Thanksgiving turkey in Berlin

The Berliner Dom, Protestants' reply to St. Peter's Basilica, and Berlin's TV tower.

We took our first trip to Berlin over Thanksgiving, a flight to a real big city, where people jaywalk (yes, even Germans!) and buses employ their horns. After endless idyllic villages, I found the loud, gloomy city oddly comforting.

Checkpoint Charlie. In Berlin, dusk is just a deeper shade of gray.

Any construction-smitten little boy would find plenty of toys in construction-riddled Berlin.

On the fourth Thursday in November, I wish we had been seated around a dining table with our families. I dreamt of a great turkey resting on a platter, its skin crispy and glistening. My mom's pecan pie, its rich layer of sugary sweetness topped with a pebbled roof of pecans.

But instead, since we couldn't teleport ourselves across the Atlantic, I instead hunted for an American Thanksgiving dinner. At least let me fool my taste buds.

We took a tour of the Reichstag, the Berlin parliament building. It's free, but you must schedule ahead online. The dome emits sci-fi coolness at night.

But where does one find Thanksgiving in Berlin?

Ja. It's as American as you can get.

If nothing else, you can count on Hard Rock Cafe to be predictable.

I wish they'd turn the dang music down. But perhaps that's all in the American ambience.

My Thanksgiving supper, 2012

So I'd say, if you find yourself in Berlin on a certain Thursday, you can do far worse than this respectable platter for 17€. (26,50€ for three courses – add corn chowder and pumpkin pie.). The turkey was meaty, the mashed potatoes luscious, the green beans a near perfect replica of my mother's. 

But alas. There was no pecan pie.

Calw, Germany

Sometimes, I just want to get in the car and go. No plan, no schedule, no list of restaurants and GPS addresses and museum opening hours and hotel reservations. No worry about arriving late or missing x, y and z. (Low expectation, my husband preaches. You can only be pleasantly surprised.)

And every so often, we do just that.

A few weekends ago, when autumn was waving hello and begging us to take a closer look, we headed in the vague direction of Baden-Baden on windy back roads. 

We weren't but a few miles out of the city when I spied roadside vegetable stand. Glorious rows of pumpkins and one big sandbox full of big jack-o-laterns waiting to be born. Stop the car!

Pumpkins, small and very edible.

Another lovely thing about Germans: The entire stand was an honor system. They post the prices, and you pick out your pumpkin and put your cash in the green barrel. 

We bought three: a big guy that became our gangnam-style Jack and two little guys that later were delicious. I roasted them, mixed them with feta and dried sage, and stuffed them into wonton wrappers.

Pumpkin wonton-raviolis in progress. I'd not recommend imitating our pinching style unless you'd like leaky wontons.

After we buckled in our new pumpkin passengers, we continued on. Calw was somewhere ahead, birthplace of author Hermen Heisse. 

Would it be worth a stop? 

I'm not sure why I even wondered. It's astonishing how every single German village seems to be postcard-worthy charming. Each has a square, a church usually with lovely stained glass windows, coffee shops, little storefronts, a statue or a fountain or both. 

A lovely little river flowing through downtown Calw.

Hermann Hesse hangs out on the Calw bridge. He was very gracious about posing with us for photos.

Now that we've met Herr Hesse, I feel obliged to read "Stepphenwolf."

Also on the bridge, a pretty little chapel:

If you peer inside the church on the Calw bridge, you'll see beautiful stained glass windows representing families' shields.

Before we got back on the road, we stopped by a random cafe for soup (suppe!). I don't think I've ever been disappointed with a soup in Germany. They are rich and delicious, not over salted, and usually pretty cheap. I think these two at Cafe Wendland were just a few euro each.

Tip: You rarely go wrong with goulash soup in Germany. It's thick, meaty and delicious. 

Tomato soup with a dollop of cream.

And did we ever get to Baden-Baden? I think you can guess that answer.

Fantastical Road Signs

I love driving.

I am crazy for wide-open highways, verdant Appalachian hills, cliffs straight down to the rippling Pacific, rock formations in a baking desert, snowy Rocky peaks jutting out of my rear-view mirror.

