maciek macak
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There was a time, back when Kraków’s culinary secrets lived in basements and not on influencer reels, when Babcia Malina meant something. The original location, tucked under PAN, was a local legend, no frescoes, no piano, just honest food and the quiet thrill of beating the system with a plate of pierogi.
Now, it’s a different basement, and a different beast.
The décor is undeniably charming, wallpapered walls, surprisingly elegant frescoes, and yes, a live piano that adds a touch of salon flair to your dumpling detour. But the food? It’s not great. It’s not even “fine.” It’s passable. The kind of meal that fills the stomach but leaves the soul untouched, like someone read about Polish cuisine in a textbook and decided to recreate it with a microwave and a Pinterest board.
Service is polite, prices are inflated, and the ambiance is curated for tourists who want a taste of “authenticity” without the risk of encountering an actual babcia wielding a ladle and opinions.
I miss the old Malina, the one that felt like a secret, not a set piece. This version is pretty, polished, and perfectly forgettable.