Germany 6

Tomorrow I'm going to Worms, and the lab won't be open for me to check my internet when I get back, so I'll probably write Germany 7 either at home in NY or at the airport if there's WiFi. Also, tonight will be my only all nighter- I'm leaving for Worms as soon as I get off of my shift (after taking a 15 minute caffeine nap, that is) as it is about 45 minutes from Heidelberg (sleep is for the weak, G(tb)^2)

Observation 22.
Lots of Germans are really into soccer. Most Germans are really NOT into the Germans who are really into soccer.

Observation 23.
If you own a blue and orange "Education First Credit Union" backpack (I'm looking at you, Emilio) you are American. And it's not like just one person owns it, too. Everyone who is both American and In Germany Right Now owns one.

Observation 24.
Yesterday, one of those little old ladies threw me out of the way because I was waiting to pay for the bus and I guess I was blocking the door. She was strong as hell.


This morning I did like I always do- I set my alarm for 1:15 and went to bed. When I woke up, however, I looked at my clock, and to my horror, it said 3:45. I had set my clock for 1:15AM on accident. I was about to cry. The museum I really wanted to go to closed at 5, I didn't think I'd make it to the store I wanted to go to, and the next bus wouldn't come until 4:45. I kind of freaked out, got dressed in a hurry, and sprinted to the security desk. "Cab! I need to call a cab!" he didn't speak English so I had to phone the main office of the institute. I gave the cab guy directions and made it to the museum at 4:15. I made it to the door, but when I looked in, all the lights were out and there was a sign about something from June 1 to July 1. Apparently, the museum is closed this month. I ran to the store. All German stores are closed on Sunday. I didn't know if I should be really miserable or somewhat relieved, until I looked up. There he was, Perkeo the drunken Italian Dwarf* from the Heidelberg Castle, dancing with a cup of wine in his hand, and emblazoned on a wooden sign above a cafe. He was calling my name. I knew he had some secret hiding up his sleeve*, and I knew that there was a reason why today had happened in that manner*.

It was fucking Bratwurst time.*

I was a little hesitant to sit down at first. After all, this restaurant could just be a breakfast place like the first one. Or maybe it was an Italian restaurant. Maybe I would explode with anticipation the sausage arrived.* I walked in and shakily asked the waitress "Do you have Bratwurst? It's my last day in the city and I have yet to have any German Sausage*" She turned to me and said "of course we have bratwurst!" I almost hugged her with glee. I sat down. Why do I need to look at a menu? I know what I want! Wait, what if I get salami again! I looked, located the Bratwurst on the menu under "Pork Dishes ("Fuck yes this menu is in English")" and before the waitress had even arrived at my table I said "Pfälzisches Bratwurst and a Coffee, please." She must have thought I was crazy. I was crazy. Crazy for goddamn German sausage.*****

The dish arrived shortly after. It was a long, pale link, balanced gently atop a hill of mashed potatoes and a matching hill of sauerkraut. two strips of bacon lie beside masterpiece drizzled with brown gravy, like hot fudge on a banana split. A garnish of lettuce and tomato filled out the final quarter of the plate. I started with the potato- one has to get used to the water before they can jump in- it was fluffy and almost earthy, as if the potato had only recently left the ground. The sauerkraut was tangy, yet crisp- they had made it in the restaurant. Then I got to the sausage. The outside was crisp and snapped as I cut it, the inside was completely uniform (no chunks like other sausages) and tender. Then to the bacon. I knew Germany was known for its pork products- I didn't know that the Bacon would almost outshine the Bratwurst. It was almost fatless and greaseless, and was neither too crispy nor too floppy. It was almost more like Canadian bacon, yet in taste, though it was extremely light and not nearly as overpowering as bacon's flavor tends to be, it was distinctively bacon. I had a forkful of all four elements mixed together. These flavors were made for each other.

I slowly made my way to the end of the meal, taking bites of sausage, then kraut, then bacon, then potato, then all three. I scraped the plate clean, sat back, and smiled. Okay, so maybe I'm kind of exaggerating, but if you know me you know I love to eat, and I think this meal was the closest thing to spiritual ecstasy I have ever achieved, especially after the six days I had to wait for it and the fear I wouldn't have it at all. I topped it off with a glass of beer, and thought back to the name of the meal. Pfälzisches Bratwurst, "Sausage of the Palatinate." My chair became my throne, my beer my goblet, and my waitress my servant. I was Lord of Perkeo's Restaurant and Coffeehouse.

I mean, I did other things to- I walked through the old Jewish quarter and said a prayer on a memorial for the Holocaust victims of Heidelberg (Built on the foundation of a synagogue burned down during Krystallnacht) and walked through a suburb of the town trying to find the other castle in Heidelberg (I failed, it was a mile further away than I thought), but this is German Sausage we're talking about. It deserves a day to itself.



*That's what she said
-it was really hard not to just make this entire post a drawn out sexual innuendo so I typed it up first then inserted *s where necessary