conversation in the rye

A few of us went to Central Market’s Passport Germany yesterday afternoon. But the thing is… we went with Erika!

She is 96 years young and recovering from a fall requiring hip surgery less than three months ago. Instead of using her walker, she repurposed a little store cart as such. I shadowed her the entire time, for pleasure as well as her safety.

Erika is German. Erika is quite particular and opinionated, not unlike my late Polish mother-in-law. Not unlike many of the regional Italians I’ve come know. 

Something in the way she thinks and the way she shops, runs parallel with me. Get the Savoy cabbage when you see it! Never tried white asparagus? Then that goes in the cart! I’ve never reached for either so that's just what I did.

Blame it on us for going on a Monday, but the event was a bit of a letdown. We expected, wrongly in hindsight, more extravaganza: Riesling wine sips, beers defined, pretzel bites with mustard, an enticing dessert display…

Nichts!

The bread shopping however, was interesting and at times humorous. I observed that when you want a sample but there are none, only full loaves set out, the baker will give you quite a chuck from a fresh loaf if you ask. Doing so, Erika, W, and I tried the ends from a small and round loaf of pumpernickel. The three of us as we huddled over the cart, thought it was delicious. Delicious until W and I commented on the soft dark raisins adding the perfect sweetness, which prompted Erika to then declare not to like it because she doesn't like raisins. Strolling further down the aisle, I noticed she tore off another bite and she had a genuine twinkle in her eyes when she saw I made sure the rest of the sample got in her bag to go.

I had a first hand lesson in the flavor characteristics of Jewish rye versus Bavarian rye. I was fine with choosing a loaf from the table of pre-sliced and wrapped, explaining to Erika that this popular bakery section restocks quickly and the loaves ready-to-go came perhaps just a few hours ago, from the same open bin where she waits for her chosen loaf to be sliced. She put no trust in my prediction and waited her turn. The rye loaf she chose was by nature particularly large, so she expected them to sell her just half. And they did.

Before we ended this afternoon memory in the making, I ordered a shared dinner to-go for W and me, from Central Market's large Sandwiches & Grill counter:  Salmon, grilled, with creole mustard on sourdough with red onion, cucumbers, cilantro, Manchego on the side, please.

I sat down to eat my half a couple hours later.

I thought 'toasted' meant toast the bread, but it meant the fully composed sandwich was placed in a grill press. That had produced a sandwich where the cucumbers weren't crisp, the cilantro was wilted, and the bread was a bit mushy from the press forcing moisture from the ingredients and the condiments.

As I took my last bite, I had quite a grin acknowledging the well know realization that I too, am particular and opinionated. No wonder I like Erika so damn much.