Civil Blood and Civil Hands

Too much to say.

Mmmm...Strudel. Guten strudel.

So I won't say much at all. Howsabout a little photo montage instead. Here's how I've been spending my blogless days:

Husband and I took a mini-vacation over Memorial Day to Verona, Italy- home of everyone's favorite tragic lovebirds, Romeo and Juliet. The six-hour drive was totally (hair flip) worth it as we had to pass straight through the Austrian Alps to get to Italy. Husband practically wrecked the car when we crossed the German/Austrian border and out of nowhere (seriously, nowhere) an entire mountain range popped up.

Here are some crappy moving-car picture of what we saw:

See how the road curves- yeah, before that curve there were no mountains.

Suddenly, MOUNTAINS!

The whole place was just teaming with mountains.

So we get to Verona, and it is just perfect. Perfect weather, perfect hotel, perfect mix of things to do and food to eat and stuff to see given the amount of time we were there. I even made Husband slow down and relax and breathe and chill and all those other calming actions that he has to be forced at wife-point to do. The man was born to tourist himself into a whirling cloud of sensible footware, discount admission deals and sightseeing efficiency. But not in fair Verona...not this scene.

Speaking of scenes...

On Juliet's actual balcony, looking for that damn Romeo. He's run off again.

A beautiful day in Verona.

And then, the unexpected. Tragedy struck. Husband and I decided to end our beautiful day with some ice cream at a famous and wildly popular ice cream shop...

...and it was AWFUL!

Please excuse how absolutely frightening I look in this picture- not my finest moment. Anyway, I never thought I'd see the day that I throw away an ice cream cone. I wasn't raised like that.

We saw some creepy art...

Creepy Jesus.

Creepy Creepster. Sorry.

Creepy..uh..abomination?

And most importantly, we had some wine. 

Please pretend I have on makeup and my hair is clean.

Ciao!

The Boys, a prediction

Today at work an 87 year-old lady Italian lady with the most affecting accent told me I had beautiful brown eyes, that my heritage should be Italian (like her) instead of German/British/Whitebread, and that I will resolutely not have twin baby girls when Husband and I start having kids, but instead will have a flock of boys. Ugh. I was tracking with her right up until the "boy" bit. I told her I wouldn't know what to do with male offspring, being raised in a family full of females myself, but she said it didn't matter because the boys- oh the boys- "they love their mamma. The girls love their daddy. You will have the boys."

She was in town visiting her son.

Let's hope she's no oracle.

Twin baby girls.

Heh.

Castles and Beer

And a cheery Guten Strudel to you.

You may have noticed I haven't posted anything in a while. Or maybe not. Maybe the internet isn't as "into" my blogging existence as my self absorbed guilt would lead me to believe. Alas, there is no way to tell. Heavy sigh. Ennui.  

I've been busy.

 I'll tell ya, this whole "job" thing is really putting a damper on my blogging. And my housework. I know, I know...poor baby. It's just that now that the weather is (still) awesome and it stays light out until about 10:00 pm, and Germany has really outdone herself with festivals and events and beirgartens and such, it's hard to find time to write about it all. I get it- I can hear you rolling your eyes at my first world problem. Noted. I'm rolling my eyes at myself too, which is actually making it hard to focus on what I'm typing.

In keeping with the "Germany is made of beer and tourism" theme, Husband and I have spent the last few weekends visiting castles and getting rambunctious at the Stuttgart Frühlingsfest (Spring Festival) in one of the famed beer tents, reminiscent of Oktoberfest in Munich. As an interesting aside, the Stuttgart Beer Festival usually coincides with Oktoberfest and the Germans typically flock to Stuttgart to get their beer on while leaving Oktoberfest for tourists. I haven't been to an Oktoberfest yet, but sources on the inside tell me it's full of Americans, Brits and Australians. And lions and tigers and bears. 

Does anyone else think it looks like Hogwarts?

