Memorial Day Dinner

As it was a dreary day here in the Reingau, I somewhat half-heartedly attempted to straighten out my new apartment. This type of work takes long periods of avoidance and procrastination. Since I drove over 100 miles this weekend, I vowed that I would not drive today. And since today is a German holiday too (White Monday- the day after Pentecost?) everything nearby is closed. In any case it was raining off and on all day long, and I did not set foot outside of the house.

I had washed a shelving unit yesterday, and planned to leave it to dry in the sun today. Alas, it sits in the same spot where I left it. It has been wetted and rewetted several times by now. It hasn’t really dried, and the entire thing is plastic so there is nothing to worry about in leaving it be.

No, today was an interior day. Some might say introspective, me … not so much. After I had eaten my breakfast, as previously chronicled, I set about to fixin’ up the place. Work was slow, but deliberate. My new stereo system was working just fine. My last system had a 60 CD changer, and it changed the way I listened to music. Prior to this I would buy a CD or LP and listen to the entire thing. With 60 CDs, I would just hit “Random” and go about my business. It became kind of a radio where I got to choose all of the albums it played, but I had no say over what was played when. It was kind of nice, but now I am listening to entire albums (or CDs) all the way through again. And this is kind of nice too. I guess I need the variety, and surprisingly a 60 CD changer didn’t offer it.

Once you’ve got your top 60 lined up, how much do you really mess with it? It ends up being loaded with greatest hits CDs. There is always some fantastic stuff you just never listen to anymore. Quadrophenia? Both CDs? All the way through? Forget about it! Before I got the changer I used to listen to that all the time while working on my house in KY. Sure you could listen to the 60 CDs any way you wanted to, but random was so easy, and fun. You never knew what as coming next, so there was always an element of surprise. I guess it was sort of a double edged sword.

Before I knew it, it was 1600 in the afternoon. It was then that I started thinking about fixin’ some dinner. Since I am in Germany, I decided on … well … spaghetti, of course.

I had stopped by an Italian grocery on Saturday and picked up some things. Not the least of which were some canned tomatoes and some of the best dried pasta I’ve ever had. I had it once before, back in PA. I bought it at the Italian deli in Hellertown. When I went back to get more, they didn’t have it. When I asked them about it, they looked at me like I was crazy. They had never heard of such a thing!

Truth be told, it was quite a while before I had gone back there and asked about it. I was also probably less than accurate in description of the item; however, any retailer worth his salt should have known what I was talking about. I told the man it was spaghetti, but made with egg, and was squared off instead of round. They started showing me the usual egg noodles that you see everywhere. Eventually I gave up. I was fully prepared to have this be just another in the long list of great things in my life that never seem to repeat themselves. The 6-5 exacta at the Kentucky Derby springs to mind (Go for Gin – Strodes Creek if I remember correctly).

Then I walked into the Italianischer grocery (as the Germans call it). I do not even know the proper name for the place; I just followed the signs that said “Italianischer Grocery”. I had been to another one near where I work, but never to this one. It doesn’t seem to have as much to offer as the one near work does, but it did have THE pasta. The funny thing is that I wasn’t even looking for it. The pasta from that time long ago had faded from memory. Oh I had looked for it in the past; I had asked for it in Italian stores in Virginia and Kentucky. I was always met with the same stare, and the inevitable, “We’ve never heard of such a thing!”

Well here it was. It was sitting meekly on the shelf in the midst of all of the other pasta. I was vindicated! I laughed heartily, “Never heard of such a thing? Hah!”

I think I was unnerving the other customers. The girl at the register gave me the hairy eyeball. I stifled my gratification. Now that I had it in my hands, I would never let it go. I will Xerox the label and hand it to the plebeians who ask me about “good” pasta. But this box will never leave my side!





That said, I needed to set about making some sauce for this Pasta of pastas. Now that I’ve built it up so, I could only hope to do it justice with my sauce making abilities.

I started with some onion and carrot, sautéed in a little olive oil.



Then I added the mushrooms and garlic. After letting them sweat for a while I added some tomato paste and anchovy fillets (trust me they will melt away to nothing, and add a certain oomph that is needed).



After deglazing the pan with some red wine and allowing it to reduce a bit, I added 2 cans of wholes tomatoes. I squished them up in my hands, and put the extra juice into another bowl just in case the sauce is watery and I don’t need it all. Today I used all of the extra juice.

