In Port Richmond, Easter means a rush on kielbasa

It was time to open the door, so Sylvia Gardyasz, owner of the Krakus Polish Market in Port Richmond, gathered her staff in front of the meat counter for their special cheer. The one reserved for only the busiest days - and this day was perhaps the busiest of all days, Good Friday, when customers from as far as Baltimore flock to the shop on Richmond Street for all of the makings of a traditional Polish Easter feast.

"Friendliness, service, sales," they cheered.

Then came the rousing finale: "Kielbasa!"

To witness the scene inside Krakus on Good Friday morning is to behold a Polish version of Black Friday, except with friendly faces, rich accents, richer scents, and Polish folk songs playing on the radio.

It has been this way for nearly 30 years now, ever since Sylvia's father, Zenon, and grandfather Franciszek first opened the shop where everything - from the candies and cheese babkas to the beers and the butter molded into the shape of lambs - is shipped straight from Poland.

The family business began with a small butcher shop Franciszek and Zenon opened on Comly Street after emigrating from Poland in 1966.

When they outgrew that shop, they found the bigger space on Richmond Street, stocked the shelves with goodies from the Old Country and opened up a dining area to serve up heaping plates of Franciszek's favorites. Like hunter's stew, a rich sauerkraut stew made with pork and beef, and his famous golabki, a traditional dish of soft boiled cabbage wrapped around pork and rice.

Along with places like Czerw's Polish Kielbasa on nearby Tilton Street, where lines also stretch down the block on Good Friday, Krakus is part of the fabric of Port Richmond's vibrant Polish community.

Sylvia, 31, took over 10 years ago when Zenon died of cancer at 50.

At 9 a.m. sharp Friday, she opened the door with a smile. The line outside had formed more than an hour earlier, starting with Bogdan Bezak, a 56-year-old carpenter from Bensalem who had moved from Poland to Port Richmond when he was a boy. Knowing the line would be long, he came early and clung tight to the shopping list his wife had made him, reminding himself not to forget some kabanosy, the long, thin, dry sausage known as the Polish Slim Jim.

Gary Ross and his sister Karen have been coming to Krakus for years, but Friday was their first trip without their mother, Alice, who recently died. The poppy seed rolls at Krakus were Alice's favorite. On their first Easter without her, Gary and Karen wanted to carry on their mother's tradition.

"In memory of Mom," said Karen, who drove up from Blue Bell to shop with her brother.

At the crush at the counter, Rose Lysak and Eileen Mycek, best friends from Plymouth Meeting, who have been coming to do their Good Friday shopping at Krakus since it opened, reviewed Rose's long, typewritten list, ticking off a dozen pounds of assorted kielbasa.

"Anything else for you, Miss?" the clerk asked.

"Oh God, yeah," Rose said and continued reading off her list.

Mary Castelli and her brother, Stan, made the drive from Delaware. Stan raves about the blood and tongue cheese, which he can't find anywhere else anymore.

"I got to come all the way to Philly to get a little taste of home," he said.

Marta and Mike Brzezinski made the trek from Baltimore, bringing a large blue cooler along. The Brzezinskis - Mike works in construction, Marta on an assembly factory line - buy in bulk.

Marta checked off items from her list written in neat Polish on pages of yellow legal paper.

What was on it?

"Everything," she said.

In the kitchen, cook Tamara Lomidze tied on her apron to make more Polish Easter soup, and Paul Biel, the man responsible for the kielbasa, studied the crowd.

Biel, 32, began working at the shop fresh from Poland at the age of 16. He fell in love with the job and with Sylvia, whom he married four years ago. ("You have my blessing," Zenon had told him, one morning in front of the meat counter.) They run the shop together now.

From what he saw, Biel figured he would need at least another 100 pounds of fresh kielbasa.

"This is Easter," he said. Then, he dumped another heavy bucket of pork butts into the meat grinder.

mnewall@phillynews.com

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