Opinion / Claudia Jacob / Konfekt 

Taste of the past

Being second-generation English often feels like being the owner of a second-hand piece of clothing. You’re unacquainted with the first owner personally, yet you feel the distinct absence of the person whose measurements have moulded the seams and dictated the lengths of the hems. This is how I feel about my Polish roots. I don’t speak the language, I don’t have any relatives in Poland and I’ve only been there once. But there is a tangible way through which I connect with my Eastern European heritage – through food.

Growing up, my mother’s cooking was more pickled, spiced and smoked than it was boiled, stewed or steamed. A traditional Sunday roast seldom graced our kitchen table but pickled cucumbers featured in my diet from the age of three (or so I’m told). My maternal grandfather – who left Poland in the aftermath of the Second World War – relished a savoury breakfast of chopped herring in sour cream, while smoked Kielbasa sausage was a fridge stalwart. As a result, my mother has always had a penchant for the dense flavour of rye bread, the vinegary tang of sauerkraut and the soft creaminess of a fluffy potato salad topped with sour cream, a dollop of wholegrain mustard and chunks of gherkin, all liberally seasoned with fresh dill.

I’ve inherited this fondness for all things Polish but my favourite dish of hers is spiced red cabbage. The violet brassica leaves must be finely shredded, allowing every strand to imbibe the flavours of the fragrant seasoning. Next, she sprinkles on some demerara sugar, throws in a stock cube, adds a glug of red wine vinegar, a cinnamon stick, some nutmeg for warmth and finishes everything off with some braised Bramley apples to juxtapose the acidity. It’s a firm family favourite that we enjoy through autumn and winter.

Food is a way of exploring heritage. It connects me with a past I didn’t experience but which is imagined through a passed-down tradition. It’s not just about the flavours themselves, redolent though they are; it’s the artistry in the preparation, the memories jolted through the sensory mixture of aromas, textures and seasonings, and the sense of affinity to a culture that feels otherwise distant. Carrying on the Polish traditions of my grandfather keeps us connected with a culture with which my family would otherwise largely lose touch.

Family recipes are often a combination of voices, refined until the end product is reflective of the personalities that have contributed to their creation. Preparing a meal derived from the ties that bind our family together isn’t a simple equation; it’s an experiment that carries with it generations of trial and error, pastiche, and honing. It’s a tale with an ever-changing narrative – and a story that I cherish.