Memories, memories, memories. Everyone has them for better or worse. I have one of the Easter memories that I even wrote down some time ago. Following in the footsteps of my favorite blogger, he is publishing for the second time. Because that’s what blogging achievements are for – says my favorite blogger – to use them. Because a blogger is allowed more, and what is not appropriate to say or write to the owner of the store, it is always appropriate for the blogger.
On Easter Saturday, my wife sent me to a Polish store for horseradish. When children grow up and fly out of the house, a person’s life – especially in the run-up to Christmas – becomes uncomfortable because there is no one to use. That’s why I had to go to this store myself. Easter without horseradish is like July 22 without a speech by Władysław Gomułka: such a thing did not exist. In the second half of the 20th century, horseradish was delivered to our table by my wife’s grandmother, who has been dead for 25 years and now we have to eat horseradish from the store. Although to tell the truth, even if my grandmother was alive, it would be impossible to bring this horseradish to Great Britain. All cocker spaniels in the Manchester Drug Brigade would lose their sense of smell for at least two years after they sniffed their luggage. What a horseradish it was! ! Someone ignorant of its strength knew after 5 seconds that it was better to swallow two razor blades to sharpen the taste. The hair stood on end, the nose smoked like the nostrils of a Toledo bull, and if the skull had not been covered in skin, Granny’s horseradish would have blown the back of the head. It was even said at the festive table how my grandmother had done Bahnschutz with her horseradish during the war on the train from Rawa Ruska – Lviv. On Holy Thursday 1942, a grandmother from Rawa Ruska smuggled in a third-class carriage, horseradish, smoked sausage and steamed ham. Wanting to appease Bahnschutz, she offered him horseradish and sausage. A German, like a German, was greedy. He took a spoon from Diensttascha with the inscription “Hargestellt fur Wehrmacht”, loosened the clamp with the inscription “Gott mit uns” and puffed the sausages five fingers, then scooped up a spoonful of horseradish to adjust the taste. After five seconds, he was convulsing on the floor of a third-class car, and after another 3 minutes he was dead. Probably choked on the switch. The condition of the tracks and the punctuality of the trains during the occupation was not as good as it is today. I cannot guarantee that this story is true, in order to verify it, I established in the available sources that in the spring of 1942, near Rawa Ruska, a GL unit under the command of Lieutenant Bazyli Parzydło, pseudonym. “Ćwikła” It is not clear who killed Bahnschutz, grandma’s horseradish or Lieutenant “Ćwikła” I went a little too far, because I will not write about the war because everyone knows what it is like in war, it’s not good. In a Polish shop I found Agnieszka the saleswoman, Kasia and Paola, margarine, such a juice. There were Grześki and Pawełki bars, Zbyszko drink, Bronek hunting goulash, Mieszko halva, Goplana chocolate box, Kruszwica oil and probably Krzywousty vinegar (??) like a stupid shop shelf, and how much can you learn about the beginnings of Polish statehood. I like such personifications in the store, it’s so nice, human. I’ve gone mad again. After all, I will not write how it is in the store, because everyone was in the store and knows how it is in the store now, it is good. The note on the salon cannot be a physical inventory sheet. Suffice it to say that the store was better stocked than the canteen in the Central Committee of the Polish United Workers’ Party before 22 July. Because capitalism is the only system in which the communists’ indestructible dreams of full shelves can come true. In the shop, apart from me, there was also an Ethiopian from Addis Ababa, who probably understood Polish (maybe he studied in Poland) what was the Ethiopian doing in a Polish shop? I have no idea, maybe he was looking for a blonde. A man aged 50 + extra 15 years old for being in harmful conditions, too close to bottle corks was standing by the horseradish rack. The man turned out to be a nice Pole from Szczecin. On the rack with horseradish, among the 5 species of horseradish, I had the most advanced horseradish “Polonez”, so which dilemma should I choose?
“The Polonaise is the best, Sir,” whispered the countryman confiden tially
– But which one, ladies, with a 1.5 L petrol engine, or 2.0 L dieselek? – I joked
The countryman froze for a moment, he looked strangely. After a while, however, I noticed a spark in my eye, he caught it. We were working on one wave.
– Only 2.0 L gasoline, this one had you fucking – he said smiling nostalgically.
– I don’t know, sir, I had Lada, with the second throat open, the 140 also flew, but only between Zakroczym and Łomianki, on a two-lane road, I was afraid elsewhere. Because a Russian car, ladies, could turn into an airplane at 150.
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