What do you even order at a Polish deli if you’ve never been to one? That’s the question most first-timers stand there asking, staring at the steam table and the handwritten specials board at Polish Place on Pacific Avenue. The answer, most days, is that Marta — who has worked the counter here for over a decade — will just tell you what’s good today, and you should listen.
Polish Place has been in Tacoma since the late 1980s, which makes it older than most of the brewpubs and farm-to-table spots that tend to get the ink. It operates out of a modest storefront in the Hillside neighborhood, a stretch of Pacific Avenue that doesn’t attract a lot of foot traffic from the waterfront crowd. You go because you know about it, or because someone who’s been going for years finally dragged you in.
The pierogi are the obvious draw, and they hold up to whatever reputation precedes them. They come pan-fried or boiled, stuffed with potato and cheddar, sauerkraut and mushroom, or a meat filling that varies by the week. An order of six runs around seven or eight dollars. They’re dense, properly browned on the outside when you get the fried version, and served with a side of sour cream that doesn’t come out of a packet. That matters.
But Marta will probably steer you toward the bigos if it’s on the board that day — a hunter’s stew made with sauerkraut, fresh cabbage, and whatever combination of pork and kielbasa they have going. It’s the kind of thing that tastes like it’s been cooking since morning, because it has. The bowl is heavy and doesn’t apologize for it. On a gray Tacoma afternoon, which describes most of them from October through April, it’s the right call.
The owner, a man named Tadeusz who goes by Ted, grew up in Gdańsk and came to Tacoma by way of Chicago in the early eighties. He’s usually somewhere in the back. Ted doesn’t do a lot of talking to customers, but the food is essentially a direct line to the cooking he grew up with — no adjustments made for American palates, no sweetening of the soups, no shrinking of the portions. Marta is the one who translates, in a sense. She explains what things are, suggests combinations, and doesn’t hover while you decide.
The dining room seats maybe twenty people across a handful of tables with mismatched chairs. There’s a small deli case with kielbasa, packaged kapuśniak, and sometimes a few jars of imported mustard or preserves. It’s not a place you linger in for hours — the turnover is quick, the lunch crowd comes and goes — but nobody rushes you either.
Cash is preferred, though they take cards. Lunch for one person runs about ten to thirteen dollars with a drink, which remains notable in a city where a grain bowl downtown costs twice that. Hours can shift slightly depending on the season, so checking ahead before you make a trip from across town is worth it.
There are probably fewer than a handful of places in the South Sound doing this kind of cooking at this price point with this level of consistency. Polish Place doesn’t try to be anything other than what it is, and that is, increasingly, a rarer quality than it sounds.
