Beaten Because of High Asparagus Prices
BitJockey, I love your eye for the eccentric. This is an article from
Woman beaten up over asparagus prices Reuters News Service
BERLIN (Reuters) – German police are searching for a motorist who beat a 24-year-old woman selling white asparagus because he was upset about her asking price for the coveted springtime vegetable, police said on Monday.
The prices for white asparagus, sometimes called “edible ivory” in Germany, fluctuate wildly during the short springtime season, peaking early in the season at 10 euros per kilo.
The man screamed at the woman that her asparagus was overpriced. He then punched her in the face and threatened to unleash his attack dog at her. She fled and called police.
“The motorist said her prices were totally over the top,” said Dietmar Keck, police spokesman in the Havelland district west of Berlin, without saying how much she was asking.
Prices for asparagus now range from 1 to 5 euros per kilo, he said. Some 55,000 tons valued at 175 million euros are harvested annually.
(Writing by Jacob Comenetz; Editing by Louise Ireland)
Neuleiningen Castle and the BurgSchanke
For many many years, we have been going back to the BurgSchanke in Neuleiningen. We would see the ruins of the old castle, high on a hill, as we would be driving by on Autobahn A6 between the Heidelberg area and France. When AdventureMan got his company command (it was a big deal) I saved up my money and treated him to dinner at the BurgSchanke.
This is where we sat:
The menu doesn’t change much. Most of these entrees were the same ones on the menu many many years ago:
Here is what AdventureMan likes to have – Franzosiche Entenbrust, or French Duck Breast (I think the French part is all the vegetables)
I don’t eat meat very often, but when I do – this is what I had – the Knoblouchsteak (garlic steak)
It used to be served on a wooden platter. I am guessing that health and sanitation standards now require porcelain or something less porous and prone to bacteria than wood.
And here is what we had for dessert. We totally hate the presentation, but it never fails to make us laugh, long and loud, and in spite of how it looks, the mousse is truly delicious.
We talked about all the years we had been coming to this restaurant, all the guests and friends we had brought with us, where we had been sitting with different people – including, more than once, my parents, coming back for their own sentimental journey. Ahhh . . . sweet memories. 🙂
One time, my youngest sister and her family came for a visit, and their son also tried the duck, and thoroughly enjoyed it. His father ordered the Eisbecher Burg Neuleiningen, and we didn’t tell him . . . we waited to see his face when they brought him a bowl the size of a punch bowl, filled with fifty scoops of ice-cream. 🙂 Oh, what fun!
We stayed in a truly darling hotel, and felt very lucky to get the last room. “Two hours ago, we had four vacancies,” the very nice manager said, “but now, we have just one!” In a heartbeat, we took it. The view from the Burggraf was amazing.
Breakfast in Schwetzingen
German breakfasts are anything but light. There wasn’t a piece of fruit to be found! We were lucky to be guests at the hotel, because most of the tables were reserved, and people were turned away, even at nine in the morning, the breakfasts at the hotel Cafe Journal are so good.
You could have smoked ham, cold cuts and cheese, too, but we chose not.
Breakfast bread basket:
Yummy condiments:
Fresh orange juice:
Herb and cheese omelettes:
We were astonished – in Germany and in France – that there is absolutely NO SMOKING in any of the restaurants. If you are sitting outside, you can smoke, but we could not believe how well enforced this law is. We had heard about it, but frankly – the French not smoke in restaurants? We would not have believed it possible! Germans are very law-obeying peoples, but the French??? Never, not once, did we see a person smoking in a restaurant. It was amazing.
Revisiting Romance in Schwetzingen
When we met, AdventureMan and I, we didn’t date for very long. We knew, almost as soon as we met, that we were going to be married.
We met in Heidelberg, one of the most romantic cities in the entire world. My sister was getting married in the Heidelberg castle. It was a grand wedding, and AdventureMan and I were both supporting characters.
One of our first dates was going to the castle in nearby Schwetzingen. Schwetzingen has a beautiful castle, but it is not as famous for the castle as it is for its white asparagus, called spargel. It may sound funny to you, but this is a great delicacy, only served from mid-April to early June.
Schwetzingen really celebrates their white asparagus; this is a statue in the city square of an older woman teaching younger ones how to sort spargel:
Spargel is served a hundred different ways, in soups, in salads, and in big bunches, with vinaigrette sauce, hollandaise sauce, bernaise sauce, or sometimes with just butter. You can have it with schnitzle, with ham, or just with new spring potatoes. Who would believe asparagus could taste SO good?