Of course I salted all along the way, and added some herbs &c to the pot. The most different thing I did today was to add a dried lemon to it. I had bought the dried lemons at the Spice Suq in Dubai, and was really just more intrigued with the idea of them than actually having any plan for their use. I had added salt-preserved lemons to sauces in the past and have had really good results with it. I thought that if I just put a whole dried lemon in there, it would soften as it cooked, release whatever goodness it had, and as long as I kept tasting it … well I shouldn’t f*ck it up too bad.

The one thing I didn’t count on was the dried lemon floating. It was like trying to hold a beach ball under water in the pool. I needed to push it to the side, and try and hold it under with the weight of the wooden spatula. I didn’t want to end up having to stand next to the pot, holding the lemon ball under the sauce for a couple of hours.

After adding a secret blend of spices and herbs to the sauce I let it cook for a while. I did tinker with it here and there, but basically just let it simmer for a couple of hours before putting the pasta on. When the pasta was cooked I placed some into a bowl and added some sauce and some freshly grated Parmigiano Reggiano, poured myself a glass of wine.

I was in heaven.

But if you want to make a tomato sauce, do yourself a favor and get a real cookbook.

Don't follow my directions, I don't know what the hell I'm doing!

Here's hoping that your Memorial Day is ... well … memorable

a) It’s a three-day weekend.

b) I just moved into a new place.

c) Therefore, I am spending my three day weekend getting my place in order (or some semblance thereof).

Now, isn't that just a nifty little syllogism?

So I spent my weekend unpacking, and going to stores for various things. Because the walls of my new apartment are concrete block (i.e. no studs) I had to get some screws with plastic anchors. I needed these because I have to attach my CD rack to the wall. I discovered this phenomenon one time, a while back, when it fell over while it was half full. ‘twas not a pretty site. And yes, at the risk of having my engineering degree rescinded, it was the top half that was full.

I attached the rack and got all of my CDs and LPs put up.



Next, I needed to get some stereo equipment to play these things on. Since the electricity here is 220 Volts/50 Hz, and all of my equipment is 110 Volt/60 Hz. The voltage can be ramped down using transformers, but I cannot change the cycles. My TV works with the transformer, but anything with a motor will run slower (and hotter).

So I headed down to Vogelweh (in the Ramstein area) to go to the Power Zone. The Power Zone is the area of the PX that has all of the electronic stuff, and Vogelweh is supposed to have the big one around here. It has quite a bit of electronic equipment, but did not seem to have what I was looking for. Everything seemed to be Home Theater Systems. I was walking around looking for a CD player to put on my shelf, but all I could find was DVD players.

“Surely people are still using CD players”, I thought. I could see the racks of CDs for sale from where I stood. They still sell CD players, right? Am I really that out of it? Did I not get the memo or something? (I got the one about the TPS Reports.) Forgetting about turntables for right now, I just need something, besides my computer that will play CDs. I don’t need a Home Theater System, I don’t need a big screen TV, I just need something that will play my CDs, Dammit!

Finally, and with great reluctance, I wandered over to the section with the compact systems that look more like spaceships than stereos. I am somewhat frustrated at this point. I feel like a man with a fork in a world of soup. I settled on a JVC system that has a 5 CD/DVD changer, with auxiliary inputs (most didn’t) for a turntable when I can get one. It also has a video output, and therefore, it is basically a Home Theater System.

The speakers have built in subwoofers, and actually have two sets of wires to each speaker, so you can turn off the subwoofer. I think I’ll keep the subwoofers at level 1; anything else seems to rattle the house more than the trains out front. It also has more blinking lights than Las Vegas. Here is a picture of the monstrosity ... uh ... my new stereo system …



And here is a picture of my expanded Home Theater. It cost me a couple of hundred bucks, but it is dual voltage. With the proper adapter, it will work anywhere in the world. Bonus points to the first one to write in with the band. (I made this one visual, so you couldn’t just type some words into a search engine; not that any loyal visitors to The Haven would do such a thing).



Some of you wanted to see some pictures of the inside of my apartment. Well here is one.



You’ll probably notice that, much like any other place I’ve lived for any period of time, it looks sort of like Bagdad.

This is just the mess while I am unpacking. On the floor in front of the table you can see my useless stereo equipment that I sought to replace. It will go into a storage room in the basement along with a few other things. It will come out once again upon my triumphant return.

Well I will leave you with a picture of my Memorial Day breakfast. A plain omelet w/hot sauce, some bread w/schmaltz, and some espresso.



As a bonus, for those of you who are not ‘bandwidth challenged”, I present more data to back up my assertion that all female violin players are hot…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wl6o_1s50AQ

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fOda1JTJC0Q

I may have to do some more research before I include cello players in that statement, but this is a convincing opening argument.

