Category: Holger Westing

Grace Amid Discord and Despair: We Talk Ramey, Cline, ‘Sideways’, Riesling, Zinfandel, Syrah, and More

Fires out west, Twitterreah in D.C., and collapsing infrastructure in Genoa: The woes continue unabated (it’s always been that way, of course), and as summer progresses toward the autumnal equinox, despair and dismay seem the manners of the day. What to do?

Well, once you’ve checked on your friends and acquaintances in wine country, those dealing with the deadly fires, once you’ve donated to relief efforts there, after you’ve made sure your friend in Genoa is OK, after you’ve read the latest piece from Maggie Haberman about the goings-on in the White House (has there ever been a leakier bunch at 1600 Pennsylvania?), it’s time to cook and drink and eat and give thanks for the solace that can be had in those activities.

A few weeks ago, I was at State of Grace in Houston, drinking Rosé and enjoying some oysters. Matt Crawford, the restaurant’s general manager and beverage director, stopped by and poured us a Mezcal, and we talked briefly. Matt’s a great guy, and he just happens to be the subject of my latest Wine Talk. Give it a read, and next time you decide on oysters, pair them with Mezcal.

Drink Mezcal with your oysters. (Brockhaus photo)

Briny heaven (Brockhaus photo)

Continuing with wine, we move to Germany (my favorite wine country), and a great cause. (Drink Riesling every day!) But first, let’s hear from Mark Twain on Deutschland:

My philological studies have satisfied me that a gifted person ought to learn English (barring spelling and pronouncing) in thirty hours, French in thirty days, and German in thirty years. It seems manifest, then, that the latter tongue ought to be trimmed down and repaired. If it is to remain as it is, it ought to be gently and reverently set aside among the dead languages, for only the dead have time to learn it.
– “That Awful German Language,” Appendix D of A Tramp Abroad

Whenever the literary German dives into a sentence, that is the last you are going to see of him till he emerges on the other side of his Atlantic with his verb in his mouth.
A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court

…mastery of the art and spirit of the Germanic language enables a man to travel all day in one sentence without changing cars.
Christian Science

A dream…I was trying to explain to St. Peter, and was doing it in the German tongue, because I didn’t want to be too explicit.
Mark Twain’s Speeches, 1923

The Germans are exceedingly fond of Rhine wines; they are put up in tall, slender bottles, and are considered a pleasant beverage. One tells them from vinegar by the label.
A Tramp Abroad

Twain’s sarcasm and humor set aside, if you read this today (Sunday, the 19th of August, 2018) before 4 o’clock in the afternoon or so, and if you are in Houston, Texas, hightail it to Camerata and drink some fine German wines and contribute to a good cause. (Click here for more details.)

All of this talk about German wines takes me back to a fine summer day a few years ago; my friend Holger and I took a journey that included a stop at Schloss Vollrads. We drank and ate well.

A fine setting for Riesling.

I enjoy a Riesling at Schloss Vollrads.

Drinking Rielsing with Holger on the Rhine near Bingen.

Finally, there’s Zinfandel and Syrah, and Cline and Ramey. Two bottles we opened recently, two vintages that I recommend highly and that will pair with everything from hamburgers to beef stew and grilled ribeye or lamb. David Ramey and Nancy and Fred Cline are the names behind these two bottles, and you’ll want to add both wines to your inventory.

Zinfandel from old vines is in this bottle.

A Snowy Night in Kaiserslautern

A line of excellence.

A line of excellence.

Holger and Max had been planning to go out for an evening of beer, at a bar where they would order a meter of Bier and enjoy drinking the glasses over the course of an evening. I went with them. I have written much about the Westings, and they are dear friends. I miss them, and look forward to spending time in their company again. (I miss fresh German beer, too.) Prost, friends.

Max and I with beers.

Max and I with beers.

One ahead ...

One ahead …

Father and son toast.

Father and son toast.

Man and Woman Cannot Live on Food Alone: One Must Have Fussball

Not really. But I like the shirt.

Not really. But I like the shirt.

Yes, food and cooking and eating are important to me. But so is football, the real football (which is also known as soccer). And even if you are not a fan of the beautiful game, you are possibly aware that the World Cup kicked off today in Brazil, the birthplace of Pelé, the greatest player ever.

