Quite often, memories of dishes or tastes from the past fly into my head, and I, with pleasure, recall the beautiful culinary experience that is the source of the memory. These moments of gustatory recollection are usually sparked by thoughts of friends, or places in which I spent time, or streets I walked down on my way to a restaurant.
Yesterday die Pfalz flew into my brain, most specifically a hike in the Vorderpfalz with my friend Holger in the summer of 2012. We had driven from Mannheim, and were on our way to Kaiserslautern, where Holger lives with his wife and sons. We stopped for a hike, because the Vorderpfalz is a beautiful area, and it was a beautiful day: sun out, warm, a relaxed Sunday.
And that culinary memory, that taste? This time it was bowls of soup, which we ate outside on picnic tables on top of the ridge up which we had hiked. It was made in a small kitchen in a wooden cabin, a restaurant of sorts on the ridge, and contained Polish sausage and delicious, smoky broth and potatoes, among other ingredients. Around us, hikers drank beer and wine, and Holger and I looked out over the rolling green.