My favourite German cheese

You might have thought I was a little harsh when I ranted on about bland, yellow German cheese the other day. You might well have thought that I find nothing to like about German cheese. Well, you'd be wrong. There is one German cheese that I like above all others, the one I would not like to give up, but it is one that looks weird, most uncheese-like and that is Harzer Käse. It looks like plastic, like some organic growth in a swamp rather than an actual cheese.

It always looks golden and plasticky, but when it is immature, it's solid white at its core. My mother might like it like that, but I prefer it when it is fully mature, when it's golden all the way through. It tastes even better when it goes beyond the 'just right' stage to the 'starting to look a bit putrid and smell like feet with a serious bacterial infection' stage. Basically, all varieties of cheese that smell like sweaty socks taste absolutely fantastic. 

When I was growing up, we would get a parcel from Berlin at Christmas time - if we didn't happen to be in Berlin for Christmas, naturally. And my gran would buy two very fresh and immature rolls of Harzer Käse, wrap them up in tinfoil and then put them into a plastic bag before putting them into the box with the other Christmas presents. She knew how much I'd appreciate them. 

One year, the parcel didn't arrive. We waited and waited and it finally arrived at Easter time. Instead of going to Deganwy, Wales, it had gone to Gdanya in Poland. 

The poor postman stood at the door and said to my mum, "I don't know what you've got in here, but, please, take it." 

The odour was so strong and the cheese so mature that it was almost liquid that my mother forbade me to eat it. Shame. I'd have loved it on hot buttered toast.

I think this picture will give you some idea of its weirdness:

It often comes covered with caraway seeds (good for the digestion)

And here's another version of it with one bit showing the white bit inside that disappears as the cheese matures:

Hot buttered wholemeal toast - or any other bread - with slices of that and some slices of Schlesisches Gurkenhäppchen (slices of a sort of sweet pickled gherkins)....food of the gods.

Open your eyes and look about you

Last Sunday, my usual walking group did a 17 km walk north of a large town to the west of the Rhine. Rather flat but lots of woodland. Snow still lay on the ground, icy in parts. There were only eight of us, plus the guide. 

Due to the ice, we often had to look down at the ground to make sure we weren't stepping on ice and to find the best way around the icy parts. This did not prevent us from talking, though. Natter, natter, natter.

At one point, I noticed a large brown and beige bird that landed on the ground and when I looked in its direction, it moved and flew up to a nearby tree. All of us stopped and looked up; the movement had attracted people's attention. All except for the two people who were walking with the group for the first time ever. They had decided to walk more in preparation for a holiday in a year's time. They stood on the path and kept on talking to each other. They must have noticed that we weren't walking any more and yet they were not curious enough to see what it was that had caused us to stop. They didn't look up at all. They didn't hear people say, "It's a buzzard." I kept thinking, "How can they not be curious? How can they not look up?"

This, however, is nothing new to me. I remember one walk that I led with a larger group. At one point, I asked some women, "Did you see the deer?" 

"Deer?" they replied in amazement. "What deer?"

"The large herd of deer you just passed in that large field," I replied.

Nope. They'd not noticed a thing, so busy were they with their chat. Yes, you have to watch where you put your feet, but you could always look up from time to time to check where you are and what there is about you.

It seems a lot of people go through life like this - seeing, but not actually noticing anything. I remember watching some corny four-part series called Mistral's Daughter, with Stacy Keach in the starring role. He played an artist and at one point, he put an apple on a table and asked his little daughter to tell him what colour it was. "Green," she replied.

"Look again," he ordered. And she did. Then she noticed the green apple had flecks of yellow, rust, orange and red and the stalk was dark brown and black, 

It's like looking out of the train and saying, "Oh, there's some green countryside" and not noticing the colourful houses, the yellow bales of hay, the red berries, the grey tree trunks, the red tractor, the blueness of the sky reflected in the pond and so on and so forth.

One summer, when I was waking up early because of the light, I went on walks through the town for an hour before breakfast and I took my camera with me. I uploaded lots of photos onto Facebook and some people were amazed that I had taken photos of things they'd never noticed before. 

Just because you have eyes and are not blind, you can be said to 'see'. That does not, however, actually mean that you notice much. There are so many interesting and beautiful things that surround us, but most people never see them.

This reminds me a bit of something that the great Irish wit that was Oscar Wilde once said: We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars. 

Raise your eyes from the pavement and look around you and notice things. It makes life more interesting and uplifting.

Don't save things 'for best'....

Or, in my case, that should read "Don't save things 'for the right temperature'."

Last week, we had snow, for the first time in around a decade. And in the sales ten years ago, I bought some very warm boots with very thick rubber soles. They're not the kind I would usually buy since I prefer leather to synthetic fabric. Nevertheless, I was willing to use them once the temperatures got down to minus zero degrees Celcius.

And that is what happened last week: freezing-cold temperatures. Hence, on Wednesday, I finally put them on for the very first time after trying them on in the shoe shop, and trudged to the gym. Before putting them into the locker, I looked at the soles to see that they were clean, and they were.

Walking the kilometre back home, I noticed that the left heel didn't feel right and when I looked down I saw that the sole of the shoe had burst open and was in tatters. I was shocked, thinking that maybe someone at the gym had sabotaged my boots (I had noticed that the padlock hadn't closed properly). 

However, on consideration, I realised that, over all this time, the rubber had degraded and when I checked online, my suspicion was confirmed.

So...after all this time, when I finally used my spanking-new, wonderfully warm and toasty boots, they immediately disintegrated and I can now just throw them away. After one single wear. 

