From domestically hopeless to domestically deficient

Before Thomas and I moved to Germany back in November, I worked as a writer in large company’s public relations department. I can still hear my Journalism 101 professor in college saying, whatever you do, don’t go into television news. So what did I do? Majored in broadcast journalism.  Fine, he said. Just please, please don’t go into PR! Sorry Mr. J. But if it’s any conciliation, I’ve hung up my PR…um pen? At least for awhile.

These days, my time is spent buying German language books, looking at those books laying on my kitchen table, and occasionally opening one – if only by accident when my cat pushes it off the table.

I kid, I kid. Well mostly.

In order to prepare myself for the daunting task of (eventually) working on my master's degree in German, I've been attending a language course, practicing with anyone unfortunate enough to get stuck standing near me (although my charades skills seem to be improving faster than my German) and watching local TV (it's amazing how little vocabulary you need to understand a show like Bauer sucht Frau (translation: farmer searches for a wife). In between that, I've been getting to know Munich, doing a little writing and even taking care of daily Hausfrau tasks like cleaning, cooking and laundry.

Some of these tasks have proven harder than my German studies though…and given the complexities of German grammar, that’s saying a lot. Take ironing, for example. The other day, I spent about 30 minutes ironing one of Thomas’ dress shirts, only for it to look a whopping five percent better than it did when I pulled it out of the wash.

Yeah, this is post-ironing. Awesome, right?

Since then, I’ve tried each setting on the iron, various levels of pressure and contorted my body in more ways than Linda Blair in the Exorcist to get a better angle (okay, that last one was a slight bit of an exaggeration). Nothing has helped. Well, at least I can rule out ironing from my list of possible, hidden superpowers. Whew. That would have been lame anyway.

Of course, no one has ever called me domesticated. Back when I was single, my idea of a balanced home-cooked dinner was a chocolate Sunday and a dirty martini. That said, I’ve at least done pretty well in cooking since moving to Munich.

Exhibit A: one of my latest cooking endeavors: tofu sauté

Can you hear that? That’s the sound of me patting myself on the back…if only to smooth out the wrinkles in my shirt.

Dining in Deutschland

Unlike in the U.S. where dining out is commonplace, Germans tend to cook a lot more at home and reserve restaurants for special occasions. As Thomas explained, dining out is considered more of a celebration than just a means to acquire of food. This explains why people linger a lot longer after eating and then request the check when they’re ready, unlike in the U.S. where waiters often rush over the bill before you’ve taken your second bite.

Maybe the fact that grocery shopping tends to be less expensive in Germany plays a role. For example, when we were in the U.S., Thomas suffered from sticker shock nearly every time we visited our local grocery store’s produce section.

And on a side note, Germans tend to use more local and seasonal fruit and vegetables when cooking. This explains why that bunch of grapes I plopped onto the scale at the veggie market checkout cost nearly €5 (about $6.75). Even the clerk was so shocked, he triple checked the price, looked at the sign, and then said (in German) something like Oh, these cost this much because they come from South Africa. He then gave me a questioning look as if to ask, Do you still want them? I never felt so guilty for indulging in fruit.

But back to the restaurant scene. Munich is a richly diverse city with tons of dining options those of us who love eating but are, say, slightly challenged in the home-cooking field. But lately I’ve been feeling a little homesick for some of my favorite foods from the States, like fried catfish, hushpuppies, dirty rice and shrimp étouffée.

So as they say, when in Rome, cook Cajun food. Or something like that.

Two grocery stores and one fruit and veggie market later, I had all of the ingredients to make my very own shrimp étouffée.

Yes, that's a cocktail shaker in the background. I needed a little liquid courage before embarking on this daunting culinary challenge...

It took about three hours (and a lot of math to convert cooking measurements...converting grams of butter into tablespoons is a two-step, cross-your-fingers process) but I finally got my étouffée. Plus, since I had to make my own Creole seasoning, I quadrupled my previously skeletal spice collection.

Here’s the final result: 

spicy shrimp étouffée with extra hot sauce

And the best part? It actually tasted good! Maybe there’s something to this cooking thing...

A bakery so good it defies the law

One of the best things about living in Germany is fresh baked bread. No matter where you are in Munich, chances are pretty good that there’s a bakery - or ten - within walking distance. Around our apartment, for example, we have a least half a dozen (that we know of) just minutes from our door.

And while Thomas is at work earning some of the spendable bread, I’m usually the one who bringing home the literal stuff. Lately, my bakery trips have gotten a bit easier as I’ve graduated from wide-eyed pointing to full-sentence requests. And just yesterday, I even worked up the courage to ask what in an unfamiliar bun. OK, so I didn’t fully understand the response, but it was a start, right?

The other day, Thomas went out on his own edible expedition and came home with several delicious baked goods wrapped in some curiously designed paper:

Such pretty pink wrapping pa--wait a second, is that the...

