To Market, to Market…

Shhh…. have you heard about this new restaurant called Black Market? Indy’s newest gastropub is sneaking onto the local scene with a whisper and not a roar, but with the kind of buzz it’s generating, this secret won’t be kept hush-hush very long.

After hearing great word of mouth from a couple of people whose food opinions I respect, I mentally put it on my radar. And when last night presented an opportunity to enjoy a nice dinner downtown with hubby, we sought it out.

Situated on the far eastern end of Mass Ave, you would easily miss Black Market if you weren’t looking for it. We WERE looking for it and still almost missed it. There’s no sign or any indication whatsoever that this nondescript brick building is a restaurant except for the glimpse of some folks eating at tables in the window. And there’s a cool old bike parked out front. If they’re going for the speakeasy vibe, they’ve definitely nailed it.

Black Market on Mass Ave

As far as restaurants go, Black Market is definitely trendier than the kinds of places I usually frequent, but still friendly and casual enough to make anyone (i.e. hopelessly untrendy types like myself) feel welcome. Inside, the décor is right in keeping with all that semi-industrial modern stuff that’s so popular right now — dark wood, sleek fixtures, exposed brick, a chalkboard wall when you first walk in.

The lighting over the bar is pretty cool, consisting of one long wood beam suspended from the ceiling with little spotlights drilled in down the length. Black Market isn’t big, just a couple of long communal tables down the middle and a few other small tables scattered around. I’d say it was slightly more than half full during our visit. Not really surprising, considering that it’s only been open a few weeks and hasn’t had any sort of big splashy kickoff. I expect crowds will be picking up steadily as word gets out.

The imaginative menu is cleanly presented on a clipboard, detailing small plates, entrees, a handful of sides and a couple desserts. There’s also a well-chosen beer and wine list, but having just come from Tomlinson Tap for a couple of pints, I stuck to water. Our service throughout the meal was impeccable and unpretentious, and the pacing perfect.

On to the food… lots of things sounded good on paper. The housemade pickle plate appetizer and the Fischer Farms beef tongue cocktail with beets, cottage cheese and horseradish both came highly recommended, but we veered off course to sample some other stuff.

Hubby used to live in Wales years ago, so he immediately perked up to see Welsh rarebit among the small plate offerings. Welsh rarebit sounds fancy, but basically it’s an open-faced grilled cheese. This is a good rustic one, with tangy aged cheddar atop a manly slice of toasted barley bread. Did I detect a hint of béchamel beneath the blanket of melty cheese? There was also a sneaky flash of something blink-and-you’ll-miss-it spicy. We devoured this starter with knives and forks and looked forward to more.

Welsh rarebit

For an entrée, we’d decided to share the pork schnitzel with a side of fries. Now, we’ve spent some time in Germany and are well versed in authentic schnitzels that are so big, they arrive hanging off the plate. This is an updated, yet fairly traditional version. The serving size is smaller (although still plenty large) and the breading is lighter, unlike the classic Hoosier tenderloin where half the attraction is pulling off crunchy fried bits of batter to nibble on their own merits. The pork itself was extremely tender and had great flavor; I’m assuming it was locally sourced. We squeezed the slice of lemon over the top and had at it.

schnitzel and slaw

The slaw that accompanied the schnitzel was a great fresh counterpoint – lacy fronds of red and green cabbage with paper thin green apple slices, all in a light tangy dressing. Yum.

The pomme frites-style fries were good too, thin, hot and crisp. No ketchup here, they’re served with a tart lemony housemade mayo spiked with herbs, almost like a really good fresh tartar sauce.

