Eastern European shops welcome the Irish, yet only a few dare to venture them. And when they do, quite often they face staff who struggle with English. 
It is a drizzly Friday afternoon and Polonia, a shop around the corner from my house, is empty. Inside it is a bit gloomy and quite cold. I pass the shelves with dozens of jars of "Żurek" and approach the girl standing behind the counter. I introduce myself and ask her if she could answer a few questions. The girl looks at me with an apologetic smile and says: "Speak little English". I ask her if there is anybody who does. She says "My boss", but apparently he is not in. As I leave the shop I look at the sign above the entrance. "Welcome. The best food from Eastern Europe." It could be. It's a shame there isn't anybody who could show you around.
Next stop is Rathmines. Two women working in Polonez, located on a busy junction, just across the road from Dunnes Stores and Tesco, are preparing for another busy weekend. 27-year-old Aleksandra Voronko arrived to Dublin last autumn and this is the first job she got. Recently the Lithuanian woman told the manager she would be leaving in two weeks. She would like a better paid job and doesn't want to work evenings anymore, since she hopes to enrol to an English course soon. Although Aleksandra spend nearly half a year in Ireland, her English didn't improve much, since majority of the customers are from Eastern Europe. She speaks Lithuanian, Russian and she managed to learn a little bit of Polish, while some Romanian customers insist on her speaking Romanian - Aleksandra has darker skin than many blue eyed Lithuanian women and some customers accuse her of pretending to be Lithuanian. On the other hand, her exotic looks won her some admirers. A customer gave her 15 red roses on March 8 - the International Women's Day. I ask where was he from. Like majority of the customers, he wasn't Irish - he was Moldavian. 
There are no Irish goods in Polonez, which is part of a chain of six shops, yet although all products have descriptions in English, oftentimes Irish customers poke at them asking "what is this". Majority of the Irish who shop here have Eastern European partners, I am told. Sweets, chocolate and biscuits are most popular among them, while smoked mackerel and birch sap still have to find their way to Irish tables. When I ask if more Irish could be drawn to the shop, a woman who works with Aleksandra and prefers to remain anonymous, points at the sign on the window "Eastern European Food". She maintains that Irish will stick to their food.
Things look a bit different across the river. When I first came to Dublin eight years ago, there was only one shop selling Eastern European food. It was Slavyanskaya Lavka (Slavic Counter) on Moore Street. I stroll through Talbot Street which over the past couple of years transformed itself into an Eastern European quarter. I count three Polish shops, a few Polish barbers, a Lithuanian food shop, a Georgian restaurant, a Lithuanian hairdresser, a Russian DVD rental, a Ukrainian real estate agency and it is possible I have missed a few more businesses in the kaleidoscope of tacky signs. There are almost as many Polish rushing past me on this busy street as there Irish and I ask Katarzyna Wolf, a Polish girl who has been working in Polski Sklep for half a year, if any of them pop into her shop. She briefly replies "yes", but when I start a conversation, she asks to wait for her friend, because her English is not sufficient to answer my questions. 
When Marta Wypych - a bubbly Polish girl arrives, it appears that she works in Polski Sklep as well. Marta started working here a year ago and she says she stays only for the customers. "I know their stories. Some Polish people buy bread, stay in the shop and talk for 40 minutes," observes Marta. According to her, up to a quarter of the customers are Irish and they mainly buy Polish bread, because "Irish bread is like chewing gum". The bread is baked in a Polish bakery in Dublin. "They love Polish bread, you should try it," Marta tries to twists my arm and I'm almost tempted to see if Polish bread is as good as Lithuanian.
Despite the fact that there are dozens of Eastern European shops in Ireland, last October Marta Fekulova decided that the market had a niche for another nationality and opened a Slovak food shop on North Circular Road. According to census figures, Marta is one of 8 thousand Slovaks living in Ireland. A dwarfish share, compared with the Poles, yet the empty shelves prove the owner of the shop might be quite right. Martha was begging not to photograph the shop, since she was waiting for the delivery on the day I was talking to her and didn't want others to think that the shop was not busy. When asked if Irish were buying anything, she said they liked the salads, yet there was only one or two of them. 
