Dinner in Remscheid, Germany

I don't remember German food being this good the last time I was in Germany, but perhaps the years have blurred that memory too.  Perhaps it was the location (Frankfurt), perhaps it was the company, perhaps it was too many biergartens, but I mostly remember a lot of "wursts" for dinner, the iconic wiener-shaped meat products that seriously challenged my intestinal fortitude by the end of a 5-day stay.

This time around, I did my own meal ordering.  At the end of a long day of plant tours and interviews, I settled in to the hotel dining room, looking forward to a simple meal by myself and some time to gather my thoughts.  I think I got here (the restaurant, not Germany) at the end of the blue plate special.  I believe a female customer was having a serious hot flash, but perhaps it was just the bill.

I find a seat off to one side, a quiet table to myself, yet close enough to observe the rest of the restaurant while I eat my meal.  The decor in the restaurant resembles "Early European Grandma".  Sheer white curtains and valances hang on all the windows.  Each table is topped by white, double tablecloths, then further topped by floral tablecloths, they resemble table-sized doilies.  Candles are lit on every table but mine.  My table shares its top with a small Grandma-esque lamp.  Along the window ledges and various odd furniture throughout the restaurant are ceramic pieces, mostly cats and ducks, some elephants and porcelain children.  Each table has its own porcelain goos, bird or duck on it.

My waitress approaches.  I am determined to stun her with my command of her native language.  Instead, I stutter and point, speaking in English.  I order a split porkloin, salad and a glass of the local red wine.  There is another single woman in the dining room.  She has ordered a beer in a tall pilsner glass.  It looks good.

The street outside looks warm and green.  It's just past 7.30 p.m and summer has a foothold in Remschein.

Back inside, one young ponytail man is speaking quite earnestly with an English-speaking woman.  He's told her he was raised in Belgium, bordering France.  Is that a common pickup line, I wonder?  Does it require an accent?

In addition to ponytail man and girl, and beer-drinking woman, we have a mixed party of six, and an elder party of 4.  The elder party are split along sexist lines - the men talk to the men and the women drink wine and talk to each other.  The party of six includes 4 men and two women, they all quietly converse.  The beer-businesswoman has had her dinner and enjoys her beer as she reads from a small paperback.  Two men directly behind me remain relatively silent throughout their meal.  I can hear the slicing of meat, the chewing of food, and the clink clank of silverware on plates.  They are Indian or Pakistani.

My meal arrives, salad, entree and wine all together and at once. 

I'm thankful I could translate the menu, because my pork looks delicious.  It's lightly breaded, then baked with ham, tomato and cheese.  Dinner is simple, yet amazing.  The pork is juicy and tender, yet crispy and tasty along all the edges.  I take my time with my salad and pork, knowing this is my last night in Remschein.

The sound of the women's voices feels like an undertow.  Their constant murmurring undulates beneath the strength of the baritones in the room. 

I order a second glass of wine, so I can stay in this warm place, where people are sharing stories.  Voices rise and fall in waves.  I find myself enjoying the conversation of others, though I can't understand much of what I hear.  Bitte, danke and nein stand out amongst the other German words I can't translate.  Ponytail man and his date get up to leave.  Three skinny young men take their place.  My evening in Remschein ends.

Breakfast in Remscheid, Germany

I have ventured out of my room to the hotel restaurant in search of two things:  breakfast and an electrical adapter.  The last time I was in Europe, I stayed at a hotel that had proper electricity.  But Germany runs on 220v and my curling iron runs on 120v, so I was in dire need of an adapter.  My hair was dry, thanks to the German-installed hair dryer, but the style..... well... it was "not so much".  "So very sorry" the innkeeper says.  Heavy sigh on my part, but at least a good breakfast is right around the corner.

As I sit in the restaurant, slowly stirring the cream into my coffe, I look cautiously around and realize..... I think I have taken someone's seat.  I thought the pot of coffee came with the table, quite efficient these Germans.  But no, I think someone else ordered it.  But (I say "But" again, though resolutely to myself) I have served myself some kaffee, and so the table is now mine.  The kaffee is in the cup, clear evidence that I belong to this table.  Unfortunately, I haven't figured out if this is self-serve or the waitress comes around with a menu (Denny's comes to mind in a horrible flashback).  Besides that, I am stuck to the chair in total mortification.

I demurely look around once more.  I believe the man whose table I took is seated one table over - enjoying his breakfast that he had planned to eat at this table.  Sans kaffee.

It's pleasant to sit and sip my kaffee, listening to conversations that I can't understand.  There is some English smattered through the quiet discussions, but it sounds mostly German.  Looking through my Berlitz German phrase book is not very helpful.  I can't really eavesdrop in true American fashion.  I suppose I could try to learn the language, but doubt that I'd have a mastery of it in time for lunch.

No waitress came over.  I watched the other patrons and realized (too late) that, just like other European hotels, breakfast was included.  One only had to haul one's arse to the other room to find a beautiful array of pastries, meats, cheeses and fruit juices.  Oh well, tomorrow, a real German breakfast with hot kaffee.  Today, ich habe hunger.

Ciao.