Fearing we would still be hungry (this was ridiculous, as it turned out), we also put in an order for the Gunthorp Farms-sourced pork belly appetizer, advertised on the menu with a sweet and sour glaze and three-bean salad. Our server let us know that they had changed up the preparation for the evening, instead offering the pork belly as a hash with root veggies, duck cracklings and a fried egg. Still sounded totally ok by me.

pork belly hash

In retrospect, we probably should have nixed the pork belly and ordered a dessert to share instead. The hash was good, but the pork was used more as a flavoring ingredient and didn’t really stand out like I’d hope it would. The egg was nicely cooked with a rich, runny yolk (hubby prefers his eggs hard scrambled and stayed away from that side of the plate after I’d cut into it). Between the pork, the duck and the sautéed veg, the whole dish was the tiniest bit greasy and just way too heavy after we’d already eaten cheese bread, schnitzel and fries. I’m not sure what we were thinking. There was also some broccoli fried into the hash, and after a bite of it, that was all I could taste. I was glad we’d eaten this dish last. (Couldn’t help but think this would be awesome hangover food.)

Alas, we were too full for dessert. Boo. The campfire shortbread with chocolate ganache and bourbon marshmallow sounded like a sexy X-rated  s’more.

All in all, our dinner at Black Market was a good experience. The small crowd seemed to be having a jolly time — it gets a little loud in the narrow dining room — and the other plates we spied coming out of the kitchen looked and smelled delicious. Especially the burger and the lamb sausage Scotch egg. Great googly moogly. The menu also gives shout-outs to lots of local suppliers, which I always like to see. It’s reassuring to know exactly where your dinner is coming from (see previous Slow Food post).

We did think the food was on the heavy side, though, especially considering the season. There are a couple of salads on the menu, so it was probably our own fault for making the selections we did. I’d like to revisit in cold weather; I can already picture myself wearing a sweater and being very happy with these meaty meals, a glass of red wine and snow falling gently outside.

Black Market scores. Go now if you want to catch a rising star.

For more information:

http://www.blackmarketindy.net/

A trans-Atlantic love story

For our last two nights in Deutschland, we’re paying homage to the old stomping grounds where hubby used to live six years ago.

Hubby and I dated for the summer of 2004, but broke things off when I took a job in Chicago. He subsequently took a new job himself and moved to Germany. Touche. We reconnected to say goodbye just before he left the country and decided to keep in touch. Several months later, I took him up on an invitation to visit (i.e. “stalked” him, as he likes to tell the story) and ended up staying in Germany with him for five weeks, during which time it became clear that 1) we were back together and 2) things were pretty serious. (Ironic that although distance was a big factor in our Chicago-Indy breakup, we somehow found a way to make things work between America and Europe.) In a fortuitous stroke of timing, the company hubby was working for disbanded in March, he ended up returning to the U.S. and, four months later, we were married. The rest, as they say, is history.

My fateful overseas flight on New Year’s Eve 2004 was only my second trip to Europe, the first being a fever-pitched high school bus tour that covered four countries in a week. Hubby was making his home in a small village called Ginsheim-Gustavsburg just outside Frankfurt, and that’s where we’re staying right now.

Ginsheim is totally different from Cologne. Much smaller, for starters, and more charming with half-timbered houses, a picturesque canal full of boats next to a walking trail, and a handful of local businesses and restaurants. You can easily catch the bus into nearby Mainz for shopping and a little excitement, but Ginsheim itself is a quiet, traditional German town in every way. Many of the homes and buildings have been here forever, passed down through families from one generation to the next.

Tomas, the hotel owner, REALLY did us a solid. Hubby booked lodging at Hotel Schafer, Tomas’ lovely establishment in Ginsheim, and when we arrived, explained that we had a little boy in tow.  In addition to the hotel rooms, there are also several apartments available to rent on the premises, so Tomas let hubby take a look at the two that were open this weekend and he settled on the larger.

Compared to some of the places we’ve stayed throughout this trip, these luxurious digs are damn near palatial! There’s a huge living room/sitting area, half sectioned off by fabric curtains to hide a double bed; a separate big bedroom with another double bed and a single bed; a small but nicely appointed full kitchen; a modern bathroom; two TVs; and tons of closets. AND, the whole suite costs about half of what we were paying for the expanded closet we’ve been sleeping in back in Cologne!

