One of the
many things I hadn’t thought through before I got married at 22 was the
culinary implication of my choice. My husband (yes, still... we lucked out!) is
originally from Germany, his father being that coolest of cold meat concepts, a
wonder, when visiting his parents for the first time, when I got to wander
around their giant cold room of smokey deliciousness: from Bratwurst to Frankfurters,
Blutwurst to Black Forest ham... and all manner of heaven in between.
I learnt to
sit down to tables piled with Maultaschen (a kind of large German
ravioli) and suck up the smells and delight of their traditional ‘sour pot
roast’ Sauerbraten, piled on a bed of homemade, egg noodle Spaetzle.
the weather’s cold, and I’m feeling a little off-colour and shivery, I wish I
could just transport my mother-in-law down to Cape Town, complete with a giant
platter of her signature schnitzels and a great big bowl of sauerkraut.
who grew up thinking, like Dylan Moran, that German sounds like ‘a typewriter
eating tin foil being kicked down the stairs’, it was German cuisine which
broke through my narrow-mindedness, and enveloped me in the essence of another
culture, one which I could treasure.
love my food. I’d also love to hear about how food convinced you of the
fabulousness of another culture... there’s a R250 kalahari.net voucher for
the one of you with the best story.
platters of love,