Germany, Day Two

I woke up rather late on Sunday, and was greeted by my cousin who told me that we were going to lunch together. Happening at the same time, but in Frankfurt, my uncle was running a marathon (which was why he had to eat pasta the night before) in which he eventually qualified for Boston. Later in the week, we would take a quick drive around Frankfurt and he would point out some of the places that were on the marathon’s path. After getting ready, we drove to Wiesbaden (she is a rather scary driver, although I certainly didn’t tell her that!) and parked near the theatre. That’s when I finally found out where we were going to eat: Kafer’s—the same chain that I had had mineral water in when I saw my uncle and cousin at the Frankfurt airport back in September. Jim and remarked then that I “could now say I had been to Kafer’s,” after which my cousin had explained that it was a pretty fancy place. I wasn’t surprised by the stylishness of what she had chosen for my first lunch in Germany: she is, after all, a model.
We had to wait a few minutes to be order because the restaurant’s scheduled brunch had not ended. So, over tea and more mineral water, we talked about our typical days, etc. Eventually, I was able to order veal schnitzel (which came with an excellent salad, potatoes, and cranberry sauce). Our talk gravitated towards the subject of our step-grandmother. It was interesting to talk to someone outside of my nuclear family about this part of my history and we spent a while comparing what each other knew with regards to her. We then ordered some dessert (“Wow, right after talking about losing weight,” Erin said.), mine being a wonderful tart made with the tiniest strawberries I had ever seen, all pointing upward in a gelatin binding, and coffee.
I got to see a bit more of Wiesbaden, while Erin drove to someone’s house to drop off a packet (maybe with photographs? I admit, I didn’t inquire). I looked through her portfolio as she walked up to the house, but I had seen most of her pictures online at her agency’s website. Back in the car, she pointed out her favorite photographs.
We went back to Taunusstein and I showed her pictures of my sister via facebook, since she has not seen Megan since 1997. By playing on the internet or reading, we passed the afternoon until first Christine returned, followed by a very tired Jim. Erin left soon for Frankfurt, where she spends much of her time, and the rest of us met friends of Jim and Christine at a restaurant called Waldhaus, or “Forest-House,” They are also a couple composed of an American husband, Bill, who is from Arkansas, and a German wife, Ula, who grew up with Christine as her best friend. They now live in London, so it was a treat for my aunt to see her good friend. And they were such nice people!
While trying to decide what to order, Jim talked about how well the Germans do pork dishes. I have not had pork pass my lips for several years, having hated it, I think, since birth. However, I decided that since I might only ever be in Germany once (omitting the night I plan to stay in December) I really ought to try what the Germans do best. So I ordered pork medallions with spaetzle and broccoli. I also had a special German drink made with apple cider and sparkling water, which was very good. I am fond of the sparkling apple cider one buys around Thanksgiving time in American grocery stores; this was like a fresher version of that.
We were served and I tried what was probably my first voluntary bite of pork ever. It was excellent. I will crave that dish for the rest of my life. I will have to fly to Germany when I am pregnant or there will be no peace. The only justification I have left for my prolonged hatred of pork in America is that the particular cut I ordered is not one generally available in the States, or so I was told.
Eventually (much to the Waldhaus’ pleasure) we bid Bill and Ula goodbye (they suggested that if I go to London I should see them) and spent the rest of the night watching German television (strange) and eating German chocolate (wonderful).