After checking in last night and making ourselves quite at home for a relaxing few hours, we tore ourselves away from our cushy pleasure palace in search of some dinner. During our previous time here in Ginsheim, hubby and I liked to frequent a small pub just down the street called Der Kleine Hexe; translation,“the little witch.” It’s a cozy little joint, full of cutesy witch dolls flying from the ceiling and old-school dark wood décor. The beer is cold, the food is great, and everything is super cheap.

Der Kleine Hexe

In fact, Hexe is where I spent that first New Year’s Eve with hubby all those years ago. The staff had prepared a feast and simply opened up the kitchen to let guests serve themselves from all manner of hearty German fare like gulaschesuppe, roast pork, sauerkraut, fish, toothsome breads, etc. For me, it was a fabulous introduction to German cuisine and hospitality. I remember standing in the street at midnight as 2005 rolled in, kissing my now-husband and watching the locals detonate enough fireworks to choke off the fresh air supply for the rest of the week.

So, last night, there wasn’t any question about where we’d have dinner. Hubby and I sandwiched the wee lad into a corner booth in the hopes of keeping his realm of destruction somewhat contained, and sipped away huge-ass mugs of cold Jever beer (three euros a pop – SCORE!)

The menu at Hexe hasn’t changed in six years. Hubby’s go-to order is something called “Sombrero Schnitzel,” a massive breaded pork cutlet topped with a German interpretation of Mexican ingredients — cheese, spicy tomato sauce and peppers, I believe. However, he passed it up in favor of spaghetti Bolognese. I sought out something I could share with the toddler and settled on a bowl of kasespatzle, a macaroni-and-cheese-type concoction of homemade noodles with a creamy sauce. I also got a small house salad on the side. The serving sizes were ginormous. Hubby made an admirable effort to finish his dinner and almost succeeded. I knew there was no way for me, and ended up bringing a bunch home in a to-go container.

The spatzle was yummy and soft, cooked just beyond al dente, exactly the way I like it. Even the toddler chowed down, and if that’s not a stamp of approval, I don’t know what is. Hubby snagged the first bite when the plate arrived at the table, thinking that the crispy bits on top were bacon. I was shocked he swallowed the mouthful after he realized that they were actually French-fried onions.

Full and happy, we rolled back to our expansive room and got a great night of shut-eye on the gloriously firm and comfortable beds.

Continuing our living large in Ginsheim, the hotel breakfast buffet was extensive. Europeans don’t do boring old rolls-and-coffee continental breakfasts. Ho ho ho, no! At nicer establishments like this one, you find a dizzying selection of options, many often surprising for American palates. In addition to the more conventional cold cereal, fresh fruit, juices, breads and pastries; our hotel sets out platters of German sausages, cheeses and cold cuts; a variety of spreadable toppings and accompaniments like tiny shrimp in a mayonnaisey sauce, veggies and pickles; and indigenously flavored jams (red currant? sultana?). There are also bowls full of whole nuts for the cracking and a mini-fridge of flavored yogurt cups. The only complaint was the coffee, kinda stale and not so great.

No matter, though. We would find our fix later at the Mainz food market. Every Saturday, the public space in the shadow of the imposing Mainz Dom cathedral shapeshifts into a teeming open-air market every bit as impressive as the ones in France. Stand after stand of beautiful produce, meats, eggs, cheeses, olives, breads, flowers, honey, oils — if they don’t have it, you don’t need it. The Christkindl market booths and decorations are also taking shape, lending an added sense of ceremony and joyous overtone. Many of the flower vendors are selling fragrant branches and wreathes made from seasonal greenery, bunches of fresh mistletoe, and festive arrangements of red and green blossoms.

