Everywhere we went in Kraków, Dani looked for pierogi.
On our first afternoon, she spotted a milk bar and stopped at the door.
“Pierogi. We have to go inside.”
Inside, the room was narrow and bright, with Formica tables and a counter running along one wall. Trays of prepared food sat on an island near the kitchen.
Dani picked up a glass full of strawberry yogurt with a straw poking out the top and smiled.
Then she walked past the rest of the trays without stopping.
She caught the cashier’s eye.
“Is this all?”
“No.”
Dani found a paper menu on the edge of the counter.
“Where’s the pierogi?”
The cashier blushed.
“Pay first. Then we bring to you. How many?”
Dani held up her fingers.
“Seven.”
The woman nodded.
“Seven.”
~
We sat down with the strawberry yogurt between us and waited.
People came and went around us. Plates clattered behind the counter.
Still nothing.
After a while, Dani looked toward the kitchen.
“Maybe they forgot us.”
I walked back to the counter and showed the woman our receipt.
She looked at it.
Then she looked toward the kitchen and said something to one of the cooks.
He looked at us.
Then shrugged.
A few minutes later, two waiters came through the kitchen carrying plates.
Then another plate.
Then another.
Dani stopped smiling.
Potatoes. Cheese. Onions. Butter.
I looked at Dani.
She looked at me.
“It seemed expensive for just seven pierogies.”
She picked up her fork.
“I guess it was seven plates.”
Then we started eating.