Over Muttertag (Mother's Day) Husband and I trekked out to Hohenzollern Castle and after climbing straight uphill for 25 minutes, we were really impressed by how neat it was- by far my favorite castle we've seen. In honor of Mother's Day they had a band playing and allowed people to wander about the castle without a set tour, which was really interesting. Definitely worth the impromptu workout. Husband and I are in decent shape, but we were still huffing and puffing up the hill to get to the entrance. But these Germans- man these Germans!- they are just powerhouses! It must be all that biking in lieu of driving, because we had grandmothers passing us on the hill. Like little old ladies just zipping up a near vertical incline. Unbelievable. Props to the Germans. I've yet to spot a fat one.

I'll have one of those.

Last weekend we were lucky enough to snag tickets to one of the beer tents at the Spring Fest, and seriously, words can't begin to describe it. Not that I won't try. The tent was about the size of two school gymnasiums, they had a live band playing on a fully loaded stage akin to what you would find at a rock concert, about half the crowd was wearing dirndls or leiderhosen, and the regular size beer is a liter. A LITER. I had two. The tent is packed with hundreds of long picnic style tables, but few people are sitting. Most are standing on the table. That's just what you do, I guess. You stand on the table the whole night, singing along to the U.S. top hits of the 80's and 90's- Germans seem to really like American music- and about every third or forth song is this German drinking song where you continually "Prost!" (Cheers), and continue to drink a lot.

Always drink with friends.

Lots of friends.

So now that we've caught up I'm off to do about 3 loads of laundry. Prost.

General Tso Good

We miss greasy Chinese (food, that is).

Germany has just about every gastronomical choice you would find in the States with the noted exception of greasy American-style Chinese food and palatable Mexican. The Mexican dilemma is easy enough to solve with store bought tortillas and enough cheese to send all of Baden-Württemberg into cardiac arrest, but the greasy Chinese is another story. I don't own a wok and I just can't seem to find MSG's anywhere. Maybe it's in the snack isle? Clearly a lost cause.

Or IS it?

Turns out, NO! Husband and I had been particularly desirous of one, General Tso's Chicken, of late but I was wary of attempting a homemade reproduction due to generally disappointing quality issues with other fakey-Chinese recipes attempted in the past. But I had a husband to feed, and his recent bout with some kind of particularly nasty cold virus made him such a sympathetic cause that I just couldn't say no. So together we trod (trodded? trode?) through endless online recipes with obvious flaws (hoisin mixed with sweet and sour? Ugh. My teeth rot just thinking about it.), complicated ingredients and photos of completed recipes that could have doubled as a crime scene. 

But then, shining like a beacon of pure white meat chicken breast in a sea of reconstituted poultry parts, it stood. So deliciously possible I couldn't resist. My heart lept, my stomach growled, the frozen chicken in the freezer quivered with anticipation- a culinary delight was born. 

Yes, I know it's blurry and washed out, but I was hungry. So hungry.

General Tso's Chicken

from Blog Chef 

with a few variations

I followed this recipe as closely as I could with the ingredients I had, and let me say, it was perfect. Absolutely perfect. The flavors and textures were exact replicas of what we would order at our favorite Chinese place back home. 

That being said, here are my variations:

1. Right away, double the sauce. Just do it.

2. I didn't have Rice Wine, so I used the same amount of cooking sherry instead.

3. To prevent the breading from falling off the chicken or getting soggy when mixed with the sauce, I dipped my chicken pieces in the egg/cornstarch mix as in Step 1, but then also dredged them in flour before frying (I pan fried my chicken in olive oil). Oh, and I also used chicken breast instead of thighs.

3. I didn't have green onion or dried red chili peppers, so I sliced half a yellow onion instead and sprinkled it very liberally with crushed red pepper and then sauteed that in olive oil in Step 4, cooking just until the onion started to soften.

4. The double batch of sauce just coated my chicken (I used more than a pound though), so I made another single batch of sauce and heated in in a separate saucepan until thickened (1-2 minutes after boiling) to pour on the rice.

