Above: the "bistro"at the campground where we probably should have eaten. Below: barely-conscious klaverjas; essential naptime; Kaffee Worpswede, where we enjoyed many different shades of oversaturated yellow and had a surprisingly sophisticated and delicious meal; wonderfully salty bread with very good olive oil, more people should make bread this way; desperately unsaturated spaghetti mit sommertrüffel, spinat und parmesan; schnitzel “Wiener Art” auf warmem kartoffel-rucolasalat und pesto (Wiener Art = schnitzel, a big pile of schnitzel).
Not pictured: rucolasalat mit gebackenem ziegenkäse, strauchtomaten und pesto, also full of little surprises like trapezoids of perfectly cooked asparagus and tart spheres of fried goat cheese; the portly waiter who negged me all night long (pretending to have absolutely no idea what my pronounciation of "hefeweizen" could possibly be referring to; smirking and-or tsking when I ordered schnitzel and a bier while my comparatively sophisticated date ordered truffles and wine; coming back after I struggled through 3 of my 4 schnitzels and pointing at the last, saying "what's this here, then?"; offering only Madame Nelson the dessert card because she finished her dinner and I didn't, when in fact it was I who finished her dinner in order to make her plate look clean, I AM NOT BITTER). It was kind of cute after a while.
This is an often-NSFW, mostly gluten-free kitchen notebook that also occasionally threatens to turn into something else and fails, thus remaining its same old cryptic and superficial self. These posts begin to fail to explain (start at the bottom).