. [‘ – Horeszkos refused what Soplicas deserved; when Jacek asked, the dread black soup was served.’ – Adam Mickiewicz, Pan Tadeusz]

Orange Agaric

During the journey into this culinary past, wild forest mushrooms caught my attention. The description of mushroom picking from Pan Tadeusz, book 3, 'Flirtation', which reads as follows, comes to mind:

While boys picked the infamous 'fox-maiden' –

sung about by Lithuanian grooms,

symbols of maidenhood, for worms will not slip in,

and insects will not land upon them.

And girls picked the slender 'Pinelover', which the tale

refers to as the 'Mushroom Colonel', as well as the stem

of the 'Orange Agaric', which is not as tall

and less praised, yet sought by everyone

for its fine taste, fresh or salt-cured in fall

or winter. The Seneschal on his own

searched for toadstools, called, what else, but 'Fly-bane'.

Other common mushrooms—ignored or despised

for their poison or unsavoury taste—

were eaten by wild game or else supplied

shelter to insects; or, since there‘s no waste

in the forest, simply adorned the grove,

like table settings laid-out on some fine

linen: the 'Leaf Mushroom', red, gold and mauve,

like goblets filled with different colored wine;

the 'Kozlak', bulging like an upturned cup;

'Funnels', slender as a champagne goblet;

'Whities', round and flat like china all filled up

with milk; or 'Puffballs', with black dust set

inside them, like pepper in a canister.

There were others whose names were only known

to hares‘ or wolves‘ tongues or unbaptized master

of sorcery. There were even some grown

which no wolf or rabbit would deign to touch.

And thus, whoever bent to pick one quickly

perceived his own mistake, and with much

irritation, broke the stem and angrily

crushed or uprooted it – with no reward.

'Pan Tadeusz, or the Last Foray in Lithuania: a History of the Nobility in the Years 1811 and 1812'. Translated from Polish by Leonard Kress, HarrowGate Press, 2006, Book 3, pp. 56-57

This fragment can be read in several ways – it refers to culinary issues, recycling, and even the questions of ecology. This is an amazing feature of Mickiewicz’s epic poem – it seems to be an infinite source of inspiration. On the one hand, as Mickiewicz writes, although inedible to humans – 'ignored or despised for their poison or unsavoury taste,' all kinds of fungi are important for animals, including insects. This statement, given the time it was written, is thus rather surprising. Mickiewicz seems to be ahead of his times and announces environmental or openly holistic thinking about the forest, and even nature in general. He also recognizes the beauty of nature, eagerly including charming descriptions of flora and fauna throughout Pan Tadeusz.

The most important element of this passage, however, is the clear statement about the Orange Agaric [Agaricus deliciosus or Lactarius deliciosus, today commonly known as saffron milk cap], which the poet considered to be the most delicious. This fragment became the basis of the idea of our project – 'Wielka Emigracja od kuchni, czyli Mickiewicz i rydze… [The ins and outs of the Great Emigration, or Adam Mickiewicz and saffron milk caps…] — which attempted to both reconstruct and create. As we were limited by a lack of solid data, we had to improvise new ideas about the poet’s favourite foods. There are many indications that a pure reconstruction would not be possible. Mickiewicz’s ideal equals absolute fidelity to remembered tastes and flavours carried away and stored on his palate.

Mickiewicz in 126 flavours

The fact that Mickiewicz included descriptions and culinary details in his epic poem

has become the source of numerous criticisms. In the poem 'Beniowski,' Juliusz Słowacki included a verse ridiculing Mickiewicz’s writing. Many critics thought that a patriotic poem shouldn’t delve into such mundane matters. Mickiewicz also had some doubts, but it seems that his instincts didn’t disappoint. Including the description of the tastes of lost homeland was a much better decision than limiting himself to the portrayals of epic and heroic deeds – these can indeed fade away rather quickly. The muse of history can be perverse. The matters we consider timeless – at least at the time of writing – often are soon forgotten. Meanwhile, the question of what is 'Lithuanian chołodziec,' and how it differs from chłodnik, can give rise to endless disputes and decades-long discussions. The immortal deeds of national heroes will eventually fade from national memory, the ordinary will remain with us forever.

The experiences of various émigré societies – we read in one of the works devoted to Mickiewicz’s epicureanism – seem to support the thesis that nothing generates the feelings of nostalgia for one’s homeland as consuming national dishes, or even remembering or imagining their taste, smell, and appearance.

The entire text of Pan Tadeusz, as the author meticulously enumerates, contains descriptions of '6 soups, 13 Lenten dishes, 27 kinds of meat-based and 26 cereals and vegetables-based meals, 26 kinds of desserts and fruits, 13 spices, and 15 drinks, which makes up a list of 126 terms.'

When it comes to any attempts to reconstruct Mickiewicz’s personal tastes, this data can be depressing. Apparently, the author had a very specific idea of a perfect meal, and we'll never know exactly what it was… It’d be easy to give up, but we can also try to do everything we can, taking into account the available knowledge – there is still a chance for gastronomic success – a small, culinary Somosierra.