Mainz market

We wandered through the bustling crowds, taking in all the sights, sounds and smells, and finally stopped to warm up with a coffee from a vendor operating out of the shell of an old French mini bus.

the kick-ass coffee bus

We took the huge line to be a good sign, and we were right. Coffee-snob hubby gave his double espresso the highest marks, declaring it the best java he’s ever had in Germany, and my cappuccino was delicious.

coffee bus wares

After a pleasant drive north past scenic vineyards (this is prime-time riesling/gewurztraminer production territory), we crossed over the Rhine on a ferryboat at the ridiculously quaint town of Rudesheim, much to the delight of the squealing toddler. The riverside villages are like something out of a fairytale with spired churches, crumbling stone castles and half-timbered homes. You half expect Hansel and Gretel to come bounding out around the corner at any moment.

Rudesheim on the Rhine

The toddler seems to have invented his own pseudo-Germanic dialect over the past week or so. We’ve been treated to verbal gems that crack us up, like “Where’s mein teddy?” and “Hold mein hand!” The wee dude also spontaneously gave the Hexe barman an enthusiastic and unprompted “Danke!” after being handed a glass of sparkling water. The barman seemed pleased, but lost patience and ignored us after the little guy thanked him for fourth time.

Sadly, the no-children-in-restaurants attitude has followed us south, I fear. We stopped into Hexe this afternoon for a beer and found half dozen or so people sitting around watching a football match on the TV in the corner. In utter silence. This was such a foreign concept, pun intended, I couldn’t get over it. And here we come, barging in with a noisy two-year-old. The reception was not warm. We managed to sit fairly quietly in a corner, nursing our beers, until the toddler tripped on a step and fell, letting loose with an ear-shattering wail. Every pair of eyes in the place was upon us instantly. I could sense the bad vibes shooting our way as hubby snatched the little guy up and hightailed it outside to finish his sobfest there without judgment. We left shortly thereafter.

Our last night in Germany — dinner in the hotel restaurant was the same old story, although the staff and diners seemed a little more forgiving than the Hexe crowd. This was a pretty upscale place, and the food was worth the trouble – schnitzel topped with pears and brie and served with potato croquettes for hubby, and scrumptiously tender pork medallions in a mushroom-cream sauce over spinach and linguine for me. Tasty, tasty stuff. Now if only the toddler had let us actually enjoy our dinners without insisting on running riot around the restaurant… Sigh. Dining out en masse is just not fun these days. Hubby does much better at chasing in these instances, namely because he eats so much faster than I do. I took the toddler back up to the room for his bath and hubby followed after paying the bill, thoughtfully bringing along a two-scoop serving of vanilla bean ice cream with a decadent chocolate sauce to pour over. That’s my guy!

After three weeks on the road, it’s time to pack it in and head to Frankfurt airport for our long haul home. Auf weidersehn and danke schoen, Deutschland.

Greetings from Germany

We’ve been in Deutschland for two days now and the differences between this country and the previous two we’ve visited on this trip are strikingly apparent.

For starters, Germans operate by the book. I’m not saying they’re, um, uptight, just very much more formal and reserved than the French or the Italians. Gone are the friendly smiles on the streets, the pats on the head and high-fives for the toddler, and the casual sense of ease. These people mean serious business, not monkey business. Not that there aren’t exceptions to every rule, of course. The young man at hotel reception who checked us in couldn’t have been more accommodating, and there have been a few random offers to help me carry the stroller up and down public stairs.

I must fess up and say that the language barrier is really wearing on me at this point in the trip. I know enough French to get by in basic interactions and social situations, but I’m totally at a loss when it comes to German. I can say hello, goodbye, please and thank you, another beer and where is fill-in-the-blank. That’s about it. If someone starts speaking to me in French, I can probably deduce enough to figure out the gist of what he or she is getting at. In German? Not a clue. In some cases, this is probably not such a bad thing.

For instance, the waitress at the restaurant last night blasted me for the collapsed baby stroller accidentally falling into the busy main service aisle for about two seconds before I could grab it out of the way. Or the dirty backpacker at the Dom who made some sort of lewd comments about me hefting the stroller and carrying it up a small flight of stairs (without offering to help). It sounded like the German equivalent of “oh yeah, baby.” Whatever it was, he was NOT on the up and up. I contemplated telling him to F off, but he probably wouldn’t have understood anyway.

