Monday, July 6, 2009

American. Squared.

The day starts warm. The sun laughs from on high as it heats my skin to a pinkish-red.

The yellow loops jut forth from a over saturated red background of a McDonalds store entice me.  I stumbled towards the congruent loops with my atlas stone slung over my shoulders. Hunched and drooling, I could already taste the Bacon Egg & Cheese Bagel, Hash browns, and orange juice in my mouth. 

I walked up to the entrance. The manager came out to open the store.  Everything in my mouth wanted me to take the next step and walk through golden arches.  

I'm proud to say I refused my buds of taste as I ventured past the familiar and onwards to the unknown.  It was time to see what Mundsburg had to offer my mouth.

After a series of destroyed sidewalks and uneven cobblestones, I found a local spot.  Cafe Trishina. 

Scents of fresh pastries and espresso drinks wafted from the door.  The shop was small and full of pastries with icing, sweetened fruit fillings, and glazed sandwiches. 

I asked what was good. I wish I could have asked in German, but instead I slowly said "What is good here?" with my hands pointing at the array of shiny breakfast delicacies. 

A friendly German teenage girl behind the counter chose a football sized sandwich for me.  A smile grew from a smirk to a full bodied grin which dominated my face.  

As she grilled the sandwich and decorated the bun with a specialized glaze, she asked me "Is America as crazy as the movies? Can you survive six minutes without stabbing happen?"

If we aren't bombing them in real life, we're doing it on screen.  

America, the land of crazies and killer.  I've often wondered what the perception of Americans was to the non political zealots and people unaffected by the era of world wars.  America is a scary land for foreigners.

I'll write more about this later, but for now, I don't want to preach about societal norms and lose your attention span. Or mine. 

Back to the good stuff: ze food.  I stood and waited to pay at the counter, when suddenly the teenage brunette shot me a dirty glance.  Dirty as in why-the-fich-are you-still-standing-there dirty.  "Go on. Go on." Said the girl with grandiose hand motions pointing towards the seating outside.  And, I left.

She kicked me out. Great.

Confused, I sauntered to the outdoor seating and found a table constructed in an industrial manner with stainless steel and wooden planks. It was surprisingly comfortable. Somehow the wood gave enough to keep your tailbone from feeling all the pressure.  As I marveled over the comfort of stiff wood, two women who were having a smoke and a pastry stood up and walked into the store to pay and leave. 

This is the Hamburg way, you pay after the food.

Eight minutes later (it felt like thirty for my stomach) my deutch friend brought forth the glazed breakfast pastry.  From the grill and the heat, the sandwich had reduced to half its size.  I was distraught.  How could this feed me? It was barely the size of my two fists put together.  Oh well, at least I know where McDonalds is. 

No. No. No. I am going to embrace the German culture and adapt to the eating and drinking habits. At least the eating habits (stop worrying mom).  I was determined to take my time with this sandwich and hope it filled me up.  The first bite wasn't anything special, but the second bite almost made me shit my pants.  It was delicious.  

The glazened texture over the outer surface of this Kaiser type roll gave a sweetened first taste, the cheese was as soft as butter and tasted like a slice of Munster, the ham was cured in sweetened red chili sauce.  All of these forces combined to create a morning glory. In my mouth.  

I moaned with adoration.  Two elderly German women smiled as they stared into my eyes from across the veranda.  I stopped moaning.

My first German breakfast was a success.  The cliff bars I had for breakfast the day before didn't count.  Anything which passes through your system in under six hours doesn't count as a meal. My digestive system is a system, not an amusement park ride.  I don't want record speeds and hairpin turns. I want it slow and steady. No lines, no thrill seekers.

Wow. This entry is going downhill fast. No pun intended.  I'll write more later. 

I promise. 


Post a Comment