The sour charm of borscht

Sour flavours are common in Polish cuisine – it features more variety of pickled and fermented foods than any other European cuisine. This seems to be a derivative of the ways of storing and preserving vegetables, in particular cabbage, cucumbers, and mushrooms during the winter. This is particularly evident when it comes to the soups that Polish cuisine is famous for – lemon, cucumber, and sorrel soups, sour rye soup, zalewajka [a traditional rustic soup], white borscht, sauerkraut soup. Others that are now less popular, include: gooseberry soup, barberry soup, hawthorn soup, and plum soup. There is also the cold borscht, which can be prepared in many ways, but usually is also acidic, because it is made with kefir, buttermilk, or yoghurt – which is unthinkable in other countries.

Let's start with the borscht. Recipes, even the older ones, are often extremely concise or even rather careless. This is probably because of borscht’s popularity and universality – everyone knew how to make borscht, and each family had its own recipe. Its basis in the past, but also today, remains homemade sour, fermented beetroot juice – this seems obvious, because in those days everything was prepared at home [or, kvass – https://www.thekitchn.com/how-to-make-beet-kvass-cooking-lessons-from-the-kitchn-193756]. This was prepared by covering beetroot with lukewarm water together with a piece of rye sourdough bread. In three or four days, the mixture would ferment and turn sour, becoming an ideal basis for borscht, which was supposed to be slightly sour, clear, and rich in aromas of vegetables, mushrooms, and spices. This was especially true of Christmas borscht, while everyday borscht was certainly more modest. The changing taste of the soup had an almost alchemical dimension: the sweetness of beetroot virtually disappeared, root vegetables the basis of the broth provided the sweetness. The stock was vegetable-based, because Christmas Eve – or Mickiewicz's birthday and name day – was traditionally a day of fast. The Christmas Eve supper was abundant, and traditionally featured twelve dishes, but all of them had to be meatless. Fish, Lenten cabbage with mushrooms, dumplings with various fillings, groats, peas, and soups, most often borscht but also mushroom soup, were served – on Christmas Eve, wild mushrooms were obligatory.

My family never made their own pickled beetroot juice, but regardless, the borscht was usually great. The way to make it, although a bit of a shortcut, yielded similar results. A vegetable broth was first made with carrots, celery, parsley, roasted onions, garlic, and various spices (bay leaf, allspice, pepper, plenty of dried mushrooms), and beetroot was cooked separately. Then, both were combined and seasoned with lemon juice, to make up for the tartness of sour beetroot juice. Borscht made in this way was clear, strong, and surprisingly rich.

Here, it is worth mentioning two ingredients that were sometimes added to borscht. The first, sour cherries, is a surprising and perfect flavour-enhancing addition. The second, proposed by the Swiss chef Kurt Scheller – the head of Hotel Bristol in Warsaw, reopened in the post-socialist era – was the most famous Polish vodka, Żubrówka, whose unusual, distinctive taste also proved a wonderful addition. Probably, no one would serve borscht like that at home, but still – it’s an excellent idea.

Adam Mickiewicz - Portraits [gallery]

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A most simple, perfect delicacy

Pickling mushrooms obviously changes their taste, but allows us to enjoy them during the winter, when they have long since disappeared from forests and market stalls. Out of all salted or pickled mushrooms (and many varieties are suitable for this!), saffron milk caps are definitely the best. They can be turned into soup, sauce, added to meat-based stews or simply fried. They won’t taste like the fresh ones, but will certainly provide a worthy substitute. Again, as Mickiewicz wrote in Pan Tadeusz, they offer: '[a] fine taste, fresh or salt-cured in fall or winter.'

How can we argue with the famous poet? We must agree! Further confirmation of his love for forest mushrooms can also be found in his letters from France and Switzerland. Let us recall two of them: 'PS. I can tell from the smell that you sent us some mushrooms. You know how much I value this gift over sweets and preserves (…) and therefore I write this postscript, a separate acknowledgment.'; 'We relish in saffron milk caps, and we savour the others.' In France, saffron milk caps are eaten rarely, in Poland they are an autumn treat, the most simple, perfect delicacy. Fried in butter, lightly salted, sprinkled with pepper, parsley, sometimes with added cream, they are the perfect, almost royal, autumn starter, and one that’s very difficult to resist.

Finally, how about a change in perspective? Mickiewicz brought Polish-Lithuanian flavours with him to Paris, but he already had a taste for French flavours, which he took with him when he emigrated – a taste for French wine. Marek Bieńczyk, a great expert on wine and Romanticism, writes about this in Kronikach wina [Chronicles of wine]: 'When leaving Russia, as he was sailing from Königsberg to Lübeck, he complained in a letter that there was such disarray that ‘whether someone drank champagne or Rhenish wine or just medoc like me, they all paid almost the same.’ And he had to watch the prices – he drank wine every day, as was customary at that time (…)'

So, Mickiewicz drank Médoc, i.e., Bordeaux, as he sailed towards his new homeland – probably not beloved, but inevitable. He knew the language and French history, but most likely – except for the wine – he was yet to learn the flavours of his new country…

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