What was the point of keeping them safe and clean for all that time? Couldn't I have worn them when the temperature was, say, 5 degrees C instead of waiting for minus 2?

Although the boots had been bought in the sales, they turned out to be a waste of money.

A lot of people do the same: they keep things for a certain situation, which often never comes. My German gran had a lot of lovely household linen. And most of it was still unused by the time she died at the age of 100 years and 8 months. What pleasure had she got out of possessing all this lovely stuff? None whatsoever.

Now over the last few years, a lot of my neighbours and the neighbours of my German aunt in Berlin have died:  4 of my neighbours (2 women in their late 80s/early 90s), a woman of 62, a man of 58) and the two neighbours of my aunt in Berlin (one year apart from each other to the day, he was 92, she was in her late 70s).

You know what happened with the stuff in their flat? All thrown away. One son didn't even bother to accept what his mother had left so the landlords had to pay to get someone to cart everything away. The niece of the 62-year-old threw everything out apart from some sentimental items belong to her grandmother. The family of the 58-year-old? Everything onto the street for the bulky rubbish collection. The son of my aunt's neighbours? He has allowed some people to take what they want and the rest will be taken away by a stranger and sold off. He wants nothing of his parents' possessions.

And apart from the niece, no-one bothered to sift through any stuff. All junked en masse without being sorted or looked at.

As existentialism  teaches us....you live, you die, and everything you treasured is just thrown away.

The moral of the story is, therefore, that you don't save anything for a time that may never come. Enjoy all your nice stuff now.

Here is more on the subject: https://invisiblyme.com/saving-it-for-a-special-occasion-wasting-your-life-away/

German cheese versus British cheese

At my last nature drawing class before Christmas, there was a woman there who usually attends the watercolour class on Mondays (our teacher says if you can't make one class one week, you can visit the other class instead). She was a bit of an arrogant cow, pretty, but snooty. 

"Is there any food from the UK that you miss?" she asked, slyly, as though to imply that there couldn't possibly be any food you could miss since everyone know how bad British food is, right?

"Well," I said. "I could murder a kipper sometimes, and there are some cheeses."

"Oh, you mean Cheddar," she retorted, with a sneer on her pretty face.

Oh, dear, folks. Just because you've heard of Cheddar that doesn't mean that the UK only has Cheddar. On the other hand, at least the UK has one cheese that most Germans can name. Tell me - which German cheese has made it onto the world market? Emmentaler and Gruyere are Swiss.

When you go to a German supermarket, you'll find that most cheeses on display in the chilled section are yellow - and sliced. What is it with the Germans wanting sliced cheese all the time? And always yellow: Tilsit cheese, Butterkäse (butter cheese), the ubiquitous Gouda, occasionally Edam. And 9 times out of 10, any Cheddar available will also be sliced.

However, you'll notice one difference between the yellow cheese slices and the Cheddar slices: the Cheddar slices are smaller (and square). This is because it's a cheese that's been matured for a few months. Butterkäse, in contrast, is matured for a month! And all those rectangular cheese slices have one thing in common: you can roll them up. Try that with Cheddar - or even a slice of Gouda that's been allowed to mature for a good few months.

Now, back in the early 80s, Francois Mitterand, President of France at the time, became famous for saying, in despair, "How can you govern a country with 238 varieties of cheese?"

Two hundred and thirty-eight varieties of cheese? That ain't that many. Did you know that, according to the British Cheese Board (now part of Dairy UK), the UK has over 700 named varieties of cheese? SEVEN HUNDRED PLUS.

Some that I can remember from my childhood... Red Leicester (pronounced: lester), Double Gloucester (pronounced: gloster), Stilton (most popular at Christmas time), Wensleydale (pronounced: wens-lee-dayl), Shropshire ('schrop-scha'), Caerphilly ('kair-filly), Derby ('dar-bee') and Sage Derby (with sage [Salbei], a herb, in it) and Cheshire (very crumbly and is great grilled on toast). And those are just off the top of my head.

So the poor Germans are missing out on a lot of flavour by just importing Cheddar, but when you consider how plastic-like, yellow and bland the most popular, 'rollable' cheeses (e.g. bland Butterkäse or 'young' Gouda) are, then it's no wonder they don't.

And here's a suggestion for your next cheese and wine party:

https://ainttooproudtomeg.com/a-very-english-cheese-board/

One major advantage of drinking bourbon

One major advantage of drinking bourbon is this: if you happen to be in a bar or pub that is used to serving mostly Altbier (the local brew) and the occasional glass of white wine and you order a Jack Daniels or Jim Beam on the rocks, the staff are quite often unfamiliar as to how much of the amber liquid to pour into a glass, which means that you often end up with an amount of liquid that is sufficient to keep a goldfish in.

Thanks to the very generous serving I received, I am thoroughly sloshed. Even after walking back home 3 and a bit kilometres, I am still very pleasantly "anaesthetised", as I like to put it. Phew.

This is something I first observed as a student in the UK. I once accompanied an Austrian friend, Brigitte C., to a poetry weekend she was doing with the Open University. We stayed in a house owned by the Poet Laureate Ted Hughes in Yorkshire, not far from Haworth, where the Bronte sisters lived. On a visit to a local pub, I asked for a whisky and lemonade (what I drank in those days, not knowing any better). You'd have thought I had asked for some exotic cocktail. There was a look of disgust on the dour Yorkshireman's face as I ordered it, but he nevertheless gave me what I wanted - with about twice as much whisky than I was used to. That was certainly a 'happy hour'.