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The interior of Mleczarnia rigidly adheres to every stereotype you could ever have of an old school Kazimierz cafe. Wobbly furniture that has seen better days, sepia-toned photos of Polish Jews hanging not quite straight on the walls, oppressive darkness staved off by a handful of dripping candles and a platoon of polo-necked poets busy taking each other very seriously. I'll let you make your own mind up about whether that's a good thing or not, before you leading you across the road to the adjacent Mleczarnia beer garden - or 'paradise' as I often refer to it. Once you've explained what a shandy is to the bemused bar girl keeping vigil in the beer shed, it's time to sit back in the glorious sunshine, sip your refreshing beverage and reflect on what a damn fine place the world really is. At least until some toddler starts crying his eyes out on the next table, as recently it must be noticed that Mleczarnia has succumbed to the curse of the creche. If there's one too many screaming babies during the day then come back during the evening and read some Count of Monte Cristo by candlelight under the spreading boughs of the resident tree. That will restore your faith in the holiness of this magical drinkers' refuge.
Editor & Krakow Local