Although Polish consist the largest ethnic group in Ireland, with official census figures showing that there are 63 thousand of them, Lithuanian grocery shops started to spring up earlier, with "Lituanica" opening on Amiens Street seven years ago. The shop is still there - looking greener than the fields Emerald Island and with the business soaring higher than the aircraft after which the shop was named. In 1933 "Lituanica", piloted by two Lithuanians, crossed the Atlantic ocean after taking off from New York. While the the aircraft crashed, Dublin's "Lituanica" is successfully moving on. Over a period of 7 years it evolved into a chain of retail stores, and today the company has become a wholesale supplier of Eastern European food to over 500 shops in Ireland and the UK. The success is obviously driven by the massive influx of Eastern European immigrants to Ireland.
Laima Adomaitiene has been working in "Lituanica" for a year and a half. The shop is popular among Polish, Latvians, Romanians and sometimes they even get Spanish or German customers. Laima observes that Poles tend to buy Polish food, while Lithuanians prefer Lithuanian specialities. "Even if it is the same chicken drumstick, people prefer when it comes from the same country as they do," says Laima and mentions the fact that when she arrived to Ireland, her diet included a lot of Irish food and she put on some weight. Yet after returning to Lithuanian products, she forgot weight problems.
Laima admits that the shop is not very popular with the Irish: "They are patriotic. They are loyal to Irish food," observes she. Even though "Lituanica" sells eggs and milk, they are not Irish.
Yet her colleague Almina Binkauskiene offers a possible solution: "Lithuanians must interact with the Irish more and introduce them to Lithuanian food. We must integrate more."
Integration springs to my mind when I enter "Perestroika" - a Moldavian food shop on North Circular Road, named after Mikhail Gorbachev's attempted economic and social reforms in the Soviet Union. The shop has an excellent selection of Lithuanian smoked meats, Polish cakes and Moldavian wines - the nostalgic mostly sweet tipple of Iron Curtain times.
After struggling to start a conversation with the woman behind the counter in English, I employ the bits of Russian I learned while watching Soviet TV in my childhood and the curtain of misunderstanding between us splits. Moldavian Otilia Vizdoaga explains that "Perestroika" is one of four Moldavian shops in Ireland and she says it is mostly popular with Romanians, Moldavians, Polish and Lithuanians. There are no Irish in "Perestroika" as I speak with Otilia and I doubt there will be many at any time soon.
I look at the brightly lit fridges, which offer a zillion times better range than my local Spar, and quietly thank God for Soviet TV.
photos©Lina Zigelyte
Written for "Metro Eireann"
Just like the Irish claim that Guinness doesn't taste the same anywhere outside Ireland (and I've been assured more than once, because, apparently it doesn't travel), Japanese get parcels with miso soup and noodles posted by their mothers (Yamamori or Wagamama do not serve Japanese food), there are a few Lithuanian specialties that I have a longing for. Although as time goes by, I discover that Polish, Belorussians or Latvians claim that those specialties are in fact theirs. After all, in the 14th century Lithuania ruled Belarus (the orange is Lithuania stretching from the Baltic to the Black sea!) and then Polish ruled us and what was ours became theirs and v.v. Eastern Europe became a concoction of local cultures. No wonder Irish or English can't tell the difference between Polish and Lithuanians. Neither can I sometimes - apart from the language.
The other day I was dashing to a local Polish shop called "Samo Dobro" (Only The Best) for some twaróg which in Lithuania we call VARŠKĖ [think varshkay]. It bears some resemblance to cottage cheese (although I haven't seen Irish ever buying it), but is less salty and usually comes in one lump rather than small bits similar to, excuse me, hamster feces. Back to food :)
I entered the shop.
Dzień Dobry, said quite a pleasant guy behind the counter and I stuttered Hello. I do understand some Polish, can utter a few words, but I don't speak Polish.
I headed for twaróg section, took one and went back to the counter.
Jeden pięćdziesiąt pięć or something along those lines came out of his mouth and I could figure out it is less than two Euro. I gave him the money. He gave me the change, said dziekuje. Thanks very much, I replied to that. Do widzenia he said. Good bye, I responded.
It was a all a bit like in Jim Jarmusch's movie Down by Law where Roberto Benigni's character, an Italian tourist with zero English, is is yelling I scream you scream we all scream for ice-cream to a bunch of Americans sharing a prison cell with him in Orleans Parish Prison.