I will never buy this dish again. Too easy, too good.

Hopps and Wheat and Barley- Oh My!

I'm starting to like beer.

Those are the regular sized beers.

I think I've mentioned this before (and let's be honest here, what haven't I mentioned), but it bears repeating due to my German surroundings- I'm not a huge beer fan. In fact, I'm not much of a drinker at all...unless weddings and opportunities for public embarrassment are involved. (Right Cathy? Ugh, the shame.) So you can just imagine my surprise when I have found myself ordering- repeatedly no less!- Kristallweizen at just about every eating opportunity. It's practically involuntary at this point. I don't know what's come over me.

Ok, maybe it's the fact that I don't like to deal with scouring pages and pages of a beer selection in German on German menus while being bore down upon by an impatient German waiter. Or maybe it's the utter and absolute reluctance to spend triple the Euro on about a quarter of the amount of diet soda. Or maybe it's just easier to pronounce than some of the other beers, and I don't like to be fussed. Take your pick. I'm sure the truth is in there somewhere.

But in all, this is good news! Good news indeed! Because it is officially beer season in Germany and the Beirgartens are in full swing, not to mention the overwhelming selection of beer festivals and beer tastings and regular festivals posing as beer festivals and people just milling about on the streets and in the parks drinking beers and beersy beer beer beered beery things that are cropping up at dizzying rates. Dizzying for many reasons. Beer! 

Beer tent at the Spring Festival. Note the people dancing on tables in dirndls and leiderhosen...and the CHILDREN. Totally normal.

So half the beer battle is already won- I have identified my beer of choice. Whew, what a relief. Pressure's off. I've also come up with a contingency plan, should the beer-related activity not have my preferred Kristallweizen, and will gladly accept any other form of Weissbier (wheat beer), and go merrily about my day. But not quite so merrily had I been able to procure my first choice. There has to be a consequences. Additionally, and this is very important, should anyone offer a Pils, I will run frantically from the offender in a zig zag patters so they will be less likely to attack with such a foul brew, find a matronly looking German hausfrau dressed in a dirndl and hide behind her voluminous skirt until the danger is abated.

Indy: A Recap

I will not discuss my blogging hiatus guilt.

Alright, now that that's out of the way. Hello! How are yoooou? Nice to see you again. I do hope things have been just corking for you all. Thanks to everyone who posted little comments of bloggy love while I was away, and please accept my sincerest apologies for not writing back. I swear on all the snot of my prolific allergies that I wanted to, but...uh...well, now I wasn't going to mention the blogging guilt again, but...ahem...you know. Looks away and digs toe in the ground.

So Germany! GERMANY! Germany greeted me back into her loving embrace, lo one week ago, but just like a manipulating and conniving evil stepmother-country, publicly showered me with love and affection in the form of sunshine and blooming flowers and highs in the mid-70's when the rest of the family was looking, but once everyone's back was turned, cursed me with an onset of itchy, watery eyes, sinus pressure, an unholy measure of mucus and something like sandpaper in my ears and throat- the likes of which have not yet been known to man. If this doesn't stop soon I'm donating my body to science in exchange for an air conditioned room with no vegetation whatsoever. I saw our apartment caretaker approach our patch of backyard with a lawnmower yesterday and it was all I could do not to run screaming from my apartment warrior-style and bodily tackle the man before he could stir up all the innocently resting pollen and whatnot in the yard. Social niceties be damned.

That right thur is AMURICAN!

My trip back to the States was fantastic. We ate, we shopped, we ate, we saw friends, we talked and we ate and watched a bit of good old fashioned American television programming. Then I left. Absolute perfection. In between all that eating and talking we managed to get a few hearty walks in, but other than that it was sedentary American bliss. Seven pounds later, I wished I had been a little more peppy, but what's life without a few regrets, eh?

Oh greasy Chinese food, how I missed you. Dear, sweet flavorful enchiladas, it's been too long!