Our hotel room here is tiny compared to our previous accommodations – three single beds crammed into a room with a cramped bathroom, slow wifi connection and no fridge (fortunately, it’s cold enough outside that we can keep milk, yogurt and beer on the window ledge). The hotel does offer a pretty impressive breakfast buffet that includes stuffed crepes, scrambled eggs, a mélange of fried meats, fresh fruit, nuts, cheese/cold cut platters, and something that looks suspiciously like sushi. It’s a buzzkill that the food doesn’t taste as good as it looks, and the coffee sucks.

Even hubby prefers to get his morning fix at the Starbucks around the corner, and you know he wouldn’t set foot in that place unless he was really desperate. The toddler and I actually ducked in there ourselves yesterday – they offer some interestingly flavored seasonal lattes, and I’m intent on trying all of them. The lebkuchen version was yummy with a hint of honey and spice, and the toffee nut I enjoyed today was equally good. Hubby brought back a cup of steamed milk for the toddler; he wasn’t interested at first, but got pretty excited once we started calling it “Michael’s coffee.”

I guess I’m making Germany out to sound pretty bad, which is unfair. Really, Cologne is a lovely city. Very picturesque with the gigantic Dom cathedral as the centerpiece of the city, hyper clean, lots of charming pedestrian shopping streets, and an entirely different kind of good food than France or Italy.

Cologne Dom

For our first dinner in town, we revisited a place we found and liked during our trip last year. Bier Esel is an old-style traditional German brauhaus not far from where we’re staying. I had my heart set on schnitzel, and that’s what I got. The place was packed, though, and service was slow as a wet week in Wales (another classic hubby-ism). It felt like we had to wait forever for our food and drinks, not a pretty picture when you’re exhausted from a daylong train journey and trying to wrangle a cranky, overtired, hungry toddler. At last, our dinners arrived. If you enjoy Hoosier-style pork tenderloin, trust me, you’d like schnitzel. My pounded, breaded pork cutlet was absolutely enormous, served Jager-style with a creamy mushroom sauce and a mountain of fries. I chewed my way through half of it and cried uncle.

What I really love about German cuisine are the snack stands and backereis (bakeries) on every corner. German baked goods are every bit as good as those you find in France, but in a completely different way. The breads are heartier — hefty pretzel rolls and chewy buns, but there are also fabulous butter cookies, strudels, cakes, huge doughy gingerbread-like men, and donut-ish Berliners. It’s all good. My usual lunch here is a tomato mozzarella sandwich on a crusty hard roll, perhaps with a smear of butter or basil oil and a slice of salami. Yum, yum, yum.

a typical backerei window

One of the first things I ate during my first trip to German six years ago was a bowl of warming, delicious gulaschesuppe, and it’s still something I seek out when we’re here. You can also find a thicker gulasche on its own served over noodles, and that’s what I ate last night. In its basic form, gulasche is a beef stew made with peppers and onions in a spicy tomato sauce. The suppe is the same thing in more watery soup form. Either way, it’s the perfect thing to warm your bones and your tummy on a cold night, and the version I had last night during our return trip to Bier Esel was fantastic. So good that hubby ended up eating half of it, despite the fact that he’d already had gulasche earlier in the day somewhere else.

On the Cologne agenda this week – a couple of coffees with the American Women’s Club and a trip to the local Chocolate Museum. Stay tuned for a full report.

German 101 for foodies

Unlike romantic French or melodic Italian, German is not what I consider a pretty language. Hearing it spoken aloud, some words and phrases aren’t too bad and remind me in a way of pigeons softly cooing. Other sounds are harsh, guttural and downright ugly. This is not a good thing when you’re trying to figure out something appealing to eat in a restaurant and it sounds like your waiter is trying to clear a big wad of phlegm from his throat as he recites the specials.

It’s a given that you’ll have to eat during a visit to Germany, so it does pay to get acquainted with a few of the more common food items and how to pronounce them. Many restaurants in larger German cities such as Cologne do offer menus with English translations to make things easier. Many, however, do not, leaving you scratching your head and wondering just what the hell “erbsen” is and whether you really want to eat one.