I’m sure there’s a story behind the logo, but to my knowledge (and a 30-second internet search) it’s mostly commonly associated with anarchy. So we now affectionately refer the bakery as Anarchy Bread. This re-branding attempt was of course followed by a slew of half-baked (get it?) slogans:

• Anarchy bread: Where recipes are for The Man, man
• Anarchy bread: Surprise your taste buds
• Anarchy bread: A culture of enticing culinary chaos

As far as the rest of the paper's design: forks, teapots...sure, those make sense. But what's that other thing? A metallic party hat? I'm just gonna let that go for now...

Oh, and yes, the cake was delicious!

I’m sorry, my German isn’t very good … and apparently neither is my math

In Germany, many shops only accept cash, or sometimes called an Electronic Cash (EC) card (which is like a debit card). Being a U.S. American (I can’t speak for my friends in Canada and Mexico), this is very different. In the States, I rarely carried cash. Plus, I earned “points” with every credit card purchase which equaled cash back later. A $2 cup of coffee? Charge it.

I don’t have an EC card here yet. Thomas added me to his bank account, but in order to get a card, we have to go to the Post Office to have my identity verified. I should mention here that Germans take personal identity and privacy very seriously, which I think is great. But added security measures often come with a convenience cost.

But not having an EC card hasn’t been that big of inconvenience; I’ve been fine with making a trip to the ATM with Thomas every few days...

…Until today, that is.

Each day, I go to a couple of markets to acquire fresh items with which to create something that resembles some state of food (I’m still to master opening the oven…more on that another time).

Today I went to a larger store just down the street. But because grocery shopping is still very exciting –   so many new and different items to try – I got a little more zealous than my wallet was comfortable with.

As I placed each of my edible treasures on the checkout conveyor belt, a sense of dread began to set in. How much was that box of chocolates? I forgot I picked up that bottle of Glühwein. That deli cheese was €4??

And, as is so often the case, my delayed intuition was right.

Cashier: Das macht €38.45. (That comes to €38.45).
Me: Ummm…[looking at the €25 in my wallet as if they’d somehow multiply if I keep counting them.] Leider…ich habe nicht genug. Ich muss etwas zurück geben.(Unfortunately...I don’t have enough. I must give something back.)

I quickly handed over a higher ticket item: a beautiful bottle of Cuban rum. The cashier, without the least bit of empathy for my predicament, snatched it up and walked over to her colleague for a register key to remove the item from my bill.

By this time a line had begun to form behind me.

Cashier: €22.10, bitte.
Me:        .........

Looking at the money in my hand again, I started recounting it in German. No, better do this in English, I thought. Crap…wait…how much is this?? I felt a warm sensation flooding into my face. Somehow in a mounting sense of panic I’d forgotten how to add. I frantically handed her all of the paper bills from my wallet, plus a couple spare one and two Euro coins from my pocket.

She counted my wad of monetary shame once…twice…looked at up me…and then counted a third time. I instantly thought I was still short. But to my relief, she mumbled something I didn’t fully understand and gave me several Euros back. I grabbed my rum-less bag of groceries and hurried out, without making eye-contact with any of the (hopefully patient) customers behind me. For once, stepping outside and breathing the bitter cold air felt amazing.

So what did I learn? Have plenty of cash on hand; select items more conservatively; and start going to a different grocery store.

Pork...the other meat I don’t eat

Bavarian Holzfällersteak...not the "American steak" I'm used to

I’m a mostly pescatarian living in a pork-lover’s paradise. What does that mean? Well, I eat fish but try to refrain from eating birds and land animals 95 percent of the time. Occasionally, I’ll make an exception for something like an excellent beefsteak. Last night was to be one of those exceptions.

Thomas and I walked to a nearby, traditional Bavarian restaurant. One look at the menu and I quickly learned that Bavarians really like pork, something I definitely don’t eat. And not for religious reasons. I like pigs, I just prefer them alive.

So after asking, what’s this word mean? about 30 times, I figured I’d mastered the menu and was ready to order. Ich möchte das holzfällersteak ohne speck, bitte. (Translation: I would like the holzfällersteak without bacon, please.)

A few minutes later, the waitress placed a slab of suspiciously light colored meat in front of me. I looked at Thomas and asked, What…is…this? He took a bite and grimaced. Pork.

I was perplexed. I said ohne speck. I didn’t know holzfällersteak was a pork steak topped with more pork.

Thomas explained how much of German cuisine in the south is centered around pork because beef prices are much higher.

As I looked down at my meal, I felt guilty for ordering a plate of Ms. Piggy after having regularly donated to a pig sanctuary in Arizona. I started to wonder if this was karma’s way of punishing me for giving into meat-temptation.

Needless to say, I didn’t eat the pork steak. Afterwards, we went across the street to Burger King (insert your favorite American/hamburger joke here) where I got a subpar veggie burger.

But I’m not giving up on German-Bavarian cooking…I just might have to modify a few recipes and try them at home. Anyone up for holzfäller-tofu-steak?