Ok, enough of that. I don't want to get all emotional here. Speaking of emotional, I also got my hair done, and not a moment too soon, really. I noticed a few mothers at the airport teaching their preschoolers the color wheel based on my roots. Ahem, "That one is black, there's a brown, here is yellow, and this is red. Can you say red?" I could be wrong, but I swear I heard a faint, "That's right little Sally, she should be ashamed of herself," as I walked away.

BEFORE! Oh the horror!

 My one true love, Brandi, at Texture Hair Design Studio dyed my hair so fantastically dark brown without even the faintest hint of red, that I practically weeped with joy when the final strand was blown adequately dry. I might have given her a round of applause and requested a speech. Just thinking about it now I get a little misty eyed. In truth, even an ocean can't separate a girl and her hair stylist. It was meant to be.

AFTER! Hair of undeniable dark brownness! Please disregard the gayness of the picture.

I got to bond a bit with my dad, too, while I was at home- a definite highlight. We spent late night hour upon even later night hour watching episode after episode of Season 1 of Battlestar Galactica, which I bought for him last Christmas, and he hadn't even taken the plastic wrap off. Socks for him next year then! Bah humbug. Well, at least now he knows what he was missing. I can't even count the number of times he scared the dog by exclaiming in surprise or suspense at particularly riveting points along the way. I am proud to report that we did manage to watch all 20 episodes, including the 3-hour movie that starts the whole shebang, in the span of 8 days. I implore you all to do the same. Best show ever.

And that was pretty much it. Couldn't have been more perfect.

Back to Beerland

Ah, it's nice to be home.

Well, my other home. Right now I'm sporting 3 variations of "home"- one being my actual residence with Husband in Germany, another being my parent's/family home in Indiana, and another being the Washington DC Metropolitan area where I had been living for the last 5 years prior to the Great German Adventure. Diversity is good, right? So, I should say, it's nice to be at my permanent residence.

Somehow I miraculously escaped the throes of jet lag both on my trip out to Indiana to see my family and on the return trip, and despite a real lack of energy today, think I'm back to being all German and whatnot. I'm working on a few posts right now, but couldn't resist the opportunity to mindlessly drone a bit now that I'm back.

Your welcome.

Still Alive

Hi friends!

It's me, Guten Allie. Just checking in to say that I am still alive (yay!) but still taking a tiny bit of a bloggy hiatus to spend time with my family. Oh, how the posts will flow after this- family time is good blogging fodder.

In other news, I went to the dentist today and enjoyed a clean bill of dental health. Three cheers for fluoride and floss sticks! However, during the cleaning I encountered an awkward problem, and I wonder if I'm not alone on this. Maybe the dental hygienist had abnormally large hands, or maybe my freakishly long tongue was to blame, but I kept inadvertently licking her hand. That's right, full on, how ya doin, licking her hand. I don't think I've ever done that before. For the record, she didn't seem to notice or mind, but still, that can't be normal. I just couldn't keep my tongue out of the way. It tasted like latex and regret.

More to come later, including the thrilling tale of my trans-Atlantic never ending flight and the benefits of a good run in with karma, but alas my friends these are for another day.

I will leave you all with this: if you haven't already, please make haste to your favorite DVD rental facility and immediately start watching Battlestar Galactica. Check your reservations over SciFi at the door- this show is so much more than that. Husband and I just wrapped up the last season, and I can say without any hesitation that it has been my absolute favorite TV show of all time. Not only is the story line riveting and rich and the characters robust and beautifully developed, but the acting is simply phenomenal. There were times I actually lost track of the plot because I just so mezmorized by the quality of acting- unlike anything I've ever seen- especially Edward James Olmos as Admiral Adama. The show is quite dark, and pretty intense, but it is truly a beautiful thing to behold. So go on, waste no time. Get to beholding! 

She works hard for her money

I'm a working woman.