But nothing beats driving in Europe and seeing signs like this:

Paris?

On our road sign? 

As if it were Springfield or Rockville?

Almost as good: 

Paris --- 435 km

(Ohhh, that feels so doable!)

But honestly, I can't remember the miles. We were too busy gawking at the glistening black blur of a Mercedes SLS. Or matching license plate to cities. (BIT? Bitte? Bitburg?) 

Or trying not to miss the next exit, because nothing is in simple north-south-east-west terms here. 

Germans expect you to know your geography. Imagine driving out of D.C. and wanting to go to Baltimore. You reach a point. Instead of choosing north or south, you must pick: Solomons or Severn.

See above sign. Strasbourg or Saarbrücken?

Tip: The two cities reside in completely different countries.

GPS is not optional.

One last photo for the road.

Here's a glorious set of signs, translated.

First: You are entering France.

Second: You are entering the autobahn.

Third: You are entering the zone of no speed limit.

Europe, you win!

Zucchini Blossoms: Part Deux

The three delicate zucchini blossoms from our August market haul (oh, that deviously sounds like we only visited the market once) were delicious.

I haven't seen them since, but I'm on the watch.

These beautiful orange bursts are so velvety and light. I couldn't imagine doing to them what we kept hearing as suggestions, what kept coming up in Google searches.

Really? You want me to stuff these gauzy, light babies with luscious cheese, and then fry them?

Seems a bit wrong, but that's what the collective said to do.

And they were right.

I bought mascarpone cheese, a rich Italian creamy cheese, for this experiment, upon recommendation.

Then I mixed it with blue cheese crumbles we happened to have in the fridge.

I made a quick and dirty egg wash – scrambled up an egg – and dunked the blossoms in, then coated them in flour, then laid them in a pan of olive oil, just hot enough to sizzle.

My one bit of advice: Eat them immediately!

To my great luck, I had completely forgotten about the blossoms.

The other dishes had been made. The table had been set. The wine had been poured.

And then I remembered – the zucchini blossoms!

This odd gem of chance meant that once the blossoms were finally ready, we ate them immediately.

And that's when they are best. Hot, crisp, gooey, tangy blue cheese against crisp bubbles of fried flour.

If your memory is better than mine, and the blossoms are ready before the rest:

Do not hesitate. Do not wait for your dinner companion. Do not first lay out the silverware and the tablecloth and the napkins. 

The blossoms just won't be as incredible a mere 5 minutes later. Think of it as a well-deserved amuse bouche for the cook!

August Market Loot

Today's market haul.

Every week, every month, every season brings new treasures at the market.

In Stuttgart, Germany, it's berry season.

I'm thinking of baking a blueberry-peach crumble for tomorrow.

We've gotten to love cauliflower a certain way. Basically, like tofu or chicken or any beige-white palette, cauliflower is simply a canvas for your favorite flavors.

First, saute chopped an anchovy or two and and a spoonful of minced garlic, to your taste, in olive oil. 

Then add the florets of cauliflower (washed, chopped, leaves removed), cooking until tender. 

Sprinkle with red pepper flakes.

Completely addictive. 

Even if I'm worn-out after a long week, I'll walk down to the farmers market just for the tomatoes. 

If I miss Saturday morning, I'm resigned to the only other option: grocery store tomatoes.

Which is to say, we'll have none at all.

We like to skewer and grill these little tomato balls, after letting them hang out with olive oil, balsamic vinegar and garlic. Delicious.

Any rare leftovers from grill night add a bright touch to a salad or frittata later.

Each week, we try to buy one new thing we've never cooked with before.

This week: zucchini blossoms.

Any ideas of what we should do with this beautiful trio?

Baby Back Ribs

One of my favorite odd details to marvel over while living in Europe is the prices.

As in, what costs what in Germany versus what costs what in the States.

While my brain knows it's a matter of supply and demand, my eyes still can't help widening. 

Beer is cheaper than water?

Wine is cheaper than water?

Gas is how much?

