In actual fact, the history of Polish literature began with poetry on food culture. The earliest surviving secular work in Polish is considered to be the poem O Zachowaniu Się Przy Stole (On Table Manners), written by the nobleman Przecław Słota in the early 15th century:
Ladies, take this to heart:
Cut small pieces before you!
Cut often, but little,
And eat as you wish.
Manuscript of the poem ‘O Zachowaniu Się Przy Stole’ (On Table Manners), photo: Wikipedia
Słota rhymed a list of basic table manners in exquisite form for his time, exhorting his contemporaries not to gorge themselves out of all proportion, pounce on their food, hunch over or spit during meals, and to remember to be chivalrous to ladies. Obviously, in those days before the Battle of Grunwald, prominent Polish writers had realised that one could tell more about somebody from their food-consumption culture than their education, wealth or ability to hack platoons of crusaders to pieces.
In 1558, the poet, writer and playwright Mikołaj Rej, known as the ‘father of Polish literature’, published a treatise titled Wizerunek Własny Żywota Człowieka Poczciwego (The Life of an Honest Man). Amongst other things, he described Old-Polish cuisine, extolled the virtues of simple rural fare and shared some interesting recipes. For instance, here is Mikołaj Rej’s recipe for marinated beetroot:
Now take some beetroots, wrap them in dough or cover them well, and bake them thoroughly. When they’re well roasted, clean them nicely, slice them onto little plates, or arrange them in a small dish. Sprinkle over them some horseradish, grated as finely as possible, so that it will keep longer, and also some pounded fennel. Drizzle with vinegar and season lightly with salt – then you’ll have a very special delicacy: the broth will be most tasty, and the beetroots themselves will be very good and pleasantly fragrant.
Mikołaj Rej, photo: Polona.pl
Rej frowned upon excess at table and disliked French cuisine, deeming it pretentious, although he was not known for eating in moderation – his gluttony was on a par with Gargantua himself! In the essay Gościniec Pewny Niepomiernym Moczygębom, a Obmierzłym Wydmikuflom Świata Tego (A Gift for the Irrepressible Drunkards and Vile Mug-Swillers of this World), Rej’s contemporary, the writer and bishop Józef Wereszczyński, recalled that whenever Rej came to visit his father, he:
…always ate a whole crate of plums the size of a Kraków bushel, half a fist of unfermented honey, several large, fresh cucumbers, and four heads of mangetout peas every day on an empty stomach. Then, having drunk a churn of milk with bread and consumed around five dozen apples and half a cauldron of wild pears, he would devour a hunk of fresh meat, or even four, tearing off the lids of several platters of sauerkraut, leaving him too full for Italian frogs’ legs. When it came to slaking his thirst, many would laugh were I to write about it, for he enjoyed eating foul fare and rarely imbibed good beer, but only bitter, sour, cloudy brews, and whenever he went to drink crude ale with someone, he would guzzle it, straining his neck muscles until they clicked.
