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I didn’t know when I walked into the Church of St. Mary (Kosciól Mariacki) that no pictures were allowed unless you paid a stiff fee. So I really got my hand slapped when I fell in love with this polychrome statue, playing its harp in a dark corner, and snapped it. “Shall I delete the picture?” I asked. “No, silly person,” the security guy said. “Just no more.” Viet Stoss’ High Altar, the Ciborium, the Slacker Crucifix–all these were magnificent, but I was drawn back again and again to this sweet figure at ground level, wanting to take his hand and pat his cheek. I sought out the Camera Buster. “Who is it?” I asked. “Oh,” he muttered, “I was afraid you were going to ask. It’s…it’s…it’s…it’s on the tip of my tongue. It’s, you know, the king who played a harp.” “A Polish King?” “No, no, the one in the Bible.”

King David!

“Yes, that’s the one.”

I just love that this great Jewish king is down on the floor, almost as a greeter, in the famous Market Square cathedral, not far at all from Auschwitz. It bore a lot of thinking about, really, and I was glad to find this bowl of rich mushroom soup (Zupa Grzybow) nearby, served in a traditional round of Polish bread. Hard to believe that these mushrooms sell for a king’s ransom today as it is exactly this soup that has nourished Poland’s poor since time immemorial, thanks to forests rich with them. I brought some dried ones back to Paris with me: stay tuned for a recipe.