It promises to be an outstanding tournament, Sepp Blatter notwithstanding. I am looking forward to it, as the Cup has been a ritual for me for a long time. It is the grandest and most beautiful sporting event known to man. It moves me, infuriates me, brings tears of pride and joy to my eyes, and inspires me. It is integral to life. (That also describes my relationship to food.)

I am lucky, because I support two teams: Germany and the United States of America. I went to high school in Germany, and watching Die Mannschaft has been a religious experience for me ever since. Beckenbauer, Briegel, Brehme, Walter, Klinsmann, Breitner, Klose, Mueller, Schumacher .. those names, and others, are part of my education and history.

Herr Kehl. my trainer at TSG, and a great man indeed. Rest in peace, my friend.

Herr Kehl. my trainer at TSG, and a great man indeed. Rest in peace, my friend.

The first time I saw the team play, their opponent was Brazil. I was at the Kehl family’s home for dinner, and Frau Kehl made delicious stuffed cabbage. We drank beer and wine and watched the match. Herr Kehl was my trainer at TSG Kaiserslautern, and he was the best coach I ever had. He died several years ago, and I miss him dearly. I spent some time with Frau Kehl in 2012, and I look forward to seeing her again soon. The Kehls live a stone’s throw away from the Betzenberg, my favorite stadium. It is the home to my club team, 1. FC Kaiserslautern. I am an American, but my blood runs the colors of Deutschland where football is concerned. In my brain is the profound memory of an all-white ball, a warm, late-spring day, the odor of the grass on the training field at TSG. We played as if our lives depended on that ball. Perhaps it did. I climbed the hill to the Betzenberg twice a month to see my beloved FCK, and return there every chance I get. It was a great time of my life. It changed me for the better.

This stadium is legend. The Betzenberg is in my heart and soul.

This stadium is legend. The Betzenberg is in my heart and soul.

I played here, for a great trainer and with some great teammates.

I played here, for a great trainer and with some great teammates.

Kaiserslautern American High School ... a good side.

Kaiserslautern American High School … a good side. (I am second from right, bottom row.)

Holger Westing, great in the kitchen and on the field.

Holger Westing, a talent in the kitchen and on the field.

The US is another matter. I started playing soccer in Florida, but I learned to play Fussball in Germany, through the hands and spirit and mind of Herr Kehl, and with my teammates at TSG, including Holger Westing, still one of my closest friends. (I also played for my American high school team in Kaiserslautern, under a German coach, Herr Konrad. The dual training regimens and match schedule benefitted my fitness.) At that time, the US national team was a nonentity. Sure, they defeated England at the 1950 tournament, 1-0, but it would be 40 years before the Yanks qualified for another World Cup. I did not follow the team, I did not know much about it, and what I saw of it was not worth seeing. That has, of course, changed. In 2002, the US defeated Portugal twice, with aplomb, and beat Mexico with flair on the way to a quarterfinal meeting with Germany. Yes, that Germany. It was a 1-0 result, Germany moved on, but the US had arrived. The American program has continued to improve. In 2010 the team finished first in its group, ahead of England (the team I love to hate; more on that later). In my opinion, the caliber of the 2014 squad is inferior to that 2002 side, and they drew a Group of Death for Brazil: Ghana, Portugal, and Germany. Smart money would bet on Portugal and Germany going through to the next round, but I am hoping for a Germany – US 1-2 finish.

The ball continues to roll. Here’s to Germany’s fourth World Championship, great Fussball, and some fine food. I am happy to be alive.

The tradition continues ...

The tradition continues …

 

 

 

A German Repast

All one needs for sensual nourishment.

All one needs for sensual nourishment.

In a small town — perhaps it is technically a village — in Germany, near Kaiserslautern, lives a family to whom I am very close. I have known them since the 1980s, and think of them often. They have told me to consider their home my home in Germany, and I do. I wish I could see them more often.

Whenever I am with them I am reminded yet again how rich and diverse Europe’s food offerings are. Gudrun always sets a fine table, and the dinner pictured above was no exception. You sit in the dining room, snow falling outside, and the cheeses and meats and wines – and conversation – make the evening something you want never to end.

A Hike in Die Pfalz, Ending With Fine Bowls of Soup

A vista that is etched in my mind.