A Trip, A Rant, and Some Photos

The bus left at 0200 Saturday morning. This, of course, meant that I had to wake up at 0100, which is not quite 3 hours later than I usually go to bed. On this day it was after about 4.5 hours of sleep.

When I got onto the bus I was still a little groggy and was wondering whether this was such a good idea after all. Greg had told me that I shouldn’t have any hesitation. “Go”, he said, ”I wouldn’t give it a moments thought. Just do it!” At 2 O’clock in the morning I certainly didn’t feel quite like I was in a Nike commercial, but I got on the bus. At this hour I was too tired to even swear under my breath at Greg. Oh yeah, not surprisingly, I was the last one onto the bus.

The bus trip was without incident. I was uncomfortable and could not sleep for more than 10 minutes at a time, but the ride was pretty much what I had anticipated. We stopped for breakfast around 0715. It was at a rest area off of the Autobahn. Although it probably wouldn’t have been my first choice, it was OK. I had some fruit salad, a couple of small sausages, and some much needed coffee. Then we got back onto the bus. The lady told us that we could expect another hour, or so, on the bus. Surprisingly I fell asleep immediately. I awoke about 45 minutes later and the landscape was green and almost lush, and when the bus was at the correct angle I could see snow capped mountains in the distance.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I was in Bavaria. I was on a bus trip to see two of the more famous castles in Germany. Hohenschwangau and Neuschwanstein. Bavaria is certainly a pretty area, and the Kings who built these castles certainly had an eye for where to put them. They are both up a little ways into the hillside, and the views from each are just phenomenal. We were told that Walt Disney modeled the castle at Disney World after Neuschwanstein. And although I won’t bore you with the historical details (most of which I’d probably get wrong anyway), I will tell you that the Neuschwanstein castle is certainly one, if not the, largest wastes of resources that I have ever witnessed in my life.

Don’t get me wrong. The tour is very much worth taking, and I may even be convinced to come back. The murals inside the castles are simply spectacular, and they alone would be worth a trip back, if I could spend more time viewing them (since it’s a guided tour you only get so much time in each room). The castles are fantastic, and beautiful, and almost everything that castles should be, which includes being an enormous waste of resources (at the time of their construction). I do not think that it is wasteful now for them to restore the castles or preserve them or to make money off of tourism. That is just a small saving grace of the whole useless endeavor.

Now I’m no communist, and am not going to launch into some “Fanfare for the Common Man”, but this thing is a colossal waste! After a number of years the people of Bavaria finally realized this for themselves, because Koenig Ludwig II dies under mysterious circumstances and all construction was stopped. It remains stopped today (the third floor of a four story castle is still unfinished). And I say bravo! Don’t finish it!

For those of you who think that I am retreating from my Capitalist roots and turning into some kind of Euro-weenie socialist, before you render judgment upon me please allow me to say this one thing, “…no I’m not.”

If this was Bill Gates’ or Donald Trump’s castle, I could applaud it. O sure, I may still believe that it is wasteful from a purely utilitarian standpoint, but I could still applaud him because it would have been paid for by him, with his own money, not some King who could just tax his people until it pleased him.

And to make matters worse this Ludwig idiot had two more castles being built at the same time. He was trying to live his life in a fantasy land that was based on the operas of Richard Wagner. The murals on the castle walls were of scenes from Wagner’s operas. As soon as he became the King, Ludwig sent for Wagner and had him write several operas for him.

This would have all been well and good except that it was being paid for by the people of Bavaria. He even had a simulated cave passage in between rooms in the castle. It was supposed to be the passageway from one of Wagner’s operas. It was really just a big child’s house, with pictures on the walls from his favorite stories, passageways between rooms from other stories. The whole deal kind of gives me the creeps.

And the unkindest cut of all … the worst thing about the whole Wagnerian operatic theme of the entire place, was that I didn’t even see one reference, not even an homage, not one picture dedicated to what is perhaps the most famous and enduring of Wagner’s creations…

I’m talking about one of the greatest works ever by Chuck and Mel … yes, it’s the “Kill da Wabbit” scene.

They now say that he was supposedly a reclusive poet, and that he preferred his fantasy world that he had built. And as he became more and more reclusive, he wasn’t doing his job as King of Bavaria (although he was not the true leader of the country, it was some type of constitutional monarchy or something, but he did have some duties and they weren’t getting done).