So here is the story. We were so young, and had so little money. AdventureMan had taken me to the Schwetzingen Castle to walk, and as we walked and talked, I could tell he was really talking about getting married. He had planned on having enough money that we could sit afterwards, in a little cafe, and have a glass of wine, but we were both hungry. We dug into our wallets, and between the two of us, we came up with just enough for two glasses of wine, one bunch of spargel and one tiny little schnitzle. It was enough. We were in love.
That night, he asked me to marry him.
We go back to Schwetzingen and eat spargel every chance we get – and we have been blessed, through the years, to have lived nearby, or not so far away, and the thrill of our memories there never wears off.
OK Ok, enough of the mush gush stuff. On with the spargel!
This is my spargel with hollandaise. I just had it with potatoes, because I knew I also wanted dessert. 😉
AdventureMan had his with schnitzle. He had spargel with hollandaise and potatoes for lunch, too, and he didn’t plan to have any dessert.
While we were waiting for our spargel, we had a little sunshine, and watched the brides as they came out, every thirty minutes, from their weddings at the Schwetzingen castle:
Here comes the bride:
And here is my dessert, called Heiss Und Eis. As soon as I saw it on the menu, I had to make a decision – whether to start with the spargel or to start with the Heiss und Eis. The Eis part is the vanilla ice cream, and the Heiss part (hot) is a hot raspberry sauce poured over the cold vanilla ice cream. Oh YUMMMMMM.
We stayed at the ErbPrinzen, where we stayed before once when we were going to a ball in Heidelberg. It was wonderful. We were right across from the Schwetzingen castle, they have a fabulous restaurant and we ate all our meals right at the hotel, sometimes outside, sometimes in.
I had tried, unsuccessfully, to make reservations online. Good thing AdventureMan said “just run in and ask! What have we got to lose?” They had a room, it was a wonderful room, and parking was FREE! That’s our room, at the top right corner. We were on the no-smoking floor, which meant hauling our bags up two long floors. I guess the put the non-smokers on top because they don’t worry so much about us having a heart attack.
Here is one view from our corner room:
And here is another view, towards sunset, with some weather drama going on in the background:
Breaking all the rules
I’m breaking all the rules I made for myself. I didn’t know how to tell you I was leaving, but I thought I would tell you after I left.
Actually, I am not gone yet. My husband and I just grabbed an opportunity for a quick Mother’s Day getaway (Americans celebrate Mother’s Day this coming Sunday) and I am in France, drowning my sorrows 🙂 and walking and eating really delicious salads and pretending I am not up to my ears in boxes.
There are lilacs blooming everywhere, and wisteria. There are still some tulips. There are hydrangea. It is a riot of new life, color and growth. I am enjoying myself immensely. Very soon, it will be over and I will be back in Kuwait, packing boxes.
I will tell you more later, and even share some photos with you.
You are all so dear to me. I can’t tell you how much it hurts to move on. Usually, I cope by not thinking about it, just doing it. Somehow, in this situation, I don’t think that’s going to work very well.
Thank you for all your sweet thoughts. I haven’t decided if I will keep blogging; circumstances change . . . I will have to see if I even have anything to blog about!
Horseback Riding Camp
“Whatever you might have heard from your kids” the camp director started, and AdventureMan and I looked at one another with concern, “it is just rumors. The counselors did not have a big drunken party, and we have the situation under control.”
We hadn’t heard anything. We were there to pick up our son and his best friend from Horseback Riding Camp. They were eight years old and this was their first time away. We had dropped them off a mere week before, at the clean clean little chalet camp in Southern Germany, where they would learn to ride and take care of their horses.
“So, son,” AdventureMan starts with that casual voice grown-ups use with their children when about to launch an interrogation, “tell us about the camp!”
We were driving back, and wanted to get a campers-eye-view of the week. Our eight-year-old son was exhausted and not very talkative; it was only during the following week that most of the details came out.
He hated horseback riding. He hated taking care of horses. The instruction they got was minimal to non-existent. Most days they missed their horse riding lessons because the counselor overslept. The kids got up and got their own breakfast – cereal – until the milk ran out, and then they ate it dry.
