why it’s good to make an effort at what you look like even if you’re going nowhere

I was thinking for a while what would be the best angle for this post. The title says one thing, the pictures another and what I really want to write about is a whole different story. At first I intended to write about tłusty czwartek, which is a Polish Christian tradition similar to the much better recognised Mardi Gras, yet falling on a Thursday and less related to partying.  This was the plan when that’s all there was to today, just a Polish fat Thursday.

As the day was beautiful, sunny and with a clean, fresh snow cover, (even in the centre of Warsaw) I thought I’d additionally show some of the pretty sites I came across today. But then something happened and changed my idea. A stranger on the street and his comment; a half a minute lasting exchange of words. It made my already happy day (I’m always happy when it’s sunny and snowy) even more happy. I guess the winter scenery, the pretty Warsaw sites and the occasion of our peculiar ‘fat Thursday’ are now just the background for what I will write about. The background would have been substantial enough for a post, but will remain just that, an unrelated, coincidental background.

I had to run some errands at midday and was supposed to buy pączki, the special sweets we Poles eat all year round, but precisely on Fat Thursday, we go crazy queueing for hours to buy.  They are round dough cakes filled with jam (my favourite is the very aromatic rose jam), deep fried in oil, dipped in icing and sprinkled with caramelised lemon skin.

The place I had to go was nowhere close to any of the renown Blikle stores and I wasn’t sure which one of them I’d drive to. As it was sunny and I had taken my camera with me I decided to go to the most famous one, right in the centre of town, to take more pictures of this area and where I hoped no one else would have decided to go, thinking precisely that the most central location would be flocked with people. Difficult to say if I was right or wrong; there was a crowd and the queue was even outside the entrance, but the staff had organised the flow of work very efficiently and the queue moved extremely smoothly. Plus I was busy looking for good angles to photograph inside and out. Most importantly, queueing, thus spending more time there, placed me at the right place at the right time, which I would have missed, had there been no queue.

Once I had received my box of pączki and made my way through the crowd of newly arrived people who were joining the line on the sidewalk, all I needed to do was walk back to the car. I was busy closing my purse and realised there was a man speaking behind me, on my 8 o’clock. I had my eyes on the zipper of the bag and was therefore looking somewhat his direction but had no idea he was speaking to me. Not sure why but I raised my head at him and realised he was looking at me – although it could have been a misinterpretation on my side, he wasn’t acknowledging my raised head, as if I had been listening and looking before, or as if I had known he was speaking to me. His tone didn’t change, he just kept on talking, but nothing in his body language expect for a very normal smile implied he wanted my attention. He wasn’t trying to call out to me in any way, he was even speeding up and as I finally realised I was the addressee he had actually overtaken me. To the point that when I was replying, he was slightly ahead of me.

If I had written already what it was he was saying, you could say that what made me raise my head was pure feminine vanity but I actually think it was the fact that no one was replying to what he was saying and I just looked up out of curiosity, almost by chance. His words were pronounced in a very matter-of-factly tone, not quietly, but he really made no effort to make me realise he was speaking to me, so I still don’t understand the whole dynamic. What he said was very kind, to the point, no exaggerated adjectives, just very polite compliments in a few lines, or rather just few words, as the whole thing lasted maybe 20 seconds; but he complimented me in at least 3 aspects. I’m trying very had to remember exactly what he said and I just can’t quote his words, it’s simply not coming to me. Maybe it’s still a state of shock.

I’ve been complimented by strangers before, but never like this. So maybe that’s why. He evidently did not want anything else except to let me know his opinion, he really rushed of ahead of me, leaving me smiling and stupefied. Had he said those words in a club or bar, beach or party, or had he hang around for a reaction, or made any other typical male-female-interactions movements or gestures, I would have interpreted them as a pick up line. But it really wasn’t. It was an innocent exchange of thoughts, very flattering and sweet though, but expressed so down-to-earthly, that he could have been saying to me: oh you dropped your glove, have a nice day.

