When KFC announced its latest marketing ploy–grilled chicken–and started calling itself “KGC,” two thoughts came to mind. The first was that Kentucky Fried Chicken without the fried is, to paraphrase Sam Kinison, “like Christmas without Christ.” Why is there so much shame when it comes to anything fried? Can’t Americans simply concentrate on portion control and exercise? Instead, we look for the easy way out, dabbling in diet fads and making laws banning trans fats.
My other thought was, you would never find “KGC” in the Czech Republic. It would have as much success as the McDonald’s McLean Deluxe. On a recent visit to Prague (under the auspices of Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty), I discovered a bastion of fried goodness, where breaded and battered food is still warmly embraced. This naturally horrified the Americans whom I encountered. As one expat complained, “The Czechs have a terrible palate; it’s not very broad.” I couldn’t disagree more. At a café inside Radio Free Europe’s headquarters, I noticed a wide variety of entrees, including fried cod, fried chicken schnitzel, fried mushrooms, and fried cheese. What more could you want? (The café, with its low prices, boasts no fewer than three different coffee machines, including a Jacobs and a Nespresso, granting your every wish, from cappuccino to espresso to hot chocolate to a rich blend of hot chocolate and espresso. Radio Free Europe’s president, Jeffrey Gedmin, says such creature comforts are a small price to pay to keep his workers happy. Hint, hint.)
Meanwhile, at the Kolkovna Restaurant near the old town square, Czech cuisine can be found in all its glory: roebuck pâté, Moravian sparrow (actually pork and sauerkraut), roast duck, pork knuckle, and pork neck. Kolkovna also serves one of the best beers I’ve ever tasted: unpasteurized Pilsner Urquell. At Lvi Dvur (the Lion’s Court), on the grounds of Prague Castle, you can saddle yourself with a saddle of veal or, if you are feeling truly carnivorous, order a roast suckling pig on a spit. Across the river in Malastrana, I saw a restaurant called Mount Steak, whose banner proclaims, “Welcome to the Empire of the Steak.” Sadly, a tight schedule prevented me from accepting this overture.
The problem, as one American explains, is that such guilty pleasure foods get old after about four days. But the culinary scene in Prague has improved considerably since the Velvet Revolution. The local food blogger Brewsta (not his real name) points out there is a Buddha Bar in the city and that Gordon Ramsay’s Maze was at the Hilton until it recently closed. He also mentions Allegro at the Four Seasons–the only Michelin-starred restaurant currently operating in Eastern or Central Europe. The three- to four-hour degustation menu crafted by Andrea Accordi, widely regarded as the most talented chef in Prague, rivals what you would get at Daniel or Le Bernardin in New York. (For the record, my dinner, which included a cappuccino of asparagus with Fossa pecorino sabayon and steamed John Dory with Pantelleria capers and lemon crisp, was on the house. Not that I view this as unethical–after all, I’m not reviewing the place. Although if I were, I’d give it four stars. Not to be missed!)
On the other hand, says Brewsta, who launched Prague’s first English-language food and drink blog, “Czech, Please,” “The sushi scene is still expanding. The Chinese food is mostly awful. Pizza is fairly generic with a few exceptions. Three or four places do a good burger. Many do bad ones. A high quality sandwich is very hard to come by.” The most common complaint I hear from the expats involves food shopping: not very fresh produce and a limited number of brands at the potraviny (grocery store).
There are reasons, of course, for such gastronomic failings: During the Cold War, as David Farley wrote in the Washington Post, “Czech law kept a short leash on the development of the country’s cuisine by insisting that every new recipe undergo testing at the Ministry of Health before being offered to the public.” The Czechs referred to two cookbooks published by the state–one for hot recipes, the other for cold.
Happily, those days of government tyranny are long gone. And there is no reason Prague cannot one day soon become another foodie capital. (Prices have certainly caught up to Western standards: Opening a jar of pistachios in my hotel room would have cost me $17. More disconcerting, Starbucks has arrived.) I only hope that in their quest for better eating, the Czechs do not abandon such traditional fare as the breakfast I once had at Radio Free Europe’s café: a fried egg, hash browns, bacon, a tuna salad, and something they called meatloaf, but which bore a greater resemblance to spam. Either way it tasted fine by me–and it probably contained trans fats.
VICTORINO MATUS
