Game in the Sudetes: a guide to the flavors of the forest between Świeradów, Szklarska Poręba and Liberec

The dense scent of resin, venison stew with juniper, a slice of knedlík that scoops up the last streak of sauce. This is the culinary DNA of the Izera–Karkonosze borderland — from Świeradów and Szklarska Poręba to Liberec. Here is a guide to game meats, spices and accompaniments that make up the local story of wild game.

Game in the Sudetes: a guide to the flavors of the forest between Świeradów, Szklarska Poręba and Liberec

The first thing you notice after rain on the Izera trails is the dampness of moss and the sweet shadow of spruces. After a moment a kitchen note joins in: a warm, peppery aroma of a sauce in which you can detect juniper, herbs and forest fruits. It’s the taste of the borderland. A taste that links Świeradów-Zdrój, Szklarska Poręba and Liberec into a single, mountainous tale about game.

Why game is "at home" here

The forest is on the menu because it is in the landscape. Long walls of spruce run around the area, the forest understory ripens in the valleys, and the historical ties of Silesia with the Czech lands and the former Habsburg monarchy have seeped into the cuisine — sauces, stews, roasts and dumplings tell the same Central European story. On the Czech side knedlíky and sauces reign, often creamy, which like to be paired with sweet‑tart additions of forest fruits[1][2]. On the Polish side game has for centuries been considered a specialty of manor and hunting cuisine — a tradition you still find on regional menus today, from stews to roasts[6][4].

This is not nostalgic puffery. In materials promoting Lower Silesian culinary trails you can read plainly about "aromatic stews and game in beer‑based sauces" awaiting travellers in the shadow of the Karkonosze ridges[4]. And in local guides from Świeradów-Zdrój the phrase "regional cuisine – game" appears in recommendations for places to have lunch[5]. Just drop into the inns of Szklarska Poręba, the kitchens of mountain huts — or cross the border and sit in a Liberec pub, where the plate follows the same logic: meat, sauce, knedlík.

Meat from the forest: deer, boar, roe deer

Three species make up the local canon: deer (red deer), wild boar and roe deer. Each meat "speaks" differently, so the kitchen gives them different scenarios.

  • Deer – noble, compact, aromatic. Most often used in stews or roasts. A vegetable base (carrot, celery, parsley root, onion) carries sweetness and pairs with warm spices. Acidity from wine or vinegar closes the flavor; forest blueberries or lingonberries also suit the sauce.
  • Boar – darker, with character; it likes intense spices and longer cooking. Cuts from the shoulder or leg soften in sauces, the saddle is roasted briefly and with care. Boar "gets on" with juniper and bay leaf.
  • Roe deer – more delicate, quicker to cook; it performs well in shorter braises, medallions and pâtés. Don’t overwhelm it with strong spices — pepper, juniper, herbs and wine in the sauce are enough.

In the Czech variant many dishes stay close to the "map of tastes" of svíčkovej: vegetable sweetness, cream, restrained acidity and small, tart fruity counterpoints that may come from lingonberry — in Czech brusinka — or cranberry[2].

Spices and fruits: juniper, pepper, bay leaves and lingonberries

If there is one scent that reveals game in the kitchen, it is juniper. Those dark "berries" (actually cone berries) have a resinous, clean note that organizes the flavor of forest meat. In northern and central European kitchens they are used for birds and big game, including boar and deer — a classic that also penetrates to the Czech side of the border[3]. Two or three crushed fruits in a stew are enough to make a difference. More — and the dish becomes aggressive; it’s better to add bay leaf and pepper than to increase the juniper dose.

The other axis is forest fruits. Lingonberry (borówka brusznica / brusinka) and cranberry, thanks to their natural acidity, temper the sweetness of vegetables and cut through a fatty sauce. In Poland lingonberry is often combined with pear in sauces served with poultry or game — that duo surprisingly plays well with roasts and pâtés[6]. In Czech practice the fruity accent appears both with game dishes and — most famously — with svíčkovej, where the cream sauce sits on the plate alongside a spoonful of "brusinky"[2].

Sides that "hold" the sauce

Knedlíky: bread, potato, Karlovy Vary style

Knedlíky are the Czech "architecture" of the plate. Bread (houskové) knedlíky are made from flour and yeast with pieces of stale roll — after boiling in a cylinder they are sliced like bread. Potato (bramborové) knedlíky are heavier, more compact. Both versions act like a sponge: the porous crumb soaks up the sauce, stabilizes it and allows the meat’s flavor to be carried without diluting. That’s why in the Czech Republic knedlíky are not a garnish but a construction — the base on which the creamy svíčková, roasts or stews rest[1][2].

How does it "work" in practice? You press a slice of knedlík into the sauce like into ink; the starch and gluten hold the liquid but don’t drink it endlessly. Two or three bites and it’s gone, along with half the sauce. Only the knedlík can do that so honestly.