Most prices, honestly, are all in the reasonable range of what an American would expect, so long as you ignore the exchange rate, which bumps everything up a bit.

But then I saw a slab of ribs at the commissary. $4.50.

(I heard a rumor that Germans, who are fond of all things pig, actually do not care for ribs. Is that true? That might explain the rock-bottom prices for Americans, who will gladly take the throw-away cut.)

When I got the rack of ribs home and opened up the plastic, I realized: there were actually two racks of ribs.

Oh boy.

Our friends Michael and Margaret had introduced me to the commissary ribs some months ago. But Michael is fine cook, so he could likely turn cardboard into something delectable, perhaps with some seasoning and roasting. I'd tried ribs once before, and they didn't do so well. They were tough. They lacked flavor.

Two rules of ribs:

1) Rub them with a spice mixture and let the ribs acclimate. They need time.

2) Cook them for a long time. Like hours.

Michael kindly sent me his mom's baby back ribs recipe, as well as his spicy variant. But, of course, we didn't have onion powder or chili powder. So I merged the two and concocted my own attempt at a spice mix:

Brianne's Ribs Spice Mix

- 4 T(ablespoons) light brown sugar

- 1/2 T cayenne pepper

- 1 T paprika

- 1 T garlic powder

- 1 tsp sea salt

- 2 tsp cumin

- 1 tsp cinnamon

Place the ribs on a foil baking tray or foil-lined baking sheet.

Mix all the spices up. Then spread it over the ribs, as seen above, massaging the spice. More spice is nice.

Let them hang out, all spiced up, in the fridge for hours. Maybe over night. Maybe 24 hours. 

Cover the tray/sheet/ribs with a sheet of foil, pinching the edges to create a seal.

Bake at 300 F degrees (or 150 C degrees) for 2 to 2.5 hours. Uncover and paint with a barbecue sauce, turning the baste the other side, too. Cook for an additional half-hour or so, basting a few times.

They were amazing, tender, sweet, spicy. One of the best things I eaten all year.

Now, what was that rambling part about the cost?

Enter the photo above, our finished dinner, before it got gobbled up.

See anything strange?

Corn on the cob is a rarity here. A specialty item, perhaps.

But just last weekend, I spied a small stash of corn, in its husk, at the market. I did a skip. How much would just three ears cost?

In Germany, three ears of corn = two racks of ribs.

How's that for an exchange rate?

Lavender drinks

Growing up, I never understood the true difference between dried herbs and fresh herbs. 

Oregano is oregano is oregano, right?

And if not, please pass the Old Bay.

But in the many years since I blanketed my crabs, potatoes, corn on the cob, and all else spice-worthy, I've come to love the wonderful whiff that emerges when you finger a basil leaf or rub a spring of mint. The aroma is unmistakable, and irreplaceable.

The gateway herb, I think, must be basil. Dried basil is a sham of an imitation. The difference is so distinct, even the most stalwart doubter must concede: fresh is different.

After basil, perhaps a novice herb-lover meets dill. Then maybe cilantro, which is entirely different creature from its dried and ground seed counterpart, coriander. And yes, definitely oregano.

But lately I've been thinking about lavender. While it calls to mind Bed, Bath & Beyond and the assorted soap and candle gifts my teacher mom would tote home around the holidays, lavender is so much more than a bath scent.

And now I live in Europe, where lavender feels suitable than ever. 

This past Saturday, at the farmer's market, I bought the little bundle of lavender pictured above for 1€ – about $1.25. 

It's a little more dried than ideal, but it would do for what I had in mind: lovely summer drinks.

First: simple syrup, a friendly name for sugar water made from simmering equal parts water and sugar together until the sugar dissolves.

I removed the pot of simple syrup from the stove and stirred in a pile of lavender. I wondered if it was too much. In retrospect, it was probably too little. The lavender notes are delicate.

And then comes the fun: mixing the lavender simple syrup.

I tried a variation on a martini:

- two slices of lemon
- 1/2 ounce vermouth
- 2 ounces lavender simple syrup
- 1 ounce vanilla vodka

All shaken with several ice cubes, then strained.

