I’ve officially retired from food tourism ages ago, but this trip has put another nail in that coffin once agin.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not hanging up my fork or abandoning my passport. But I’ve long been done chasing the predictable parade of three-star temples and two-star shrines that every other traveler with a credit card and a reservation app is desperately trying to book six months in advance.
I think that moment of decision came when my former wife and I went to El Celler de Can Rocain Girona shortly after they had received their third star. Having been there three times before, when the temple of gastronomy had only two stars I wanted Helene to enjoy what I had been experiencing on my trips to Girona. And, it let me down. Gone was the fun of the chase, and instead the meal was more about precision, than enjoyment. I had that same visceral feeling at The Fat Duck in Brea in the UK, when David Prais and I went there, where it was more show than go, whereas our meal with his wife and a dear friend back in the day, at The Waterside Inn was a showstopper, without the tension that the stars seemed to bring other restaurants and chefs.
So, in my short lifetime, I’ve gone from chasing the Michelin stars to finding the next great ones. I think this started after too many meals at the Auberge d’Ill in Illerhausen, France, or a number of lunches and dinners at Pierre Gagnaire in Paris. Maybe, it was over a conversation with legendary Lyonnaise chef, Pierre Orsi, where I dined in his annex restuarant, Cazenove, and he asked me “why I wasn’t next door?” My reply was, same food. Same chef. Same service. Much lower price, to which he smiled, went back to the kitchen and brought me a dish not on either menu.
Or maybe it started in Auckland one week, where I ventured off to restaurants on Monday and Tuesday nights, where the sous chef’s got to run the kitchen, going off menu each night…so I’m not exactly sure when what now feels like the distant past, that I veered off of tourism to explorer, but I know it has forever been my stock in trade. Yes, back in 80s to the 2000s, when the Michelin Red Book known as “The Guide” was the standard that everyone followed, but on my trips I found myself buying local restaurant guide books in every town and country, and then using them for my next adventure back to the same places, filled with ideas of where I was going next.
Fast forward to our current era, and the web has made all that easier, and to me, more interesting, and as food explorer, trust me, there’s a world of difference. Now, via the net, and really for the past few decades, I’ve dug into the local newspapers, used translation tools, and established a network of local contacts in places I’ve been, who tell me, good from bad. The rising stars and the declining places once fabled in the past.
You see, being a tourist is easy. It’s safe. It’s following the well-worn path that someone else has already mapped out for you. But being an explorer? That takes curiosity, courage, and a willingness to be surprised. It means seeking out the upcoming chefs, the new places, the fresh themes, the untested ideas that haven’t yet been blessed by the guidebook gods.
Last night in Krakow proved exactly why this approach pays dividends that no Michelin star can match. The food was off the charts. The wine pairings throughout the evening were equally revelatory, particularly an incredible Zweigelt made from Austrian grapes right here in Poland by friends of the restaurant. It was the kind of discovery night that only happens when you venture off the beaten path, when you trust local passion over international recognition.
My evening began at Zazie, where I discovered what happens when a chef truly understands the soul of a mussel. These weren’t just shellfish swimming in broth—they were perfectly cooked gems nestled in a coriander-spiced coconut bath that sang with complexity. Every shell opened like a small gift, and that subtle kiss of Calabrian pepper (or perhaps Thai—the mystery only added to the allure) transformed each spoonful into something explosive yet refined. I enjoyed them with a delightful Domaine de Bois Mozé, a Crémant de Loire Blanc Brut from the Anjou / Loire region of France made from 100 % Chenin Blanc
The Foie Gras that followed was a revelation in restraint. Elegantly fried and presented over a creamy butter base mixed with apples and blueberries, it achieved something I didn’t think possible: lightness. This wasn’t the heavy, guilt-inducing indulgence you might expect, but something almost refreshing. I paired it up with the 2024 Neumeister Straden Sauvignon Blanc from Vulkanland Steiermark, Austria. that was giving off the aromatics in droves. Orange blossom, white stone fruit, of peach, hints of herbal complexity, yellow gooseberries, with a lovely mineral and lemony finish. The wine was juicy, and elegant with integrated acidity, and good length. Like the Foie, it was gone before you knew it.
Two glasses of wine later, I was ready for act two.
Enter Kropka a name that should be on every serious food lover’s radar.
Sitting at the chef’s counter, watching Szymon Sierant (the chef-owner) orchestrate his four-person team, I witnessed the kind of culinary theater that no established restaurant can replicate. This was creation in real-time, passion without pretense, innovation without the weight of reputation.