I started my job this week, and I gotta tell ya, this waking up at 6:45 am business is certainly no fun. Or if I'm being trendy, phun. Regardless, I don't like it. But I do like the job (what I know of it so far) and my coworkers seem friendly, so I guess I'm set.

Unfortunately an unintended byproduct of the new job is complete lack of interest in blogging. Well, I shouldn't say interest...it's more like energy. With the sharp decline of sleep (it's hard to transition from a 2:00 am to 10:00 am sleep schedule to a more traditional 11:00 to 7:00) and the focus on learning a new job, I don't have much mental...uh...uh. I can't think of the word. See. See what I mean!?!

So here's to a wonderful fun change! And here's to a new schedule to get used to! And here's to coworkers and office gossip and timesheets and TPS reports! And here's to the blog that will not be ignored, but may have to suffer the embarrassment of poor writing and uninspired posts while I adjust.

Oh yeah, and next week I'll be in the U.S. for 10 days to visit my family. Shopping, eating, shopping, eating. What could be better?

A Bad Case of Flea...Markets

We went shopping.

I've never been one to spend much time territorially vying for other people's used homegoods at the crack of dawn. I have no need for musty placemats or chipped trinkets or pre-worn shoes. Urgh. Especially the pre-worn shoes. My skin just crawls thinking of it. But flea markets seem to be a bit of a thing here in our corner of Deustchland, so one fine Saturday morning not too long ago Husband and I merrily, if skeptically, found our way to a haven of gently used baubles and whatnots.

At first I was tempted to slink right back out the doors of the community center and make haste to the nearest mall and/or hand sanitizing station, but upon the gentle urgings of Husband (who convienently had the keys), I found myself halfheartedly pawing through a veritable sea of pilling matronly cardigans and scuffed porcelain figurines.  Had I been in the market for tiny statuettes of shepherds or stained lace doilies or straight to VHS movies I would have been set for life. 

As it was, I was not.

But, the more I looked, the more I found. And I'm not talking about broken kitchen appliances or sun bleached curtains. We actually came across some (gasp!) desirable goods, and in the end I'm glad I went. 

A for-realsies coffee grinder.

As soon as I spotted the coffee grinder, I fell in love. Which was really embarrassing considering Husband was there. After an awkward conversation wherein I basically made clear that my loyalties now lie with an old timey kitchen appliance, Husband agreed to purchase the item in exchange for our continued matrimony. A good decision. The lady we bought it from, who appeared to be an antique herself, delighted us with stories of this, her mothers coffee grinder, and the various places she lived and used it. I was charmed. Eventually we'll hang it in the kitchen, maybe even use it. The lady assured us it works and she actually used it the week prior- as evidence by the still-aromatic bean residue in the glass bowl at the bottom.

The same lady had this stunning copper planter. I don't think it is particularly antique or special in any way besides the sheer coolness of it. And really, what more can you ask of a copper planter? We haven't quite figured out what to do with it yet- I want to put it inside and find some decorative use for it. Husband, however, expected us to actually grow a plant inside it. Psh. Ridiculous idea.

This is just a basket for our formerly bare-boned powder room. Obviously. I guess given that I've included a picture, the description is completely unnecessary. There you have it.

We bought a few more things- a hair straightening iron with a proper German plug so I don't go blowing up the house trying to use mine on a transformer, a ridiculous beer stein with a duck bill as a lid (Husbands pick, not mine, and I couldn't really argue after having just broken his heart over a coffee grinder), a board game and a modern decorative bowl for the living room. I actually had to take the bowl to the car and hide it in the trunk as every few feet a different lady would approach me with some kind of snarky, "I was going to buy that bowl" comment (many of the people at the flea market spoke English) and I began to fear for the safety of my decor. Vicious, these flea market hens.

And finally, the very highlight of the excursion, the pièce de résistance, the very thing husband opposed the inclusion of on our wedding gift registry...

A WAFFLE MAKER! 

Bonus points that the waffles come out shaped as hearts. Maybe I'll make one for the coffee grinder.