Cabbage and roasted vegetables

On both sides of the border cabbage closes off the fattiness of meats. White or red, sometimes slightly sweetened, sometimes sour, with caraway — paired with a knedlík it "sets" the plate and orders the rhythm of chewing: meat – sauce – knedlík – cabbage. Roasted vegetables (carrot, celery, parsley root, onion) are the foundation of sauces and a natural sweetener; they build depth that a fruity acidic accent lifts like a bow lifts the double bass.

Techniques: stew, roast, sauce "na smetaně"

Game stew is a frame from the borderland. Base: sautéed onion, root vegetables, reduced wine, stock. Add spices — juniper, pepper, allspice, bay leaf — and patience. Deer or boar become tender slowly, but after hours of reduction the sauce becomes thick and sticky, almost "nutty." Roasting follows different physics — temperature and resting the meat are important to retain juices. The Czechs add the style "na smetaně", in which the vegetable sauce is whitened with cream, and the whole is finished with a spoon of "brusinky" and a slice of lemon — a flavour signature of the region[2].

Where to look for these flavours

Start with the towns. In Szklarska Poręba you’ll find inns that have for years fed skiers and hikers with portions of stew, roast and dumplings. In Świeradów-Zdrój establishments highlight "regional cuisine – game" in their materials — it’s the local identity of the table, not a seasonal novelty[5]. In summer look for cooler dining rooms with views of streams; in winter — tables by tiled stoves, where sauce steams on the plate.

Then — the mountain huts. Menus can be short but precise: one stew, one roast, sometimes a pâté. The simpler, the better for game. Higher up, on the ridges, the plate tastes more intense — wind at the window seasons the dish, and the effort of the approach opens the palate.

And finally — Liberec and the surroundings. A classic Czech meal with meat in sauce and knedlík is easy to find here; this is a land where knedlíky and sauces are almost a daily ritual[1]. Don’t be surprised if alongside game on the menu you see svíčková — even though it’s beef, it speaks the same language of sauce, cream and "brusinky"[2].

How to recognise an authentic game dish

  • By the meat name: in the Czech Republic look for the words zvěřina (game), and more specifically: jelení (from deer), kančí (from boar), srnčí (from roe deer). These adjectives reveal the species. In Poland menus simply list "jeleń", "dzik", "sarna".
  • By the sauce: a creamy one made from root vegetables, often with "brusinky" and lemon, is the "na smetaně" trail — even if the meat isn’t beef as in svíčkovej, the technique is the same[2]. Thick, dark sauces based on wine and stock point rather to stews and roasts.
  • By the accompaniments: knedlíky sliced into rounds, cabbage (white or red), sometimes roasted vegetables. If you’re in Liberec or Czech inns nearby — the knedlík almost always dictates the rhythm of the plate[1].
  • By the spices: a subtle aroma of juniper, bay leaf, pepper. If you smell "resin", there’s a good chance it’s game seasoned in the classic way[3].
  • By the fruity accent: a spoonful of lingonberry or cranberry — not a dessert, but a counterpoint to the sauce; in Poland you may also find a lingonberry‑and‑pear sauce[6].

Mini‑glossary of the borderland

  • zvěřina – game (in general); then: jelení (from deer), kančí (from boar), srnčí (from roe deer).
  • brusinky – lingonberry, in Polish borówka brusznica; a sweet‑tart addition to sauces and meats[2].
  • houskové knedlíky – bread knedlíky, made with pieces of roll; sliced and served with sauces[1].
  • bramborové knedlíky – potato knedlíky; denser, able to carry heavier sauces[1].
  • na smetaně – in a cream sauce; a flavour map related to svíčkovej[2].
  • zelí – cabbage, white or red; often with caraway, balances the fattiness of meats.

Practice: how to order, what to ask

  • Always ask about the species of meat – whether it’s jelení, kančí, srnčí. Good menus state this plainly; the staff will tell you without hesitation.
  • Ask for a "half‑and‑half" of knedlíky – bread and potato knedlíky "carry" sauce differently; try both to feel the difference[1].
  • Check whether the sauce contains root vegetables – if so, it’s a signal of the regional kitchen (not just thickening with flour). For the na smetaně style ask about "brusinky"[2].
  • Don’t be afraid of juniper – if the sauce seems "too clean", a note of juniper is not a mistake but a deliberate enhancement of the game[3].
  • In Lower Silesia look for stews and game "on beer" – it’s part of the local offering on the trails of taste[4].

Trail of flavors: from the spa town to mountain tables

In Świeradów, where the spa smells of resin and the drink pavilion terraces open onto spruce forest, game is not a culinary extravagance — it’s a natural extension of the landscape onto the plate[5]. In Szklarska Poręba, after a day on the ridge, a venison stew with a slice of knedlík "restores" strength like good music after silence. And in Liberec, a city under the line of the Jizera hills, a portion of meat in cream sauce with "brusinky" is almost a ritual: meat – sauce – knedlík – a sip of beer. And again[1][2].

The taste of this borderland is simple in declarations and complex in details. Take a fork and listen to the sauce: how juniper rustles, how lightly the lingonberry plays, how the knedlík draws in history. The mountains do the rest.