Horrors. We had done everything right. We had checked the camp references, had visited and inspected the camp before deciding to send him there, had met the counselors – horrors! In fact, our son enjoyed the week, but mostly because they had a TV, and no supervision. They spent most of the week watching TV.
In the following years, he went to other camps – adventure training camp, karate camps, Space Camp (that was the best organized) and then became a camp counselor himself, teaching karate. Our most graphic memories as parents, however, are of picking him up at horseback riding camp and learning how loosely organized and supervised it was, compared to what the brochure said and the inspection visit promised.
Qatteri Cat Gets Crazy
A windy night plays havok with getting a good night’s sleep, if you have a cat. It is just the way God made cats – any little strange noise and watch what happens – their ears go straight up, their eyes go on high alert and their posture is ready-for-action.
We had one cat, a cat born wild in Tunisia, and on a windy night in Germany, she would make us totally crazy. “I must go out! I must go out!” she would cry as the wind blew leaves fluttering across the patio and tree branches made strange motions in the shadows. I would struggle half-awake down the stairs, let her out the patio door, and 15 minutes later she would be crying down under my window “I’ve made a big mistake! It’s cold out here! Please come down and let me in!” and I would struggle down the stairs and let her in and tell her to settle down, that I wasn’t going to let her out again.
Her little brain can’t remember all that. An hour later, she would forget “cold” and was crazy with desire to be out where all the action was, once again. And the cycle continued. She had me trained. I was her door opener.
The Qatteri Cat doesn’t go out, but he gets wound up by the wind, as any cat will. AdventureMan calmed him down last night, and he curled up and went back to sleep. Guess AdventureMan will always be the favorite with the Qatteri Cat.
This is what Weather Underground Kuwait calls a “light haze.”
My windows are streaked with dust and humidity.
The Most Memorable Present of 2008
You look, and all you see is a candle.
It came with a tag that said “You can burn this candle any time you want.” We laughed until we cried.
When our son was seven, his class took a field trip to a Christmas Market in the German town where we lived. He had saved his money, and bought us Christmas presents there. One present he bought was wonderful – little beeswax candles.
We were delighted. They were beautiful, and they smelled so good! To honor him, we lit one right away.
Big mistake. When he walked into the room, his smiling face turned to utter horror!
“What are you doing??” he cried!
“We are burning your Christmas candle!” we said, proudly.
“No! No! You are not supposed to burn it!” he said, his eyes big and sorrowful! (Bad Mommy! Bad Daddy!)
We quickly snuffed the candle, and saved it, using it only for decoration for many years. I probably still have it, with our Christmas boxes, in storage.
We told this story when we were all together for Thanksgiving, and we all had a good laugh. The laugh was even better when we got this candle, with its note, telling us we could burn it any time we wanted. 🙂
Christmas Ornaments from Here, There and Everywhere
Ten years ago when we put almost our entire life into storage, we had no idea we would be gone this long. We had no idea we would live in four different countries, and that we wouldn’t see our things again for lo, these many years.
Our first contract, I was allowed one thousand pounds. Do you know how little one thousand pounds is? Think clothing, think basic necessities – 1000 lbs. just isn’t very much.
I packed just a very few Christmas ornaments, figuring I could pick things up along the way. Fortunately for us, the next country, after Saudi Arabia, was Germany, the land of Christmas ornaments. Our tree is eclectic. It’s not necessarily a tree with appeal to anyone else; it is a very personal Christmas tree, with lots of memories and stories. Lucky for you, I won’t bore you will all of them. 😉
We are sentimental. When we can, we decorate the tree together, and we remember with each ornament. . . When he was young, our son would get so impatient with us, and our remembering!
Here is the very first ornament our son ever made in school – it is a dreamcatcher; his teacher was very into the American Southwest and American Indian traditions:
We met and married in Heidelberg, so we always have that ornament with us:
My ties to the Pacific Northwest:
AdventureMan’s love of Africa and the Middle East:
Religious symbols:
Beautiful German antique silver walnuts and pinecones:
And memories of places we’ll remember . . .
Whew! I’m tired, too! Think I will go join the Qatteri Cat in a catnap!
The Feast of St. Martin, and St. Martin’s Goose
I’ve always loved St. Martin’s Day because the children of the villages in Germany gather with laterns and walk the cobbled streets singing a song “Laterne! Laterne! . . . .” There is usually someone dressed in a large red cloak who rides a horse, as St. Martin.