Well I say, “Bollocks!” This guy was a whack-job. He was the Michael Jackson of the 1800’s! Can you just imagine Michael Jackson being king (as opposed to just a queen)? He’s already spent all of his own money, but now they let him just tax us to pay for his next psychotic whim. The government (or someone, I forget) had him declared insane and he was called to Munich. Where, a few days later, both he and his psychiatrist end up getting fished out of some lake. Oops … they must have drowned. How unfortunate.

Of course this only goes to prove that… “Supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some farcical aquatic ceremony.”


All that being said, it was a good trip. We hiked up some serious hillsides and drank some good Bavarian Bier. And even though we returned 24 hours after we started, it was cheaper than it would have been if I had driven myself. And the additional 1.5 hours to go 15 kilometers near Wurzburg would have just killed me, if I had been driving.

Anyway, here are some pictures… and there’s more on the Flickr page.

Hattenheimer Nussbrunnen and the Headless Jesus

As promised... here is a blow up of the Hattenheimer Nussbrunnen marker in the vineyard in front of my apartment.

Wine, Strange Meats, and a Meal (sort of)

Earlier this week I had my hold baggage, a washer, a dryer, and a refrigerator delivered on the same day. The hold baggage was basically some clothes, two lawn chairs, and an air mattress. So now I can sleep upstairs on the air mattress; which, believe it or not, is extremely comfortable.

Since the last delivery was finished just a little after 1400, I had some time on my hands. I took a walk into town to go to the Metzgerei, who my landlord said was very good. He was closed. He closes everyday between 1300 and 1500. He is also only opened until 1230 on Saturdays and not at all Sunday. So I walk down a couple of doors to the Bäckerei. They are closed. I look at the sign to see if maybe they are taking a siesta with the Flieschmeister, but they close everyday at 1230.

Except Sundays, when they don’t open at all. So any purchases from either place it will more than likely be made on Saturday morning.

Undaunted, I ambled over to the Vinothek. They were open, and a young man (OK he was just a kid – but his English was good, and he seemed very nice) led me into the tasting room. He lined up 4 different types of wine for me and proceeded to talk a bit about the style as he poured. We each tried them, and I tried to come up with intelligent winey-sounding comments.

No, that's wine-y (as in wine like) not whiny (as in Beth).

“Fruity with an assertive acidity”

“A hint of green apple”

“Well-rounded, good mouthfeel”

Those types of things. Let’s just say, I could see from his expression that he was not impressed with my ability as a sommelier.

The first three were really good wines, then he poured me one from the 4th. I swirled it around a bit and sniffed it, it smelled a little odd but I couldn’t place it. I tasted the wine, “Good Lord that’s good!” I exclaimed. I sniffed it again, and asked him what it smelled like. He struggled for the words, but we agreed on musty. It smelled a little old, but it tasted damn good. It was from the year 2000, so it was older than most wines, but not old by any means. It had a very good flavor, a nice round mouthfeel, and was not too acidic. Are you impressed? He wasn’t. He just looked at me like he wished I would leave so he could go to lunch. I didn’t buy any wine, but I will definitely go back to get some.

He gave me some literature about the wines from the area. While reading some of the names of the “classified regions" for wines that meet the VDP-Rheingau Classification, I read the name “Hattenheimer Nussbrunnen”. “Where did I see that?” I thought. Then while walking back home, it dawned on me…

It’s right out my front door! OK, you can't see it in this picture, but the little arch just beyond the railroad tracks has "Hattenheimer Nussbrunnen" on it. Really I swear! I thought I had a picture of it on my Flickr page but I didn't. I do have one on another computer, so I will post it later.

After 1500 I went back to the Metzgerei, and this time they were open. I walked in and the woman asked if she could help me. I said something in English, and she gave me a look that was part puzzled, part fear, and part disgust. I get that look a lot from women. She spoke a little bit of English, so that and my mastery of not quite zero languages was enough for us to communicate. Of curse we had to speak the international languages of Force Meat and Pork Fat. I asked her what was made there on premises. She reached into the deli case and pulled about four items out, and said the rest were made there. I couldn’t believe it, there was a pretty large selection of stuff to choose from. I got some garlic salami which tastes sort of like the Lebanon Bologna my mother used to get back in PA. Then I saw this pork loin with hard boiled egg in it. I just had to…

I was curious about how they got the pig to eat those eggs, and more importantly how they could make sure that it would not chew them up. This was going to take some investigatin’...

