Pole Place: Zieba’s rich heritage reflected in Las Vegas restaurant

Ken Miller

Wednesday, March 30, 2005 | 8:18 a.m.

Mario Zieba gets a lot of strange looks when he tells people he's from Poland.

"'Mario sounds like Italian,' they all say," Zieba said during an interview at his Polonia Restaurant and Market. "I just say, 'Ever since the pope moved to Rome, all Italian names have become Polish names.'"

He's kidding, of course. His original name was Marian.

"When I worked in San Francisco, everyone kept calling me 'Mario, Mario, Mario,'" he said. "I legally changed it, because it stuck."

Zieba might have changed his first name, but not his devotion to his homeland. He's made it his mission to provide a taste of home for Las Vegas' Polish population, and as a result opened Polonia last year.

"There are now between 15,000 and 20,000 Polish people in Las Vegas," Zieba said. "This is helpful for Polish people here."

The restaurant/market, in a shopping center at the intersection of Eastern Avenue and Flamingo Road, is divided in half, with one half for the market and the other for the restaurant.

The market features a refrigerator containing horseradish, liver pate and herring. The shelves are stocked with jams, candies, gingerbread, chocolate and tea, all from Poland. The meat counter offers Krakow sausage, kishka (a type of sausage), ham, cheeses and turkey pate. At the front of the market are an assortment of Polish-language magazines.

The restaurant seats 36 comfortably in seven booths and table seating for up to 10. Zieba designed the interior, which consists of off-white stucco wallpaper, Italian marble tile, wood trim and curved yellowish lights hanging over each booth. A green credenza at the rear of the dining room helps give the room a more intimate feel, as does a large picture of the interior of the Black Lion, a popular restaurant in Zieba's hometown of Pcin (pronounced "Pa-Chin").

"This is like the style of where I was born," he said.

The entire menu is printed in Polish with English translation. Popular dishes include stuffed cabbage rolls, blintzes with blueberry, pierogies (dumplings with different fillings), potato pancakes, borscht (beet soup) and beef tripe soup.

Even the eatery's name is a tribute to Poland. Polonia, Zieba explained, means "all people who live outside of Poland."

While the business targets Las Vegas' Polish population, Zieba said "nearly 60 percent" of his regular customers are non-Polish.

"Almost everyone who comes to eat here comes back," he said. "We're very traditional in our cooking methods we don't even have a microwave."

Its popularity could have something to do with Zieba, who adds a personal, humorous touch to the dining experience.

"People enjoy when I talk to them and we're laughing," he said. "People who see me in the market ask me what I'm doing in the restaurant. I tell them, 'No, that's my twin brother, Mario. I'm Luigi.'"

Growing pains

Zieba, 49, spent the first 23 years of his life on a 10-acre farm in Pcin with his parents, Stan (who died in 1997) and Stephanie, and three brothers, Stan, Krzysztof and Zenon. Running the farm was a full-time job for all concerned, but since the farm only provided enough to sustain the family, Zieba's father had to get a second job as a farm warehouse manager.

The political situation made life hard for Zieba's father.

"My father was a faithful Catholic and grew up in a poor family. He said, 'I'm never going to be a member of the Communist Party,'" Zieba said. "He got work because he was an honest person and knew his business, but he worked so many hours the government didn't pay him for because he wouldn't join the party."

Zieba and his siblings ran the farm while their father worked for the government. "In addition to cutting wheat and storing it for winter, if there was a concrete remodel, we'd do it. We couldn't afford contractors."

Zieba is grateful for the hard-work ethic he learned from his father - but he drew the line at milking cows.

"I milked one only once because I was scared of the cow," he said. "The cow can kick you or sometimes use horns."

His menu is a reflection of the meals his mother would serve.

"Her roasted chicken, it was so delicious," he said. "I also liked the meat with the bone in the soup. Our meals were very common for Polish people."

Facing the music

Zieba said he would have been content to remain in Poland if he could have pursued his love of music.

"I had a good voice, and everyone said, 'You've got to go to music school,' " Zieba said. "But you need money to do that, and someone to push you."

He taught himself to play the guitar and the harmonica, and he still sings occasionally -- most notably as a cantor at Our Lady of Las Vegas Catholic Church -- but he abandoned dreams of a music career by the time he was 14.