A vista that is etched in my mind.

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.

Bowls of soup after a hike, a good thing to remember. Bowls of soup after a hike, a good memory.

A horse tale (and Max produces some fine pasta)

I enjoy teaching others to cook, and showing them that learning a few things culinary is well worth the time it takes to do so.

I’ve been cooking a lot in Gudrun’s kitchen this month, and it’s been fun showing Max the ropes, especially making pasta.

Last week we went to the Saturday market and I bought a nice foal steak and some horse sausage, and they became a wonderful ragù. It was cooked low and slow, for seven or eight hours. I started it on Saturday evening, and on Sunday Max and I got together and made pasta. I put him in charge, and he did a fine job … it was his second batch, and I do believe he could produce some good pasta in any kitchen.

We made vanilla panna cotta for dessert, Holger opened a Syrah, and Sunday evening in Kaiserslautern was delicious.

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More than one home …

I’m in Kaiserslautern, in one of my homes away from home. I lived in this city – which is nestled in the Rheinland-Pfalz, not so far from the French border – during my high school days, and the place and the people here have had a profound influence on my life. It was where I first learned to appreciate beer and wine; it’s where I continued my Fussball education and romance, playing for my Department of Defense high school and a German club.

Champions of Europe, the Red Raiders of KAHS

Champions of Europe, the Red Raiders of KAHS (Photo courtesy of Frank Williamson)

It’s also where I began to expand my culinary horizons beyond the foods of the U.S., learning about a new cuisine and spending time in German kitchens. I tasted my first Saumagen here, and my first Frikadelle, having wandered past a cart selling them on the way up to the Betzenberg.

The hill of dreams

The hill of dreams

I had read “The Great Gatsby” before we moved to Germany, but it was in Kaiserslautern that I became a serious reader, through Fitzgerald and wine. My parents and sisters were traveling in the U.S., and I was home alone, so I bought a few bottles of wine and began reading the man from St. Paul, from his first words to his final, unfinished, novel. I am sure there was a Riesling or two in the mix, and I clearly recall an Italian red. (To this day, whenever I taste a great dry Riesling, especially one from the Pfalz, I think of this line of Fitzgerald’s: “I’ve been drunk for about a week now, and I thought it might sober me up to sit in a library.”)

Books and wine

Books and wine

While in Kaiserslautern, I am a guest in the home of a friend I first met in 1980, Holger Westing. He and his wife, Gudrun, have two sons, Tim and Max, and I am enjoying catching up with all of them. (Holger was my teammate at TSG Kaiserslautern, my German club. He was a very good footballer, and went on to play for 1. FC Kaiserslautern’s amateur squad.) We’ve had a light snowfall, the January days and nights are cold and comforting, and the soup is on.

A great friend, for decades thus far: Holger Westing

A great friend, for decades thus far: Holger Westing

Gudrun Westing, a friend for the ages

Gudrun Westing, a friend for the ages

Of course, it always comes back to the food, wherever I find myself. Food and wine. I was in Germany last year as well, and tasted (and drank) a lot of Rieslings. Holger loves wine, and he and I spent a couple of days driving through the Pfalz and Baden, stopping at as many wineries as possible. Angela and I spent some time in the region as well in the autumn of last year, and I was happy to be able introduce her to the wines and cuisine of the area.

In the Pfalz: My favorite dining companion

In the Pfalz: My favorite dining companion

We go to the market on Saturdays, for horse sausage and Bollburgers and vegetables and Frikadellen. We enjoy the slow days, the unblemished carpet of snow, the comforting beginning of a new year. It is a fine thing to cook in a kitchen in the home of a friend, a friend of more than 30 years, in a part of the world that has been bred in my bones and continues to teach me so much.

Horse, and good it is

Horse, and good it is

Snow on the market vegetables

Snow on the market vegetables

A fine breakfast: the Bollburger

A fine breakfast: the Bollburger

Looking back, I think it was highly appropriate that my father was transferred to Germany, and to the Rheinland-Pfalz … great wines, great Fussball (I must state that my team, 1. FC Kaiserslautern, was much better back in those days), beautiful land and soil, and oh so close to Paris and Bavaria. And, most dear to me, some of the best people I have ever met. I’ll be back here, again and again.

Welcome home, wherever you find yourself.

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