But first, there were more meats to discover. Since I’m just itching for a rematch, some blutwurst made it into my bag, and I also bought some Presskopf…



I had this for dinner tonight. The plan was put a little olive oil into the pan, sauté some onions, and add the presskopf. I thought it would cook up like a piece of sausage or scrapple, and I would then add a couple of over-easy eggs and have a veritable feast. It didn’t occur to me that the presskopf was held together by gelatin and not the fat/protein matrix of most of the force meats I’m familiar with. So what started out as two nice little slabs of presskopf, became a mix-mash of cheek meat, sinew, gristle, and God knows what. It totally came unglued...

So I just mixed in some eggs and scrambled everything together. I served it with some bread and some hot salsa on the side for dipping the bread and later, some tortilla chips. The salsa was a stroke of genius if I don’t say so myself. Trust me it tasted a lot better than it looks, but then it would have to now, wouldn’t it?

Moving Day, Mother’s Day, and … finally … a Kitchen!

Saturday I finally moved out of the hotel, and of course, it was at the very last minute. Late actually.

A couple of guys from work and I decide to go to the bar downstairs for a beer after work on Friday. We had a couple of beers, which quickly turned into a couple more. By the time Mario bought the round of bourbon, I was already planning to walk back to the hotel. Two of the guys left, and Mario and I got into a long conversation that lasted until Rolando started killing the lights. The two of us looked at our watches in disbelief. It was already past 2200. So we hoofed it into town and grabbed a couple of Doner Kebaps. It was 0030 Saturday morning before I made it back to the hotel, and to bed.

I woke up later that same Saturday morning (check out day) and had to take a bus to the office to get my truck. I hadn’t packed yet. But because I never really unpacked since my last near miss at moving out, it wasn’t that bad. I ended up checking out about 1130, which was ½ hour past the “official” check out time. I had cleared this first with the manager though. They were good about it and allotted me the extra ½ hour. This was a good thing because it began to rain, so I had to pack everything inside of the cab of the truck.

The rain didn’t last though, and I was able to unload my stuff into my new place without much problem. Saturday afternoon I went to various stores to buy the stuff everybody needs to buy when they move. Dishwashing detergent, paper towels, condiments, beer, &c. Realizing that Sunday was Mother’s Day, I went by the office and called a florist back in PA to get some flowers for my Mom.

On Sunday I realized that I had no food in the place, so I went to the Commissary. Not being sure of what I had in the way of cookware limited my choices, so I stuck with the staples (sliced roast beef, bread, spaghetti, chicken livers, &c.). While I was there I saw this package of bratwursts, and I thought to myself, “Hey, those look just like four…”



… must mean something else in German.

Sunday afternoon I took a walk down to the river. There is a place in Hattenheim where you cross under the highway that separates the town from the riverfront. On the river side there is a little kiosk that sells wine by the glass, soft pretzels, and little smoked sausages. I had one of each, and all were quite good. I especially liked the wine, but I don’t know what it was other than #5 on the wine list. I’ll be back soon enough though.

After the wine and snack, I proceeded to walk along the Rhein toward the town of Erbach. I crossed under the highway again at Erbach, and headed up into the vineyards. I came upon this wall that had old ivy all over it. One spot had very few leaves. I thought it looked cool, so I took a couple pictures. I played around with it on the computer and think it looks better in black and white.

It reminded me of a drawing from a book called The Studio. I think it was done by Barry Windsor-Smith or it may have been Jeff Jones. Not sure.

I also took some pictures in the vineyards. Here is one looking up towards Kloster Eberbach. I was zooming in as far as the camera would go, and never even saw the crow.



Turned out pretty neat. I wish the day was a little less hazy though. I ended up climbing a fair piece into the vineyards, and came back down on the other side of Hattenheim. I walked through the town and stopped in at a small bar for a Pilsner on the way home.

Once home I started my prep work for cooking. I am not very well equipped with knives and such so I didn’t get too crazy. I had bought these dried lemons at a Spice Suq in Dubai and wanted to use them. I put half of one into a glass of water to soften it up a bit. I also diced about ¼ of an onion, and two cremini mushrooms. Put some butter and olive oil into a pan and sautéed the onions for a while, then added the ‘shrooms and the lemon. The lemon probably could have had another hour or so in the water, but it wouldn’t have made it into this dish.



While the mixture was sautéing, I lightly floured about ½ lb of chicken livers. I’m not used to this stove, and the elements do not respond very quickly to changes in temperature. So the onions got a little more browned than I had planned for before I added the livers. However, everything came together in the end, and I didn’t burn anything (too badly).



