Although I never lived in the house, the place in Germany that I associate the most with “home” is my grandfather’s ancestral farm and mill in east Westphalia. It is filled with many happy childhood memories. That’s where I learned to ride a bike, snuck into the pig stall, got muddy playing in the stream, and lingered around my grandfather’s two older brothers (my grandfather died in the Second World War) as they were working the fields with Ella the draft horse. Continue reading
My late grandmother had the peculiar habit of never unpacking gifts we gave her. She would set them aside “for another time”, leaving them at my parents’ home forever wrapped and unopened. One of those Christmas castaways was a baking book with color photos. I spent many hours leafing through it, salivating over recipes like chestnut ice cream cake. This was in the mid-1970s, long before the Internet propelled lavish food photos into every corner of the world. Continue reading
When it comes to pigs, there is no beating around the bush: as much as I want to dispel the idea that German food is nothing but pork and sausage, I must acknowledge that there indeed is a longstanding and intimate relationship between Germans and their pigs. Continue reading
Spoonfuls of Germany 