'Mit Sahne'

“Honey, what time is dinner?” asked my husband as he walked in the kitchen.

“When the cows come home.” I answered, smiling sheepishly.

This was our usual banter when we moved into a house on a farm in Germany. A house that sat on a small hill overlooking a part of the town we lived in. Although we moved three times in the last six years within the country, that house held most of our memories.

“Oh look! The cows are coming home.” my husband exclaimed. Just as he said that, the rib-eye steaks that were being broiled in the oven were ready. I removed our dinner promptly and placed them on our plates pre-arranged with a serving of pan-fried potatoes.

Our kitchen window was open and our landlord looked up and saw us standing there. He waved at us as he ushered the herd of cows into the barnyard. That was a familiar sight every summer. He brought the cows home at 7:00pm after a day’s grazing in the field at the foot of the hill. The cows were grazing, not him.

“Poor cows. I wonder if they know that a part of their fellow brother just got broiled here.” my husband quipped.

The memories and excitement of moving to Germany still rings fresh in me. I did not know what to expect in a country that was new to us. The company that gave my husband, Mitch, the job had arranged for everything to make our move go smoothly. We were living in Texas, U.S.A. The movers came to our house and organized all the packing. Mitch was advised on how to ship our Jeep Grand Cherokee over to Germany. In anticipation of our move, I armed myself with a German language CD. I pushed myself everyday to learn the language. I thought at least I will be prepared for our first day in the country. I was wrong.

We were living in a hotel for one month before moving into our first house. On our first night in Germany, we decided to have dinner at a restaurant down the street from our hotel. I carried the Berlitz German phrase book and dictionary with me - a handbook that I had picked up at the Dallas Fort-Worth airport.

“Guten abend.” (Good evening). The waitress greeted us as we sat down at a table set out in the restaurant’s patio. She handed us a couple of menus. She said something and walked away. I did not catch what she was saying. How could I? The language sounded stranger than what I had heard on the CD.

When I opened the menu, I sank low. It was filled with names of food and dishes I never heard of or read before. Mitch looked at me and said, “Why don’t we just close our eyes and point randomly to any dish and order it?”

“You do that. I don’t want to end up eating blood sausages.” as I quickly reached for my handbook. I flipped through the pages looking for the food section. "Besides, it is Friday and I am trying to make an effort not to eat beef or chicken." I continued, remembering it was Lent season. I settled for fish.

"Hah! Fisch is fish" That's easy.

Our waitress was a sweet young blond haired, blue-eyed teenager. She thought we were ready to order but Mitch was not ready yet. I could not find the words to tell her that we needed a few more minutes. I had no choice but to put up my hand gesturing “wait, we are not ready.” I made sure I did it with a smile so that she would not think I was being rude. She smiled in return but did not move away. She proceeded to ask “Was trinken?”

I understood that. I should remember the word 'trinken'. It would come in handy if I ever got stranded somewhere and was in need of hydration. It meant “What Drink?” literally.

I searched for the page that gave me a choice of beverages. Just then, Mitch confidently said “Beer!” Oh yes, why wasn’t I surprised? Even if one did not speak or read German, anyone knows what beer is, no matter how it is spelled in each country. Beer is a universal word.

She looked at me waiting to take my order. I showed her the menu and pointed out that I wanted a 'tasse' - cappuccino.

“Ah! Gut. Mit sahne?” she asked.

“What?” I thought. Cappuccino is simple enough for anyone to understand. I figured a “tasse” could be a cup. I know my cappuccino would not come in a pot, mug or jug.

By now, the waitress could tell we were not only out-of-towners, we were foreigners! She patiently smiled and asked again this time gesturing the sign of something swirly. I thought, “what could possibly be swirly?” It still did not dawn on me that a cup of cappuccino comes with whipped cream. Suddenly Mitch, who was probably growing a little impatient with my so-called difficult order of beverage, said, “I know. I know. She is probably asking you if you want cream.”

I always thought whipped cream came by default when one ordered cappuccino. How could I have known that this restaurant provided the option of leaving it out?

The waitress suddenly burst out excitedly saying “Ya, cream.”

“Thank heavens” I thought. I was going to change my order to 'wasser' if this confusion continued. I couldn't possibly go wrong with water, right?

Yes, I can. I will leave that story for another time.

“Ya! cream.” I replied. The waitress wrote our orders down and walked off happily. She was probably glad that that little ordeal was over.

Meanwhile back at our table, I was beginning to dread about ordering dinner. Ordering fish was simple enough. What if she asked if I wanted any side orders? I started to worry.

When she came back with our beverages within five minutes and gestured that she was ready to take our meal orders, I decided to play it safe. I quickly pointed out the number on my menu which said 'Fisch mit gekocht kartoffeln'. I had no time to go in search of what 'kartoffeln' means, let alone 'gekocht'. I thought if something strange came in the plate, I would push it aside. At least, I'll still have my fish. Mitch went with 'pin the tail on the donkey method' and landed on 'Rindfleisch mit Röstkartoffeln'. I asked him if he knew what he was ordering. He said, “I will take my chances.”

It did not cross my mind to check the phrase book while we were waiting for our food. Mitch and I were discussing about our plans for the coming week. Twenty minutes later, the waitress appeared with our orders. “Potatoes!” I said with excitement when I saw what was in my plate. That’s what it was. 'Kartoffeln' means potatoes. I had a serving of potatoes, which tasted like they were boiled down in some salt and garnished with butter and herbs.

I looked over at Mitch’s plate and he had a look of a gambler who had just pulled a win on the jackpot machine. “Hey! I got beef.”

“Lucky you!”

When we were almost done with our first meal in Germany, Mitch asked me casually, "Are you ready for dessert?"

"What? Not again!"