It was served up with some of the Lord’s hot sauce, some hearty bread, a fantastic Kloster Andechs Dunkel Bier, and some pickles. It was very OK. Not great, but at least I got to cook something. I was going to say it was nothing to write home about, but then I realized that is exactly what I am doing.



It really looked a lot better than this washed out picture shows. The livers were actually extremely OK, and no celebratory meal at the new Haven d’Okra would be complete without some pickled okra.



I would especially like to thank my new neighbor from whom I am surreptitiously “borrowing” internet access. Don’t you just love wireless modems?

Revenge, Fear, and Betrayal

I think it may have been the noises that woke me up at 3 A.M. It began with a slight rumble. “Probably just a truck” I thought and rolled over in bed.

There it was again, louder this time. “That was no truck”, I thought. I began to have an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Then came some pops and clicks that sounded almost like distant gunfire.

Just like on opening day of deer season. You’ve been sitting in the tree for 30 minutes, you’re a little groggy and you begin to fade. When you hear the first crack of gunfire in the distance, it sounds low, not quite muffled. Then you realize that the game is on.

Suddenly all of my senses are sharp, and I can hear everything. Maybe I’m hallucinating, but I swear that I can hear people in the adjoining rooms. I can’t make out what they are saying, it’s more like loud mumbling than actual conversations.

“It’s 3 AM!” I think to myself, “who the hell is awake and talking this loud at 3 AM?”

When the rumbling starts again, I get up to investigate. I open the bathroom window to listen. I hear nothing outside. There’s no traffic, “Of course there is no traffic, it’s 3 AM for Christ’s sake!”

I drink some water and go back to bed.

I’ve still got that feeling in the pit of my stomach though. It feels a little like butterflies before the big game. I’m lying in bed, trying to get comfortable when the rumbling starts again. This can’t be someone fighting in a nearby room, it sounds too close. The volume increases just as I throw the covers off the bed. It’s becoming obvious that I need to do something.

I open my eyes and everything is hazy. There is some type of gas in the room. I roll out of the bed and stay as close as possible to the floor, while crawling to the other room. Once there, I sit up.

Now I’m sweating. My shirt is soaked through around the collar and the arm pits.

I begin to feel cold, but the sweating continues. I’m sitting in the dark and the rumbling is becoming louder … and closer … and louder … and closer. The sweat begins to drip from my forehead and onto my legs, where it feels incredibly cold. I can't fathom how a 98+ degree body emit a liquid so cold?

I can see colored lights outside the window. They are fleeting, but in this instant, I believe with all my heart that they are real. The rumbling is still there, and I begin to tremble slightly. Then a loud blast almost lifts me off of my seat!

I’m straining to listen, trying to hear whether anyone else is awake, or alive, in the hotel. I look at my watch. 3:05. How could this be? It’s seems like I’ve been hearing these things for at least an hour.

Another blast seems to rock the entire room.

It's too dark to see anything, but I know that last blast was strong. I’m beginning to wonder about the structural integrity of the building.

My thoughts are now scattered everywhere. One thought is of my mother, the next is friends in high school, then it's the pretty waitress with the unfortunate mole at a cafe in Wiesbaden. My life seems to be flashing before my eyes.

Then a series of short sputtering pops, followed by a huge whoosh. "That must be the backdraft", I think.

Suddenly I come to understand.

“Oh God, I know what this is…” the whole place will be gone soon.

Still afraid, and sweating, I reach out desperately into the darkness with my left hand. “Oh good, it’s there. I’m probably going to need that in a few minutes”.

Flashes of light in all kinds of colors enter my field of vision.

“Is the rescue team here already?”

Finally I can keep my composure no longer, and I let out a bloodcurdling scream….





“BLUTWURST?”


“Why have you forsaken me?”




Now I am not so proud that I can’t admit to being bested. About 0310 this fine morning it became apparent to me that the Blutwurst had won this battle.

The Blutwurst also won the battles at 0630, 0700, 0915, and 1330.

However, do not think that it is over between us, not by a longshot. You can rest assured that I will rise again to do battle with you on another day!

At a time of my choosing.

Apartment Quest

Alright already, I’ll quit bothering everyone with the details of my apartment search. I received several emails today that I am taking too long with this search, and talking about it too much here. However, I want you to know that I am going through this whole painful process for you. Well maybe not you. Oh, you know who you are, the one reading this right now. Yes you, you’re the one. Or rather you’re not the one, because I am doing this for everyone EXCEPT you.

