A tankard of beer thunks onto the timber table next to a plate of steaming, juicy bratwurst, savory sauerkraut, and buttery potatoes while men and women decked out in brightly colored lederhosen and dirndl dance about the festhalle. Now, indentify the country this scene originates from. However, this does not describe Germany, but Bavaria. In fact, the majority of German stereotypes are Bavarian in nature. Even so, how did Bavaria become synonymous with Germany’s cultural and food identity? Simply put, the culture and customs of Bavaria are so rich and pervasive that it has come to represent Germany as a nation. Read More
Rinderrouladen or rindsrouladen (I’ve seen the recipe named both ways) translates very simply to beef rolls. According to my mother, who spent a year and a half in Germany, it is a relatively popular recipe, and, while once deemed a dish for the “common” people, it is now used to feed a large group of people and considered a dish for festivities. My mother, however, did experience it more often as an everyday meal; her host mother was the first to cook it for her, but she further enjoyed the recipe when dance teachers brought rouladen to class. Read More
As someone who has little experience with German culture and little interest in parties, it was hard to feel as though I had any expectations when I decided to attend Oktoberfest in Birmingham, Alabama. Oh, sure, beer and bratwurst and sauerkraut seemed to be a given, but I approached the event with no conscious idea or opinion on any other aspects of the celebration.
Approaching the site of the Birmingham Oktoberfest, I strained to hear music, to see a swarm of people, to smell a fired up grill turning out dozens and dozens of bratwurst; instead, I heard the shrill whistle of a train as it screeched down the nearby tracks, saw a few people walking their dogs, and smelled only the cloying rose perfume of a woman that had swept past me seconds before. Having already gone to the wrong park once, I was disappointed to have again messed up and was not too keen on trying to search through the event’s Facebook page to find where the event was. Read More
The sweet scent of cherry blossom mingled with warm vanilla as my mother’s arms wrapped around me, hands closing gently over mine on the rough wood. Pressing down, together we rolled out the dough, soft and warm and gooey; it stuck to the rolling pin, wrapping around it as I giggled and pulled it off. My mother’s warmth moved away, but she was back before I could glance up to look for her. Red nails with silver snowflakes sprinkled a white powder, soft but just slightly gritty, onto the sticky dough.
The pains of baking in those days were small, insignificant: the cookie cutter pressing just a little too sharply into my hands; a runny nose and watery eyes, the remainder of a flour-induced sneeze; the color of the frosting being “too pink and not enough purple, Mommy”; my older sister stealing the last of the reindeer cookies; the sprinkles that coated my lips giving away my thievery…
This is my prevailing memory of my first forays into the culinary world: surrounded by my mother’s loving warmth and guidance and, yes, sometimes exasperation, creating any young child’s favorite treat, and making an absolute, glorious mess while doing it. Read More