It is possible the guy could have taken me for a Polish refusing to speak Polish. But I only came for some twaróg . A Lithuanian specialty in a Polish shop.
Sometimes my fridge faces metamorphoses like this one. 
The photos are not staged and I would never dear to publish them if my mom had access to internet. I don't know if this is popular among Irish students, but during my study years those of us who were not from the capital used to fetch bags full of goods from parents' - mostly smoked meats and strawberry preserves. In the meantime capital kids (including myself) were savoring the pleasures of living in parent's gaff. Now worries about dinner or breakfast. More or less, depending on the welfare of the family.
Nowadays I am savoring selfish pleasures of living all by myself. No parents, no boyfriends, no roommates. Nobody to criticize me for eating raw cauliflower and drinking black tea with a wedge of lemon. Unfortunately, no mom to make sure the fridge is full, therefore sometimes I have to face the fridge as it appears in the photo.
A while ago a colleague of mine who is Polish and myself engaged in a conversation about the peculiarities of Irish food. Not to mention that my Polish colleague is quite unhappy about Ireland in general...
Anyhow. Despite the mainstream tendency for those who live in the Western world to get fatter, I keep loosing weight. Over the six months that I'd spend in the USA I lost about 10 kilos (about 1.5 st). Then again, I never had a burger and I didn't indulge in Philly pretzels too much. Since I was waitressing in quite a decent Italian restaurant (owned by a real bitch though) and the summer turned out to be extremely hot, my diet mainly consisted of mixed salad.
I try to make sure I eat plenty of veg in Ireland also - tomatos, broccoli, lettuce, courgette, carrots, etc. Ironically, perhaps to some extend tomatoes and broccoli are to blame for my anemia. After being diagnosed with one I started to eat more meat (apologies all vegetarians - I greatly admire the idea), but still I love vegetable stews, I cook stuffed chicken in an oven and whenever we go out to Yamamori or Wagamama I indulge in seafood of some kind.
Although there over 220 shops (!) in Ireland selling Lithuanian food, on average I visit them only once every two months and when I do I buy there either herring or diary products. I don't really miss Lithuanian food here and after my last visit home I came to realize that potato meals and me don't always go together (NB - potato is our national vegetable (isn't it the case in Ireland?), we make everything from pancakes to desserts with them). Sweets and cookies don't seem to tempt me as much as they did when I was younger. And despite the fact I adore red wine (on average there are about 85 calories in a 125 ml glass), I never seem to put on weight here.
My colleague notes that whenever she goes back to Poland she starts loosing weight. But when in Dublin, extra pounds become inevitable. Since her nitpickings about Ireland every so often can drive to depression (there are enough shortcomings anyway), I keep discharging the accusations. Yes, you can find tasty berries. Yes, organic and affordable chicken does exist (4 euro each in my local butchers). Yes, you can find good tomatoes.
It is true though that healthy eating costs more than gobbling down chicken Kievs or "Goodfella's" pizzas, although I have noticed if my financial situation drives me to go for these, my stomach doesn't tolerate them well. In those cases only a dram of "Highland Park 12yo" or "Ardberg 10yo" helps.
Nevertheless yourselves and myself are about to face winter, which means less fresh vegetables. I hope after the cold season I will not be able to boast about a few spare tires. Mens sana in corpore sano.
Congolese
Japanese
Malaysian
Argentinean
Filipino
Ghanian
Indian
Peruvian
Lebanese
Venezuelan
Lithuanian
Take a guess what's common among these? And how come Lithuania made it to the list of such exotic countries? The answer - during Dun Laoghaire Festival of World Cultures cooking workshops will take place in Cooks Academy. 15 Euro each.
Give it up for those who perform! Boo to those who should be promoting our culture but scratch their crotches instead.
A few trustworthy Lithuanian historians whom I admire keep emphasizing that our cuisine is a concoction of all cultures who happened to cross our soil (Slavic, German), hence none of the dishes could be called Lithuanian. Nonetheless some, like saltibarsciai, pictured bellow, strike tourists dumb (Americans only dare to photograph them). Something in between gazpacho and borsch. Very refreshing during summertime. Well, it wouldn't be popular in Ireland, would it? :)
Bon Appétit!