The oysters arrived prepared two ways—one in a plum sauce that danced between sweet and savory, the other more natural but no less inspired. Both were light, flavorful, and utterly enjoyable. But it was the taco that stopped me cold.
They were paired up with the 2024 Alessandro Viola “Note di Bianco” Grillo from Sicily. From the first swirl you’re hit by a crisp, saline breeze marking Sicily in a glass. Pear skin, yellow apple, a scrape of citrus pith, and a whisper of white flowers (camomile) open up. On the palate it feels light to medium, energetic, with a taut citrus/stone fruit core and mineral drive. There’s a flicker of herbal bitterness, that reminded me of fresh cut thyme or perhaps olive leaf that keeps it honest. The finish is dry, bracing, with lingering smoke and sea spray. This is a wine that puts its terroir on full display—clean, unfussy, leaning natural. It won’t hide; it will reward the curious. Served very cool, it was ideally suited for the salty oysters prepared with love.
Next up was the taco. Not just any taco, buit an “extreme taco.” Now, I’ve lived in for 28 years or more in Southern California before calling Nevada home. So I know tacos. I’ve had everything from Rubio’s to Roberto’s to those perfect specimens you find along the San Diego coast at places that defined “gourmet tacos.” But this? This was something else entirely. The soft shell burst with flavor before you even reached the filling—thinly sliced white fish, earthy mushrooms, and a slaw that provided the perfect textural counterpoint. It was familiar yet foreign, comforting yet challenging.
This was followed by the black risotto like dish made from rye with fermented, pickled porcini mushrooms was pure artistry. Topped with shaved mushrooms warmed in the oven and finished with Gruyère, it was the kind of dish that makes you question everything you thought you knew about comfort food.
To match it, I went in an entirely different direction. Red. Pet Nat. Zweigelt from Austria with the Wine Boyz Band “Judith Fever” (Zweigelt, Poland/Austria collaboration, 2022) The name fits as this is a fever dream in a bottle. A natural red made from Zweigelt, it channels Austrian fruit through a Polish indie lens. Think of it as garage rock meets cool-climate terroir. The nose hits with sour cherry, cranberry, black pepper, and a flick of wild thyme. On the palate, it’s electric with bright acidity, fine tannins, and a slightly raw energy that feels alive. Unfiltered, unvarnished, unapologetically real. The label might be playful, but the winemaking chops are tight. It’s the kind of wine that reminds you: rules are optional, flavor is not. It made me remember my friend, the late great Jim Clendenen of Au Bon Climat, as this was a wine Jim would have made, enjoyed and talked about for hours on end.
But the evening’s crescendo was Kropka’s signature: spaghetti in a butter sauce made with chives and crowned with trout roe. It looked indulgent, almost intimidatingly rich. Instead, it tasted like a whisper—light, phenomenal, and utterly memorable. Here again, it was point/counterppint. The wine pairing would normally be something from Barbaresco or Barolo. I did something different, under the watchful eye of assistant somm Claudia. I went bubbles. And not from Champagne (but you would think so), and took her advice and went with the 2022 Llopart Brut Nature Reserva Corpinnat from Penedes Spain. Here you have Llopart, sitting in that sweet spot between heritage and innovation.
This Brut Nature Reserva is a blend of Xarel·lo, Macabeo, and Parellada and it defines what Corpinnat was created to represent: elegance without excess. Zero dosage, aged two years on lees, and bottled with surgical precision. The aromas of lemon peel, green almond, and warm baguette. The mousse is tight and fine; the finish, chalky and bracing. It’s Champagne’s Catalan cousin, albeit drier, humbler, but just as serious.
As I walked back through Krakow’s cobblestone streets, slightly wine-warmed and completely satisfied, I couldn’t help but smile at my decision to abandon food tourism for food exploration.
The difference isn’t just philosophical. I’s experiential. Tourists consume; explorers discover. Tourists follow; explorers lead. Tourists seek validation; explorers seek surprise.
And in a world where every “must-visit” restaurant feels increasingly similar, where every “destination dining” experience follows the same script, being an explorer isn’t just more fun, it’s more honest. It’s about connecting with the creative spirit that drives great cooking, not just the marketing machine that promotes it.
So here’s my challenge to you: the next time you travel, resist the urge to book that famous table everyone’s talking about. Instead, ask a local chef where they eat on their night off. Follow your nose down an unfamiliar street. Trust the place with no English menu and a line of locals.
Because at the end of the day, it’s better to be an explorer than a tourist. The food is better, the stories are richer, and the memories? They’re entirely your own.
What’s your most memorable food exploration discovery? I’d love to hear about it.