Something else happens on St. Martin’s Day – it is the beginning of goose season! There is only about one month, in Germany, when you can eat this speciality, St. Martin’s Goose. It is baked, served with a very fatty gravy (sounds horrible, but it is delicious), red cabbage and potatoes. You can get a quarter goose, a half goose or you can go as a group and have an entire goose feast. The smell of roasting goose is yummy, and the goose itself, when well prepared, is succulent and tasty.
Here is how to roast a St. Martin’s goose:
Preparation: 1 hour
Cooking: 1/2 a hour by kg
Ingredients (for 6 persons):
– 1 goose of 6kg approximately
– 500 g of chopped pork – 1 egg – 4 shallots
– 1 small stalk of thym
– 200 g of crumb of bread (or gingerbread!)
– salt, pepper, nutmeg, parsley
– 100g of walnuts and chopped hazelnuts
Mix the various ingredients of the practical stuffing. Stuff, and let it gild on all the surface in its fat of goose, in the owen. Put then the goose in the oven and cook in its own juice (half an hour by kg). It came from This Website on European Cultures.
The stuffed goose uses surrounded with purée of chestnuts or with whole chestnuts cooked in a little broth then in the juice of the goose and accompanied with a Riesling of Moselle region.
Here is the story of St. Martin by James Kiefer from the Lectionary.
(I’ve always wondered why St. Martin tore his cloak in half, and didn’t give the whole cloak to the begger, since he probably had on warm clothing underneath.)
MARTIN OF TOURS
BISHOP AND THEOLOGIAN (11 NOV 397)
Martin was born around 330 of pagan parents. His father was a soldier, who enlisted Martin in the army at the age of fifteen. One winter day he saw an ill-clad beggar at the gate of the city of Amiens. Martin had no money to give, but he cut his cloak in half and gave half to the beggar. (Paintings of the scene, such as that by El Greco, show Martin, even without the cloak, more warmly clad than the beggar, which rather misses the point.) In a dream that night, Martin saw Christ wearing the half-cloak. He had for some time considered becoming a Christian, and this ended his wavering. He was promptly baptized. At the end of his next military campaign, he asked to be released from the army, saying: “Hitherto I have faithfully served Caesar. Let me now serve Christ.” He was accused of cowardice, and offered to stand unarmed between the contending armies. He was imprisoned, but released when peace was signed.
He became a disciple of Hilary of Poitiers, a chief opponent in the West of the Arians, who denied the full deity of Christ, and who had the favor of the emperor Constantius. Returning to his parents’ home in Illyricum (Yugoslavia, approximately), he opposed the Arians with such effectiveness that he was publicly scourged and exiled. He was subsequently driven from Milan, and eventually returned to Gaul. There he founded the first monastary in Gaul, which lasted until the French Revolution.
In 371 he was elected bishop of Tours. His was a mainly pagan diocese, but his instruction and personal manner of life prevailed. In one instance, the pagan priests agreed to fell their idol, a large fir tree, if Martin would stand directly in the path of its fall. He did so, and it missed him very narrowly. When an officer of the Imperial Guard arrived with a batch of prisoners who were to be tortured and executed the next day, Martin intervened and secured their release.
In the year 384, the heretic (Gnostic) Priscillian and six companions had been condemned to death by the emperor Maximus. The bishops who had found them guilty in the ecclesiastical court pressed for their execution. Martin contended that the secular power had no authority to punish heresy, and that the excommunication by the bishops was an adequate sentence. In this he was upheld by Ambrose, Bishop of Milan. He refused to leave Treves until the emperor promised to reprieve them. No sooner was his back turned than the bishops persuaded the emperor to break his promise; Priscillian and his followers were executed. This was the first time that heresy was punished by death.
Martin was furious, and excommunicated the bishops responsible. But afterwards, he took them back into communion in exchange for a pardon from Maximus for certain men condemned to death, and for the emperor’s promise to end the persecution of the remaining Priscillianists. He never felt easy in his mind about this concession, and thereafter avoided assmblies of bishops where he might encounter some of those concerned in this affair. He died on or about 11 November 397 (my sources differ) and his shrine at Tours became a sanctuary for those seeking justice.
The Feast of Martin, a soldier who fought bravely and faithfully in the service of an earthly sovereign, and then elisted in the service of Christ, is also the day of the Armistice which marked the end of the First World War. On it we remember those who have risked or lost their lives in what they perceived as the pursuit of justice and peace.
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