Why all this fuss over a stranger complementing me on the street? Maybe because it just doesn’t happen so often; and which lady doesn’t like to be told she looks good, appeals to someone or has impressed him in some way? Or maybe it was more the form it took; very casual, no hidden agendas, sincere, convincing and effective. I’ve been told ‘beautiful’ in so many ways not making me feel neither beautiful nor flattered that I really believe there’s a right and a wrong way to do it.

I didn’t need more events to make my day, I was really already happy with the weather alone and with being in Warsaw. This incident though would have unquestionably made my day, if the weather was disgusting, if I were in my least favourite place and if I had just heard bad news. Maybe having this happen too often would not be so great, maybe it would take the surprise and charm out of it. After all, whatever is rarer is more precious and more desired. So I would not want to hear this every day, but I would definitely encourage all guys to be this way, the act this way, to say these things, whenever they feel them. At least to try. I’m not sure if my stranger does it frequently and I don’t really think it matters – not to me. I have no way of knowing if he says it to all the women he passes on the street; something tells me he doesn’t. What I know for sure is that if more women would have these moments happen to them more often, there would be many more happy women around, and happier women treat guys better. This is my unexpected Fat Thursday conclusion, and I guess to some of you this explains the title of the post;)

I discovered who I am/Odkryłam kim jestem

At least in terms of eating habits, I finally have a name for who I am, a flexitarian. In short, it is someone who is not a vegetarian, but eats so little meat that for periods of time could easily be taken for one. The article I found this term in, did not explain flexitarian’s view on eating fish, neither does wikipedia, calling it a “practice of eating mainly vegetarian food”. This clarifies little for me as I’m not clear on  whether vegetarians eat fish or not. I have never paid much attention to the various forms of vegetarianism and similar life diets. I’m not oblivious, just never considered these philosophies/lifestyles for myself so never dug into the topics. Nevertheless I have reduced drastically the amount of meet, keeping fish to a moderate, mostly in the form of sushi:)

Most likely the source of this was unhappiness with the quality of meat in Amsterdam. Maybe we shopped at the wrong place, but with majority of shops closing at 18h, hardly any restaurants serving dinner till 21h, we had little choice but to get our food where we did, which lead to disliking meat we cooked 9/10 times. I used to generalise saying that Dutch meat was bad, point final. Yet since we normally liked meat at restaurants…obviously not the entire Dutch meat market was bad. Good quality meat just required the extra effort we where not used to, i.e. either knowing the little neighbourhood butcher, translating meats names prior to going shopping as not all butchers spoke English, or adjusting shopping hours to small shop schedules, etc, etc.

Friends of hours took us once to a farm between Rotterdam and Amsterdam where the meat sold came straight from the fields you purchased it on; so did other produce, like cheese, butter and plenty of fruits and vegetables (although not all, as they sold Sicilian oranges as well). Apparently this is the farm that supplies the Amsterdam restaurants, so mystery solved:) Everyhting we brought from there was delicious! Going to that farm once was also fun; perhaps a few more times would have been just as fun, but naturally it could not have converted into a regular shopping habit. Plus you can only buy so much meat in advance… Slowly but consequently we stopped buying meat. Eating it only when we would go out or in the form of cold meat in sandwiches. We never missed it, never even thought of going out precisely with the purpose of having some.

Certainly my dislike for handling meat while preparing a dish added to the longevity and stability of this practice. Furthermore, there are just so many dishes we enjoy which do not include meat that the practice solidified. What influenced it most significantly is the fact of having certain expectations on how something should taste and being disappointed at how it turns out tasting:( makes you not want to eat a particular dish any more, or at least eat it only where you know for sure it tastes best. I had tagliata fiorentina once in Florence, loved it to death, hated everywhere else; I simply don’t bother any longer. I know if I go back to where it tasted perfect, I’ll enjoy it again. Ordering it elsewhere has given me no gastronomic pleasure. Same is true for many other meat dishes. Obviously similar expectations-disillusion conflict might occur with vegetarian dishes, yet in my case happens much less frequently and therefore discourages me less from ordering veggies:)

I could not believe when I found out the term flexitarianism has been around for 16 years! describes my eating practice of the last 3 years so perfectly and I only find out about it now:)

More in the Newsweek article