Considering the recent abundance of Oktoberfests, I wasn’t surprised by her suggestion that we spend a beautiful autumn day together munching on giant pretzels and pouring beer down our throats. What surprised me was her strict insistence on proper attire.Tough break, my dear. For the record, I would've shared mine with you 'cause I'm nice like that. Most of the time. Unless I'm PMSing.
Saturday afternoon, I arrived at her place as planned and found her in a traditional dirndl that showed off her lovely figure to full effect. No problem there. But then she shoved a bundle of clothes at me and said, “Here, put these on.” Some minutes later I found myself in a pair of lederhosen that did nothing but draw attention to the farmer’s tan on my legs. She stuck an alpine hat on my head and declared us good to go. It’s a testament to my love of Hacker-Pschorr that I followed her outside.
We crossed Rittenhouse Park and headed east, navigating by the distant sounds of the Chicken Dance. No sooner did we arrive at the party than she pointed at a concession booth and screamed, “Dampfnudel!”
“But we need room for the Bavarian lager,” I protested.
“No problem. We’ll split one.” This is what I heard, clearly and distinctly. So I walked over to the booth and got us one, along with two spoons.
The dampfnudel is a sweet dumpling covered in warm vanilla cream. It came in a wobbly paper boat, which I had to hold with both hands. We found a quiet spot and dug in. At one point, I got distracted by the crowd and let her take a few bites out of turn. By the time I turned my attention back, the dumpling was half gone. I reached in, only to have my spoon blocked by hers. “What’re you doing?” she asked.
“I’m trying to share this with you. Remember how we agreed to do that?”
“That was before I tasted it.”
“It’s good, right? So let me have some more.”
“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me. So let’s clear something up right now: I don’t normally share food, especially something as yummy as this dumpling.”
“But, we agreed in advance.” I frowned.
“Tough break, Liesl. You're the genius who only got one of these. Now, if you’re done complaining, go get us some shots of Kirschwasser while I stay here and finish this.”
I marched off, feeling ridiculous, outmaneuvered, and a little hungry. But that’s when I smelled the Bratwurst and sauerkraut. Clearly, I'd need my strength to climb that particular mountain.
October 17, 2010
From our reader, Eric E., who likes it when a she lets him have a taste. OF HER SNACK, PEOPLE.