When I started off on this undertaking, adventure, I wondered if I was not
being too daring in assuming two years as a goal, 24 episodes.
So I quickly jotted down some possibilities, 24 in fact,
as fast as if shot out of a gun.


Well, I thought, that's good for a start.
I'm having a look at that list now
with the possible themes left over for this edition.
All done except for Finger Food and Pizza and I can't seem to get
excited about them tonight.
Life goes through phases, accompanied by favorite foods.
Some things are time specific, others get carried over for a lifetime.
We had a house in Massapequa which we called the little house,
where we lived until the big house was finished being built.
There was a sofa in front of the bay window
covered with a material that was scratchy on my bare legs.
Evelyn sat knitting,
and since I insisted she tried to teach me to knit,
unsuccessfully, which frustrated us both.
I was about 5. Later I was very good at knitting.
Since that didn't work, she fetched some pretty buttons.and a rag,
an old piece of a cotton sheet for me to sew them on.
That worked better
I still remember the smell of the rag,
a kind of sweet clean, fresh, its purposeness fulfilled.


Another time she lay stretched out on the scratchy sofa,
with a tray of cheese cubes and crunchy pretzels
and a very big glass of beer which she was obviously enjoying
Also here I insisted on having a slug of beer.
„You won't like it“ she mischievously said reaching me the cold glass.
And she loved showing me for the rest of her life
how I speechlessly left the scene with a shudder.


I like a cold beer, especially when its hot outside.
In England I loved going to the pub with friends for a pint.
Pretzels in all forms, crunchy ones soft ones.
What would life be without southern German soft pretzels covered with
big salt crystals, filled with sweet butter and Black Forest ham.
Worth surrending an American passport for.
And cheese is well, a highlight.
In England I loved Cheddar and Stilton. David would bring part of
a whole wheel and we would nibble away at it
with and without water biscuits or Waterford cream crackers
My French friends would treat me with Brie, Camenbert, and Goats cheese.
Much appreciated in the days
when you had to be in France to have French cheese.
In Italia all food is special, the cheeses Mozzarella, fresh and smoked
Pecorino fresh and aged, Parmigiano to name a few favorites
with wine, or part of a dish, or just on their own.


Not intending insult
there somehow doesn't seem to be a specific German cheese.
Lots of cheeses similar in taste to other European nationals
like Gouda, Camembert or Emmental.

So after pondering for awhile I think Quark is the only one very German cheese.
I mix it with fresh herbs and sour cream and can eat it without
accompaniments. The classic is to have it with small boiled potatoes,
which I never liked.
Just a spoon will do, with a tomato, or a Norwegian rye cracker at the most.
To make it
you let raw milk go sour until it makes nice clumps.
Then put it all into a cotton bag where eventually
all of the firm clumps remain and
the delicious whey drips out.

You can drink the whey full of minerals and other good stuff.
You can mix the quark with cream and strawberries and some sugar.
It's easier just to buy it at the store, but not as delicious.
I discovered the sour milk part in England
while raiding the refrigerator late at night in the Emerson College kitchen
with my German friend Uta.
The only thing we found were some old carrots, an oxtail presoup,just the tail
and the sour milk.
And I said eee and Uta said aaa sour milk and went to get a spoon.
I was nevertheless not convinced
for this was not the satisfaction I was looking for.
I had a similar experience with Marmite, thinking it marmelade,
spread thickly on my teatime bread.
I had to get on a chair to get it from the top shelf.
And contrary to my sour milk experience,
I have not gotten over it to this day.


Instead of cheese, I would say that sausages are the main thing here,
1500 different kinds supposedly.
I shall never forget the butcher shop in Bonn, the wall from
ceiling to counter draped with sausage rings.
But come to think of it, there was an Italian deli on Berwick Street Market
London where the sausages hung from the ceiling as tempting
and plentiful as figs. With a very big fat red tigered cat
who had everything in sight and under control and who was probably
trained to nip in case the customers pinched.

Since we have been having an abundance of Beethoven weather
I decided to celebrate some February sun
with this sun of yummy fingers.
They have nothing to do with Finger food
which is the modern name for Canapes from the scratchy sofa days.
A nice yeast dough covered with pretzel salt, sesame seeds,
and cörek otu (the türkish name- Nigella for us) and some olive oil.
Bake high until crisp.