Celebrating Cultural Diversity in Cleveland (Sort Of)

Sokolowski’s
University Inn
1201 University Rd.
Cleveland, OH




The city I grew up in wasn’t exactly diverse.

I had to move away to college before I ever met a black person.

Hispanic? I had no idea what that even meant. Somebody from the island of Hispaniola?

Maybe?

Everyone I knew was either Catholic or just didn’t go to church.

But sometimes looks can be deceiving. There was more diversity than initially met the eye.

After all, we had all the flavors of Catholic.

Irish Catholic. French Catholic. Italian Catholic. Polish Catholic.

Yep. All four.

And most of us had at least something to brag about.

Being Irish Catholic was cool. We had our own holiday to celebrate in March.

Nobody of French decent ever has any self-esteem issues.

The Italians had cool sounding names, moms who knew how to cook well and their darker skin (relatively speaking) seemed to grant them magical athletic abilities on the basketball court (relatively speaking).

It was the Polish Catholic kids who seemed to bear the brunt of the nationalistic jokes.

To this day I’m not sure why. Does anyone really know how these things originate?

But after a recent trip to legendary Polish Restaurant Sokolowski’s in Cleveland, I think it’s past due that the Poles get some credit for their top notch cuisine.

I mean, don’t get me wrong. Polish food will never compete with the flavorful creativity that comes out of the kitchens of Southern Europe.

But pierogi and kielbasa beat the heck out of Irish mashed potatoes. That’s for sure.

Let’s just say Polish food is cultural diversity I’m happy to celebrate.

Pierogi have humble origins -- a staple of Polish peasant food -- simple dumplings stuffed with mashed potatoes.

But now pierogi have gone all Hollywood on us.

In Pittsburgh, also home to a large Polish community, the Pirates entertain their fans with “pierogi races” at PNC Park where costumed cheese, onion, sauerkraut and jalapeño pierogi race each other for doughy supremacy.

Thanks to Mrs. T’s, you can now buy frozen pierogi by the box in the freezer section of every grocery store in North America.

But it’s here in the Midwest where you have to go to get the real thing.

Once you’ve tried the real deal, you’ll never go back to the frozen microwaved imitation.

That’s because real pierogi are fried in butter with onions.

Oh yeah.

I’d eat my Johnston and Murphy’s if they were fried in butter with onions.

Here at Sokolowski’s, pierogi are served piping hot with a side of sour cream, their soft potatoey insides perfectly complemented by the sweet buttery onions.

On the side, I asked the cafeteria lady for the “noodles and cabbage”.

Unfortunately, the noodles and cabbage looked more intriguing than they tasted.

That’s the danger of cafeteria-style restaurants like Sokolowski’s. I end up tasting with my eyes instead of my mouth.

Buttery but devoid of any seasoning, I livened up my side of noodles and cabbage with some salt and pepper.

The kielbasa was a thick link of smoked meat, hearty but still tender.

Kielbasa, also known in the U.S. as “Polish Sausage” is like a snow flake. It seems that no two versions are exactly alike.

Sokolowski’s has nurtured a well-earned reputation over the past nine decades for its excellent kielbasa.

I certainly wasn’t disappointed.

To wash it all down?

While the selection of Polish beers was tempting, Suit757 was in the middle of his work day.

So I opted for the next best choice on draft -- Vernors Ginger Ale, a Midwestern tradition aged in oak barrels for three years.


Spicier, sweeter and gingerier than modern day ginger ales, Vernors is a poor substitute for a frosty Okocim but not a bad alternative to Cleveland municipal tap water.

But the best part of dining at Sokolowski’s might not even be the food or drink.

It’s the old world/old school ambiance.

A Cleveland landmark since 1923, Sokolowski’s has long been cut off from the mainland of the city by Interstate 90.

Sokolowski’s is now a virtual island perched high above the Cuyahoga River, overlooking the Cleveland skyline, smog-belching factories and riverfront gravel pits down below.

Winding your way through the middle class residential streets to Sokolowski’s is like an adventure back to a different time and place in America.

A time and place when folks of similar backgrounds would gather over hearty meals and cold beer to reminisce about their shared culture.

Reminders of that Polish culture surround you as you dine at Sokolowski’s.

Paintings and photographs of all the Polish heroes are prominently displayed -- everyone from Carl Yastrzemski to Pope John Paul II.

I enjoyed my meal under the watchful eyes of two of our last three popes, including an official “Apostolic Blessing” to the Sokolowski family from Pope Benedict.

And I guess that’s why even though I may not have a trace of Polish blood in my veins, dining at Sokolowski’s in this diversity-obsessed age still felt like home to me.

The kids I grew up with, regardless of our nationalities, were all white and attended the same church.

What’s wrong with that?

In a crazy world full of zealots who want to blow us all up in the name of Allah, history demonstrates that too much diversity often leads to hatred, death, destruction and genocide.

Maybe diversity isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

I mean, a little diversity is fine. It makes lunchtime in Cleveland interesting.

But I’m not exactly looking to become the next Salman Rushdie or Daniel Pearl.

Sokolowski’s pierogi and kielbasa were just the right amount of diversity for me today.

Rating: Seriously Thought About Buying Shirt.

Making a Mess in Room 225

Hot Sauce Williams
3770 Lee Road
Cleveland, OH






We call this website Suits in Strange Places.

Because when you are a business traveler combing the back woods and back alleys of America to find the coolest places to eat, drink and have fun, you have to be willing to push yourself a bit out of your comfort zone.

With this gig, you just have to accept the fact that you just aren’t always going to fit in.

Especially when you are a white guy in a suit in the ghetto of Cleveland.

