Taste of Germany

I didn't write yesterday. Why?

Thirty-one years ago yesterday, I was born.

Thirty years ago yesterday, Louisiana Lightning, Sweet Lou, the Goose, and Bucky brought home an improbable pennant and then won the World Series to boot.

Twenty-Nine years ago yesterday, John Paul II said mass at Yankee Stadium.

There's gotta be a connection.

In any case, I spent the day yesterday trying desperately to discern a problem with the application known as bMatch. In the midst of that I received calls from my grandparents, father, mother, brother, uncle, and friends. A co-worker and friend gave me a torte. My supervisor - whose birthday is today - popped his head into my cubicle and said Happy Birthday. All in all, I've no complaints.

Then came dinner...

Just me and Joseph. Joseph had eaten there before. An upscale German restaurant in the Magnolia neighborhood of Seattle. Upscale German makes everyone laugh. 'What, upscale sausage?' No, not upscale sausage... The restaurant's name? Szmania's. Szmania is the last name of the chef, Ludger Szmania of Dusseldorf.

We stepped inside the restaurant and immediately saw a woman dressed as if she were living somewhere in the Bavarian Alps. A lot of people. We looked around and saw flags aplenty. Yellow, red, and black. We understood pretty quickly. And it had never dawned on me before. Oktoberfest.

The Bavarian clothes wearing hostess adeptly carrying three glasses of white wine, grabbed two menus and lead us to our two-person table. By the window. Away from all the people. A nice spot. We sat and looked at our menus. Titles in German. I don't know why it seemed strange to me, but it did. I had only ever seen Italian, French, and Chinese menus I couldn't understand...

A happy waitress approached the table. But we needed some time to peruse the menu. We perused. She returned.

We ordered a cheese tart with caramelized onion (Kase und something or other). And then we made decisions on the beer. I chose the Spaten Optimator. Joseph, the Spaten Pilsner. When she returned with the beer and the glass steins, we poured. Joseph commented that mine looked like root beer. It did, and when I tasted it, the beer had a sweet, full taste. Awesome. Joseph liked his too.

The appetizer came. Delicious. Almost like pizza. German food, where have you been all my life?

We ordered. We weren't ambitious enough to try Hasenpfeffer. No, we decided on meals that we could trust. It was our first time, after all. And I was more and more convinced it wouldn't be our last. Joseph chose the Jager Schnitzl (glorified pork chops) and I chose the Sauerbraten (glorified pot roast). In addition, I found on my plate spatzl. Still no idea, to be honest. Red cabbage, which I told Joseph tasted like Christmas. (No, I'm not sure what that means.) And finally, there were root vegetables. Carrots, cauliflower, broccoli, and some off-white looking thing that didn't have much taste.

Oh, and then I had to try another beer. Which one, I wondered. I perused the list and struggled mightily. The Franzikaner Hefe-Weisse? Or the Paulaner Salvatore Double Bock? No, I decided not to be cheap. I'm chose the Ayinger Ur-Weisse. Old-fashioned Wheat Dunkel – dark & complex, dry in palate, very fruity, bursting with flavor of apple & soft clove (Szmania's description). Very tasty.

We finished and they cleared our plates. Dessert? Well, of course. What would a birthday be without dessert? I ask Joseph if he'll have something. No, he said, I'm full and I'd like to go home. Home? I said to myself. No, I had to have some kind of German dessert. Chocolate cake was on the menu, but I couldn't do it. It would have been too much. Instead, I settled on the Pavlova. Merengue covered in sherbet and berries. Light, sweet. The perfect ending to the meal. Yes, we would return.

We entered our house and had the dogs assault us with tongues and tails. So happy to see us. I made my way into the bedroom and found atop the bed a gift and a card. A gift? Joseph... He had told me that my only gift was the Neil Diamond concert. I opened the card and read the sweet nothings. Then I carefully undid the wrapping paper. A Kohl's box. I opened it. And inside I saw electric blue. That's for all you civilians. For everyone else - that's you Uncle Mark - it was Giant blue. I pulled the jersey from the box and saw number 27. Brandon Jacobs. The first professional jersey I've ever owned. Awesome. And on the week that they're playing the Seachickens. Perfect timing.

Then we readied ourself to watch the recorded VP debate. Can you get me some cranberry juice, Joseph asked? Uh, sure. But we don't have any more. Yes, we do, he said. Okay, I said. Since I have memory issues, I decided to oblige. I opened the refrigerator to find a box from Borrachino's. A cake making store in Seattle. So, that's why he didn't want to have dessert at the restaurant, I realized. He just smiled. Fudge marble, my favorite. We ate as we watched Sarah Palin ask Joe Biden if she could call him Joe.

No, I'm not going to give my opinion on the VP debate. Except that I'm all for answering the moderator's questions. And not using the word maverick unless it pertains to Mel Gibson, Jodie Foster, or James Garner. Ever again...

A good birthday. And the party's still to come...