It’s always reassuring when the plate the waiter brings to the table contains exactly what you thought you were ordering, and it is possible to deduce some items phonetically or visually. Say “schokolade” out loud and you can pretty much guess that it means “chocolate.” Same with “milch” (milk), “kaffee” (coffee) and “salat” (salad). However, seeing signs for “back” shops initially made me think they were advertising chiropractic services, or perhaps something along the lines of a “Relax the Back”-type store. Au contraire, mon frere. “Back” means “bake,” so there you go. Bakery, or as the Germans say, “backerei.”

The items that really threw me for a loop the first time I read them were the meat dishes. Meat here is called, somewhat graphically, “fleisch.” Yup. You’re literally ordering flesh. Add on the animal to determine the kind of meat, as in “schweinefleisch” (pork) or “rindfleisch” (beef). To make matters worse, ground meat is called “hackfleisch.” It’s enough to turn one into a vegetarian if you think about it too much.

Oddly, “schinken” is not chicken, as you might be led to believe after pronouncing it aloud. It’s actually ham. Chicken is “huhnchen.”

After you’ve dined out a few times and eaten something that you’ve enjoyed, it’s easy enough to look for it again on menus elsewhere. Ever the creature of habit, hubby finds one or two things he likes and sticks to them (see “pizza salami” in my earlier entry). Some consistently good and authentic German standbys that I often find myself seeking out include “gluhwein,” a delicious hot mulled red wine; “gulaschesuppe,” spicy beef-tomato soup with peppers; “schnitzel,” breaded pork tenderloin; “rippchen,” a smoked pork chop; and “spaetzle,” noodles, sometimes served with a cheese sauce like a German mac and cheese (“spaetzle mit kase”). Oh, and “eis,” which is ice cream or gelato. You see tons of signs for “eis cafes,” charming little eateries that serve coffee and desserts.

There’s sort of a caste system of restaurants here as well. There are the nicer, more upscale, sit-down places where you can enjoy full table service. There is plenty of recognizable American fast-food, sadly. There are smaller, cozy, more casual restaurants where you can enjoy a beer and some food. There are also tons of bakery/coffee shops with a handful of barstools or sometimes even just tall bar tables and no seats, good for zipping in and out for a quick espresso and a pastry. There are also snack stops galore (“imbiss”) where you can grab a quick bite of whatever might tickle your fancy. Turkish kebabs, Chinese take-out, pizza slices, even seafood.

As in any language, the most important German words to know are “bitte” (please) and “danke schoen” (thank you). I’ve found those two utterances alone, along with awkwardly pointing to the item you want on the menu, can often see you through the worst of times when it comes to ordering.

Guten appetit!

Cologne – day zwei

Got some semi-decent sleep last night, except for a couple-hour awake break thrown in for good measure courtesy of the toddler. We finally got up around 10 a.m. local time (uh… 5 a.m. Indy time?), fed the kiddo and ventured out for a breakfast of coffee and German pastry.

German backereis (bakery-style snack shops) are a dime a dozen. You can find one every block or so, and they are TASTY. Not quite as fancy as the French patisseries, but definitely no slouch in their own right. There are a couple of major franchises that you see over and over, plus a bunch of local shops, too.

These establishments are fairly small, they may not even offer seating, just to-go service. The display windows tell the story in a second. Lined with row upon row of mouthwatering baked goods, it’s hard to make a selection – croissants, hard rolls, raisin-studded rolls, cinnamony buns, donut-looking things, soft pretzels, oh my. The coffee is hit or miss, most comes straight out of a machine and isn’t great, but who cares. You’re only using it to wash down the pastries, after all.

a small portion of a typical backerei window

We stopped into one of the bakery franchise shops for breakfast. Hubby ordered a croissant filled with creme, and I opted for a German specialty called a Berliner. It’s basically a round jelly donut covered in sugar. Yummy. And the center of controversy…

In Cold War-era 1963, John F. Kennedy was making a rousing speech in West Berlin, and in a well-meaning show of support, uttered the words “Ich bein ein Berliner,” proudly intending to say “I am a Berliner.” However, the literal translation came across as “I’m a jelly donut.”