Dreams of music were replaced by dreams of a steady career and income. Upon graduating elementary school (the equivalent of high school) in 1971, he enrolled in technical school to become an electrician.

"In Poland, after elementary school, you either get a trade, go to technical school or prepare for university," he said. "It seemed like the best choice."

After graduating in 1975, Zieba had only one more commitment before pursuing his career: military service.

"I knew it was coming," he said. "The government requires two years of service, and I didn't want to fight it."

After six months in military school, Zieba served as a radio operator for 19 months in Deblin, Poland, a small town on the Poland-Soviet Union border.

"I never had to fight," he said. "They asked me if I wanted to extend my service, and I said no. I wanted to make money."

Change of pace

Zieba spent the next 18 months working for a company in Poland building power lines and training other electricians, but he wasn't happy with his salary.

He took a job at his company's workers' camp in Libya because it offered more pay and a chance to get out of Poland.

It also offered him his first foray into the service industry.

"The camp had its own bar, and when I arrived I let them know I was interested in working there," he said. "When the bar's owner went to work at the embassy, he recommended me for the position."

Zieba spent the next 22 months operating the bar. While the meals were simple (sandwiches, hot tea and cookies), Zieba said the social experience was educational.

"I was in charge of entertainment and social activities," he said. "We had table tennis, TVs, newspapers, and the company had a good band that would play there."

He returned to his electrician duties upon leaving Libya, but he intended to someday own his own establishment.

No longer wishing to live in Poland -- it was 1980, and the Solidarity movement was under way -- Zieba moved to Austria and began looking for a sponsor for an entry visa to the United States.

He found help from Caritas, a worldwide Catholic organization. In late 1981, when martial law was declared in Poland, then-President Reagan opened the door to America for Polish immigrants, and Zieba was brought over in 1982.

He originally intended to move to Chicago because he had friends there, but Las Vegas was the ultimate destination.

"I was more than happy when they told me Las Vegas," he said. "I had always heard it was a beautiful city."

Thanks to his time in the hot Libyan sun, the summers in Nevada didn't bother Zieba much. He spent a brief amount of time in San Francisco, but returned to Las Vegas because jobs were more plentiful for electricians.

Steady work

For 22 years Zieba worked mostly as an electrician for various companies, working on casinos, hotels, schools and other commercial properties.

His first attempt at a food service business didn't go well. He opened European Deli and Catering near the intersection of Tropicana Avenue and Industrial Road in 1986 with two partners, but the lack of a substantial Polish population, coupled with difficulty in getting supplies from Chicago, led to its closing in just seven months.

"I didn't speak good English at the time, and the partners decided the direction," he said.

Zieba decided to bide his time and wait until everything was in place before attempting such an operation again.

In the meantime he raised a family. He has two boys, Christian, 18, and Alan, 16, from his first wife, Jolanta, who he divorced in 1997, and a 14-month-old daughter, Nicole, from his second wife, Aneta.

He met Aneta while visiting family on a trip to Poland in 2001. They were married there that year, and had a formal church wedding there in 2003 -- at the Black Lion, the restaurant pictured on the wall of Polonia.

The following year Zieba and Aneta were visiting area churches and discovered a commercial property at Eastern Avenue and Flamingo Road, which had been vacant for years.

"Everything just came together good," he said. "It took me three months to get it open."

Zieba and Aneta are the establishment's only employees -- his sons help out from time to time when needed -- and Aneta does most of the cooking.

Zieba said he hopes to hire an additional employee soon so Aneta can spend more time with their daughter. "We'd like to expand soon if it's possible, but we're so busy now I don't have time to think about it."

A big heart

Zieba considers Las Vegas his home, but confides that he is homesick now and again.

"If I ever moved from here, I'd probably move back to Poland," said Zieba, the only member of his family to immigrate to America.

He was first able to go back to Poland in 1991, and has since visited five times. Although his mother, 80, has visited twice, she hasn't seen his restaurant. And two of his brothers are unemployed because of Poland's poor economy.

"I'd like to get them over here to help me, but it's not that easy," he said.

Zieba appreciates the help he gets from his sons, but he'd rather support them in their career goals. Christian is going to medical school, and wants to go to Poland to study. And Alan wants to become a pilot.

Zieba may miss his family, but you'll never hear him complaining.

"What I do, I do from my heart," he said. "I'm very appreciative of the government here."

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