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.
One ahead …
Father and son toast.
Magic in a bottle.
Anyone who knows me well knows I am all about Riesling. I love the grape, I love the wines. I study them, I collect them, I drink them, I dream about them. I “grew up” in the Rheinland-Pfalz, a beautiful area out of which comes some great wines, and I still recall the first time I tasted a Riesling: It was 1980, and it was a Bassermann-Jordan, and it was delicious. My life changed then and there. I saw that magic could be bottled and opened later for one’s enjoyment. (Angela and I visited Weingut Geheimer Rat Dr. von Bassermann-Jordan in 2012, along with a number of other wineries in the area. And we’ll be back.)
God’s country, and home to some outstanding Rieslings. (Photo courtesy Germany.travel.com)
The next day I went to the bookstore near my American high school and bought a copy of Frank J. Prial’s “Wine Talk” and began reading it immediately. I read anything about wine I could get my hands on, which was mostly in the International Herald Tribune (I was an editor on the staff of my school’s newspaper, and Ms. Thompson subscribed to the IHT for her journalism students).
My first wine book.
Not long after that first taste my parents returned to the U.S. for a brief visit and I was left alone for a week or so. I don’t remember exactly where I bought my first collection of wines, but I clearly recall coming up with the plan to open a bottle each evening – I was at the time reading F. Scott Fitzgerald’s books in the order they were published, and the Rieslings surely added quality to that experience.
A friend who was around my age who lived upstairs from my family also liked wine, so he and I decided to start traveling to a village or town each week to enjoy a lunch or dinner and some wines. We went to Trier, and Mannheim, and many places in between. We ate bockwurst and schnitzel and escargot and saumagen. We drank mostly Rieslings, with some great beers thrown in for good measure. One meal I will always remember was one of trout caught from the waters below our table. It was at Seehaus Forelle, and it was more than 30 years ago, but it will be in my mind forever. The fish and the potatoes and the cucumber salad. And the wine. Riesling, of course.
Hopelessly devoted to you.
Venus in fur.
That is how my passion for Riesling was born. But where, you ask, does Olivia Newton-John come in? Well, like any red-blooded male at that time I had a monumental crush on the Grease star. I loved the film, liked her songs, (though I was soon to discover the joys of Elvis Costello and U2 and the Police and BAP and leave her type of music behind), and admit to fantasizing about her from time to time. Or more often.
Yesterday I saw a video made by the Camerata crew, which transported me back to those days in Germany and made me think of Olivia and my first taste of Riesling. Watch this short, one of the best things I have ever seen made about my beloved grape, and perhaps you will understand what I am talking about. And whatever you do, drink more Riesling. It’s better than greased lightning.
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.
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.
I played here, for a great trainer and with some great teammates.
Kaiserslautern American High School … a good side. (I am second from right, bottom row.)
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 …
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.
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 (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
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
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
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
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
Snow on the market vegetables
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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