It was too sweet for me, so I added a few dots of bitters. Gin would be better, I think. The vanilla vodka is a bit much, but if your sweet tooth is leading the way, it may be just right for you.

Take two, above.

Fill a glass with:

- 2 or 3 thick slices of either lime or lemon, squeezed

- a few ice cubes

- 1 ounce lavender simple syrup

Top off the glass with water.

Stir. Savor. Sigh.

Weinwandertag Esslingen (Wine Walk)

"Weinwanderweg" – in English, wein = wine, weg = path, so ...

One of the first you-can't-miss-this recommendations we got upon moving to Germany was: "You've gotta go to the Esslingen wine festival. It's only once a year, but they have a path where you wander around and get samples of wine. And the best part is the little wine glass you buy that hangs around your neck!"

Was that a little wine glass – or a big necklace charm?

Either way, I was in.

The latest in oenophile fashion.

The Weinwandertag Esslingen finally came into view this past weekend, for one day only: Sunday, May 20. We came. We wandered. We sipped. We sweated.

 Some notes for next year:

Here come the crowds of wine lovers.

First, Esslingen is easy to get to by the glorious Stuttgart public transit system. We took the S1 to the Esslingen stop. The path isn't far; just follow the crowds. If you have more than two people traveling together – and you don't already have a monthly/yearly/etc. pass – definitely get the group all-day pass for up to 5 or so people. It's usually ever so slightly more than the price of 4 one-way trips.

When you get off at the S-bahn Esslingen stop, just follow the crowds. Specifically: the Americans.

Apparently, every American within 20 miles has received the same gushing recommendation we did. We heard English all over the place. We ran into co-workers. We almost felt like we were back in Charlottesville, on a wine tour in Virginia. It didn't feel like a Real Authentic Foreign (i.e. Unusual) Experience. (Which is not good or bad; simply a surprise.)

As the weather heated up, I discovered my handy-dandy wine glass is also well-designed to hold old-fashioned water. (Unfortunately for me and my American tastes, all the water sold was bubbly.)

Check the weather. The same beating sun that grape vines bask in happily will also cook you. I turned a nice shade of Rosé. Maybe Merlot. Next time: sunscreen, hats, bottled water and a cooler in the car. (Or, as German weather is fickle, perhaps scarves and hand warmers will be in order.)

A 2€ pastry covered with cheese and baked with tomato. Imagine a very rich mini pizza.

We should have considered pre-eating or toting supplies. We arrived at noon, ready for wine tasting and noshing, but the crowds were incredible. We were novices. We were overwhelmed quickly. And the food, while tasty enough, was mostly bread and pastries until you get to the finish line. The smart Germans made their own picnics along the way – in the shady bends of the path, where trees arched over sweaty pockets of people.

This way to the WC (water closet, aka – the restrooms).

And yes, there are occasional port-a-potties and even a few trailer bathrooms along the path. The lines were long, but not insane.

Pay no attention to this deceptive photo. All the bathrooms had long lines, except the very, very last one. The one pictured.

The walk must have been several kilometers, a nice Sunday bit of exercise. And the vineyards and the view are intoxicating, even without the delicious sipping.

As for the wine, you could choose from several varieties, including Riesling, Spätburgunder (pinot noir), and Rosé. Toward the end, a French winery had their own stand, for 4€ a pour (the Esslingen wine was 2€ for a pour).

A long stretch of vineyard path, with no shade in sight.

Each time you made it to a wine station, you could have your "passport" – a folded piece of paper you were given at the beginning – stamped. At the end, if you collected all the stamps (6 or 7, I think), you would receive a free sample. (I didn't get anywhere close!)

The festive music at the end of the path.

After we rounded the last bend and started the long decline back to town, we began hearing music. By this point, I was exhausted and over-heating, my cheeks baking. A enormous white circular tent, upheld by a crane, was waiting, with a big brass band, and rows upon rows of benches and tables.

Tired and hot, I was thrilled to see – not the wine, not the salads, not the heaping Maultaschen (German ravioli, sort of), not the brats. But, oh yes:

Ice cream.

Just what every good wine fest ought to have.