Ein Berliner

He wasn’t far off base though; residents of Berlin ARE called Berliners, as residents of Frankfurt are called Frankfurters. I assume Hamburg residents are called Hamburgers, but can’t confirm.

Anyway, we wandered around a little more today, playing tourist and taking requisite photos of the Dom and all around town. We stopped into the train station so hubby could check into arrangements to get us to Milan later next week, then back out into the streets.

Since we’d eaten such a a late breakfast and snacked through the day, the next real meal was dinner this evening. Hubby wanted to go to a little place along the river called “Der Lowenbrau” that he’d frequented quite a bit when he was here last year. It was cold, but outdoor tables set up with space heaters allowed al fresco dining without shivering. We ordered up a couple of beers, and fed the baby while we waited for our food.

Hubby ordered one of his standbys, a pizza salami – thin-crusted pie with tomato sauce, cheese and paper-thin slices of salami. He got to know this dish well during his previous visits to Germany.

hubby's pizza salami

There are a plethora of Italian restaurants in Germany, due to proximity I’m guessing. Actually, there are restaurants of just about any ethnicity and ilk you could hope to find in major German cities such as Cologne. Indian, Thai, Argentinian, Ethiopian, Mexican; you name it, and it’s here. Sadly, there are also a good number of American chains such as McD’s, Burger King, KFC, Pizza Hut and Starbucks, although I can’t imagine why any U.S. visitor would eat there with so many other local options! Nice to be so spoiled for choice, but I figure when in Rome…

I want to soak up as much of the authentic German cuisine as I can while we’re here. Really, why wouldn’t I? German food is damn good stuff! Heavy on the breads, meats and potatoes, but with some interesting spicing and variations. They definitely like their pork, beef and lamb here. Typical sides seem to include potatoes, cabbage/sauerkraut and spaetzle (noodles).

My dinner tonight was the first of what I anticipate will be several schnitzels of the trip, along with fries and a small salad. I venture to say almost anyone in Indiana who eats meat has eaten a version of schnitzel. I’m talking about the traditional Hoosier pork tenderloin. It’s the same thing — a boneless pork chop, pounded into submission, breaded and fried. There are many ways you can get your schnitzel here, with a variety of sauces and toppings.

Tonight, I enjoyed a Jagerschnitzel, the pork topped with a dollop of creamy mushroom gravy. It was good, but not as good as the schnitzels we used to enjoy in Patrick’s old homestead of Ginsheim-Gustavsburg, just outside of Frankfurt. There, we frequented a tiny pub called Der Kleine Hexe (“The Little Witch”) that made a MEAN schnitzel. The place was so small and traditional, you could actually hear some little old German grandma in the back, pounding out your pork cutlet with a rolling pin before frying it up and bringing it out to your table. Hubby always ordered their Sombrero schnitzel, the chop topped with cheese, peppers and spicy tomato sauce. Brings back good memories.

my Jagerschnitzel dinner

Tonight, unfortunately, the toddler decided to act up, effectively squelching any plans of finishing our dinners in peace or sticking around for a second drink. Hubby and I took turns chowing down our meals while the other chased our adventurous toddler around the general vicinity. Then he started wailing and it was time to go.

Since the evening was cut short, I consoled myself with a few bites of a Ritter Sport chocolate bar purchased at a quick-stop grocery on the way back to the hotel. Ritters are some of my favorite chocolate in the world – hefty square bars of chocolate with a dizzying selection of fillings from strawberry yogurt and nuts to marzipan and peppermint cream. Tonight, I opted for a dark chocolate/chocolate mousse filling number that really left me feeling satisfied.

a small selection of Ritter Sport chocolate bars

Happy Halloween!