I spotted Seakor for the first time when we were shopping for furniture a few weeks ago; it’s an unassuming Polish deli on a corner of the Richmond opposite a gas station, graced by a sign that says “& SAUSAGE FACTORY.” Who wouldn’t be intrigued?
It was always easy to get Polish food in the UK, one flat we had in Brighton was slapped next to a Polish corner shop (or perhaps the shop was slapped next to the flat) but although the shelves were stuffed with vowelless delicacies, I’d never really noticed.
At Seakor, I explained my World Cup odyssey to the chap behind the counter and asked him what a quick Polish lunch might look like. He wasn’t much interested in the football, but he did offer us some smoked sausage to taste. It was good, and they say it’s the best Polish deli in the city, so we got a lot of pierogi and a trio of the sausageman’s recommendations, along with some ginger cookies (the wrapper said OUTSTANDING SMACK, which was enough for me).
Meanwhile an older couple navigated their way through the food behind the glass, and a Polish woman chatted with me about the scorelines earlier in the day and Lewandoski’s missed penalty. Her boyfriend, she told me, was English—a couple of minutes later he arrived and revealed himself, disappointingly, to be an Arsenal fan.
We got home and threw the food together; a quick boil, then a fry to brown them off. They were sauerkraut and mushroom; doughy and heavy. Coming so soon after the German dinner, I had to take it slowly and simply—no extras, just a few nibbles. It was a hefty plate that gave me a lot of time to think.I thought about the missed penalty. I thought about the OUTSTANDING SMACK. And I thought, this food probably isn’t for me.