I might be doing it for myself too, because subconsciously I know there is not a chance in hell that most (if any) of you are coming over here to visit. Oh sure, you’ll say that you want to, but something will come up. You’ll say, “Tony, we’re really sorry but the goldfish just died, and the kids are taking it extremely hard”, or “We thought he’d be over it by now, but little Johnny still wets his pants when we show him those pictures of you dressed as Santa”, or “I’d really like to come, but my wife just really hates you!”, or some other lame excuse.

That’s OK; I won’t bore you with the search details any longer.

Are my feelings hurt?

No. C’mon you all know I don’t have any of those.

The fact is that I’m getting more than a little tired of the search myself. And the good news is: I have found the place for me, and I hope to move in this weekend. Of course, I’m counting on everything going smoothly at the housing office tomorrow morning (which is no sure bet). But as long as it does, I’m in. I'm hoping to ply the ladies with some danishes. Maybe some prune danish will help grease the skids (or grease something). With any luck there soon will officially be a new Haven for the Okra. Of course until I get my internet hooked up, the updates might be a little infrequent…as if they're not already.

Here’s a picture taken from the front door…



Here’s one of the back yard…



Here’s one from up the hill looking back down…



In the distance to the left we have the town of Erbach…



To the right the town of Hattenheim …



Here we have a close up of the new crop of Riesling …



Pretty great huh? Well there’s no need to thank me, I didn’t do it for you.

On another note, I stopped at the grocery store today on my way home from work. I was doing my usual perusal of the meat counter. I bought some Knoblauch Fleischwurst (basically garlic ring bologna – hey 24 is on tonight!), and as I was working my way down to the cheese counter, I was stopped by something I saw in the salad case.

They had potato salad, kohl slaw, kraut, and … what is that?

It couldn’t be, could it?

I had to ask the Frau behind the counter, because I wanted to confirm it.

“Ist es blutwurst?”

“Ja, bitte?”

“Oh hell ja!”

Yes loyal frieds of the Haven, it was the very thing I thought it was. A treat so delicious that I had not even fathomed that its existence was possible.

Surely, someone is going to hell for this.

Surely, somebody must pay.

And it must be more than the 7,90 euro/kg that I paid.

It was a wurstsalat similar to the one I had a while back, only this one was made with blutwurst. So if you thought a salad of bologna and onions sounded too good to be true, well then sit down and prepare yourself the same salad, only made with blood sausage…

Here are some actual pictures of the unctuous treat…







I knew you would be happy for me, but you could not be as happy as I was while scarfing this down.

Oh yeah, here’s another picture from the front door of my new place…



Now can you see how I can afford this?

How I Spent my Derby Vacation ..... OR ..… I Know What You Did Last Derby

So I spent my Derby Day looking at apartments. I’ve got one more to check out tomorrow, but it is looking like the Blues Brother’s Special is in the lead. If for no other reason than the landlord is a hoot. The place also has a part-time Polish gardener who is a full-time cook in Wiesbaden. I am hoping to be able to convince him to teach me how to make Kapusta. That way, at least Gary Z will be looking forward to my return, even if no one else is (especially after the threat of bringing Kapusta with me).

I did see a really nice place in Wiesbaden, which might be a good fit for me. It is in a pricier neighborhood though, and my mere presence may lower the property values enough to inflame international tensions.

Still, I can feel the wine country pulling me in…

In any case I need to make a decision by Monday. The girls at the housing office told me that they don’t have any appointments available to write a contract till the 17th. However, when I told them that I’d bring doughnuts, they promised that they would fit me in.

I went to the Farmer’s Market this morning and bought some apples and some sausages. The guy at the sausage place (just one of many) told me that everything that they had was from Austria. So I got one of each of the larger ones and a couple of smaller ones. Add in some bourbon and God’s favorite hot sauce, and I knew that I had the makings of a perfect Derby snack. I was going to make a mint julep, but since I don’t have any sugar, or mint, it looks like it will have to be just bourbon and ice.



I will definitely miss the traditional Cheeseburgers and Onion Rings from White Castle afterwards.

I went downstairs a little while ago to the bar at the hotel. I thought I may be able to drum up some interest in the “Most Exciting Two Minutes in Sport”, and get a Mint Julep out of the deal. However, since I never go there I did not realize that the bar in the hotel is closed on Saturdays. “A bar closed on Saturday?” you ask. Well, so did I. It actually makes perfect sense when you take into account our Government’s almost religious devotion to non-profit economics.