It’s not like I’m going to pass myself off as a local at Hot Sauce Williams.

Sometimes you just have to get your food, snap a few clandestine pictures and take it back to Room 225 at the Clarion.

So, I hope, my dear reader, you’ll grant me special dispensation this one time.

Tonight, Suit757 was doing carry out – the cop out of every solo business traveler.

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized how important and profound this review could become.

Every business traveler in America can relate to the perils of motel room carry out.

After 250+ reviews on this website, it’s about time we broached this important issue.

It’s time someone stood up for the rights of the solo business traveler.

We’re tired of being treated as second class citizens. Persecuted business travelers should unite for more napkins, better utensils and a table to eat at in the motel room that faces the TV!

Is that too much to ask for?

I think not!

From my research, I knew Hot Sauce Williams probably wasn’t going to be a “dine in” kind of place anyway. And I heard it was on the seedy side of town.

So I figured I must have been lost as I cruised down Van Aken Boulevard in my rental Ford Focus past stately brick mansions and leafy suburban side streets on my way to Hot Sauce Williams.

But as soon as I turned left on Lee Road and rumbled over the railroad crossing, the neighborhood changed dramatically.

Within the span of a few hundred feet, the bucolic Cleveland suburbs transformed into chicken and waffle joints, pawn shops and pay day check cashing services.

I guess this is what they mean by “wrong side of the tracks.”

And to think, pompous Yankees accuse us Southerners of segregation?

We figured this stuff out a long time ago. Forget the federal government. Good food will always be the best desegregation tool.

I guess that’s why I thought it was strange that I was the only white guy to come or go in the ten or fifteen minutes I spent at Hot Sauce Williams.

For a place with barbeque and sausages this good, great food should transcend demographics, like it does in the South.

Speaking of desegregation, I found it ironic that one of the most famous items on Hot Sauce Williams’ menu is something called a “Polish Boy”.

That’s what I came for!

Cleveland has long boasted a large Polish population with top notch pierogies and kielbasa readily available.

But great Polish sausage at a black barbeque joint? I don’t have an explanation for that one.

A Cleveland Polish Boy is a kielbasa sausage on a hot dog roll smothered in French fries, cole slaw and that namesake hot sauce.

Yes. You read that right.

The French fries and cole slaw are squooshed onto the top of the sausage along with the hot sauce.

You get all four food groups in each bite.

Of course, as Suit757, I was concerned that most important food group of all might be under represented under that mound of carbs.

So I eagerly voted for the option of adding freshly barbequed pulled pork to my Polish Boy monstrosity.

I was feeling pretty proud of myself as I made my way back to the Clarion under the intoxicating spell of Hot Sauce Williams’ hot sauce saturating the recycled air inside my Ford Focus.

I just ordered pork on top of my pork!

Aren’t I clever?

That was the longest six mile drive of my life.

Nostrils tingling with the scent of dead pig saturated in hot sauce. Stomach growling in anticipation.

Forget that slow ass motel elevator.

I bounded the stairs three at a time to the second floor, fumbled for my plastic key, and flew open the door.

Didn’t even bother to bolt it. I had more important things to do.

I flipped the TV to the Indians game, cracked open my $12 “Hoppin’ Frog Goose Juice” and laid my aluminum foil Arch of the Covenant on my lap.

This was the moment I had been waiting for all my life.

I opened it up like a four year old on Christmas morning.

And there it was splayed out before me – an absolute freaking mess.

WHAT THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THIS???

Cole slaw, pork, hot sauce, fries, bun and sausage disemboweled like the carnage from an overly realistic war movie.

No fork. No knife. No plate. No bib. Two meager cocktail napkins.

If you’ve ever attempted to eat carry-out on the bed spread of a motel mattress, you can feel my pain.

I mean, every motel, no matter how cheap, now provides you with a coffee maker, iron and ironing board. Is it too much to ask for a few paper plates, plastic forks and paper towels?

I guess so.

I sacrificed a motel towel to mop up my inglorious mess.

Serves them right.

I quickly concluded there is no responsible, mature way to eat a Cleveland Polish Boy.

So I just went all cave man on it with my bare hands. And resisted the urge to use my gory fingers to change the channel between innings.

I was up to my elbows in cole slaw, hot sauce and pig remainders, dripping all over the well worn Clarion carpet.

And you know what? Alone in my motel room, with no one looking judgmentally at me, there was something liberating about devouring my meal like a Neanderthal.

I think my primitive conditions in Room 225 made my Polish Boy taste even better.

The sausage was dense and smoky but complimented by the creamy cool flavor of the cole slaw and starchy fries.

But the highlight was the pulled pork and sauce, which seemed more sweet than hot – surprising, considering the name of the place.

Best of all was my Goose Juice – the one clear cut advantage to motel room carry out.

When you can stop by the Whole Foods across the street to buy your own beer, you are not held hostage by the lame dine-in selection of beer taps.

That was especially important this evening considering that Hot Sauce Williams doesn’t even serve beer.

It would be a crime against man and nature to consume a pork and hot sauce-laden Polish
Boy with anything but good craft beer.

Granted, pouring it into the shrink-wrapped plastic Clarion cup is probably not what the brewers down the road at Akron’s Hoppin’ Frog Brewery had in mind when they carefully crafted this high alcohol rye IPA.

But, you know. See above about the plight of motel dwelling business travelers.

Come to think of it, I’ve had enough of these indignities.

I’m starting a national campaign right now with this review: beer-clean pint glasses in EVERY hotel room.

Oh, and don’t forget the extra napkins.

Rating: Seriously Thought About Buying Shirt.