There are always ads on the television bragging about how AAFES (Army & Air Force Exchange Service) takes 20% of what they make and gives it back to the troops in various ways. Well, I don’t think I’m alone in wishing that they would spend a little of that 20% and hire a few more cashiers. This may actually improve the quality of life for the troops by not making them stand in line and wait ungodly amounts of time for absolutely everything.

It would also improve the quality of my life for that very same reason. And let’s face it, that’s what is REALLY important.

Schmaltz

I did not take the apartment in Wiesbaden. Believe me, I’m as upset about it as you are. Well maybe not. When it came down to it, it was just too much money for me to lay out for an apartment. The monthly fees are substantial, but they are reimbursed by the Government. What is not reimbursed is the security deposit, and the realtor fees are only partially reimbursed. Extremely partially.

So after I checked out of the hotel Tuesday morning, I went by the bank to get a cashiers check. The bank was closed (well, because it wasn’t 9:30 yet), and it actually ended up being good for me that it was. I didn’t have a good feeling about the whole deal, and after really looking at the financial windfall that was about to occur (kind of like a trailer in a tornado type of windfall), I called it off. Needless to say Frau Huber was not, howyousay … pleased. Oh well.

The place was just not for me. I was the square peg, it was the round hole. It was a brand new place, and I could just see the landlord getting all bent out of shape over scratches in the floor, &c. I don’t want to live in a museum, worrying about every move I made. I also didn’t like the idea of having all of them sheckles hanging out there, because when it comes time to move I’m not going to be able to appear in court just to get my security deposit back (much like I had to do last time I moved). And trust me we are talking about a rather substantial number of sheckles.

So it’s back to square one. I checked back into the same hotel room Tuesday afternoon. It was much like the English fag at the desk said, “it’s almost like you never left Sir, Hmmm?”

Today is Friday and I am looking at 7 apartments this weekend. One is with Frau Huber, one is the neighbor of a guy I work with, and five are from the housing office. I saw one from the housing office tonight. It was in Hattenheim, was big, had plenty of parking, a big backyard, was right across the street from a vineyard, and during the winter you can probably see the Rhein. You can’t see it now because of the leaves on the trees. The landlord seems like a really nice woman, and is related to some winemakers from the area. The only problem is that the main road coming through the area is pretty close and you can definitely hear the road from the backyard. The other “only problem” is that the train tracks are close too. “How often does the train come by?” you ask. Well, in the immortal words of Ellwood Blues, “So often you won’t even notice it.”

However, they are electric trains and as the Germans weld the tracks segments together, they are quieter than most American trains. i.e. you don’t get that “Ka-Thump, Ka-Thump, Ka-Thump” of the train when it goes over track sections. I think I actually like it. It is definitely less noisy than the jets flying over everyday at Virginia Beach. And it is probably less noisy than my place in Germantown (Louisville), when the UPS jets were coming in (one after another, after another, after…). It is most likely quieter than the apartment above the Bus Stop at 6th & St. Catherine in Louisville too. The place is about a 5 minute walk from the edge of downtown Hattenheim. Of course it’ll take about 10 minutes after that to walk to the other side of Hattenheim. But there are plenty of restaurants and wineries around to make it a good walk. The landlord invited me to come with her and her family to her cousin's Weingut on Sunday. I guess they go there on Sundays and eat, and drink some wine. Sounds good to me!

A couple of the other places are in Wiesbaden, and two are north of it. Maybe I’ll just number the places at random and use a Ouija board to pick one.

In other news, I ate at a small restaurant in town last weekend. I just had a couple of small sausages with some kraut and bread. This place, like some others, offers schmaltz instead of butter to spread on your bread. Schmaltz is basically rendered fat. I’ve used chicken schmaltz to fry livers in, but have never thought of spreading it on bread. However, being in Germany means that schmaltz is from schwein. In other words it is lard. And just in case you didn’t feel like you were getting the true essence of the pig, the schmaltz had some little pieces of cracklin’ in it. I know that it was salted, and believe that it was seasoned with some other spices. It was quite good.

Tonight I was walking in downtown Wiesbaden tonight and I turned a corner and recognized a familiar tune being played. I followed the music, and found that sure enough it was a full orchestra performing the Star Wars theme. I think they were actually playing the whole score, but I only stuck around for three songs. It was pretty funny watching “The Maestro” at work.

As an aside, when was the last time you saw an ugly girl with a violin? Is it just me, or do most women violin players seem hot? Perhaps that was why the Iranian foreign minister walked out of the dinner with Condoleeza. Maybe with her revealing apparel, he was afraid of getting a little “Norwegian Wood”.