The Germans Know

I'm on a German kick, you see. Yesterday, it was kummerspeck, of course. Then, on Thursday, it was a discussion with one of my students, Yannick, about his upcoming trip to Germany, where his family is from (and, no, he knew nothing about it except "Umm, it's big and you go there in an airplane.") Several days prior to that, I considered going downtown to the Christkindlmarket, and then decided not to because crowds make me a wreck. And it's 10 degrees outside. But, see? The German things keep happening!

It all started about a month ago, when I made three amazing new friends. Not just friends, you see, but GERMAN friends. Lovely, kind, hysterically funny boys they are, all from Hamburg, which is apparently the coolest city in the whole universe, because it produced these completely incredible humans. We had the most amazing week, strolling about Navy Pier in the fierce night wind, cramming deep dish pizza into our bodies, pub-hopping with cheap American beer on the agenda, tackling that same fierce night wind on the beach, learning idioms in both our languages, eating an odd mishmash of a meal in my dining room, translating words like mullet and mashed potatoes, and, mainly, laughing maniacally about everything. Laughter, you know, that's the same in every language. But, honestly, it just sounds much cooler with a German accent. Everything sounds cooler with a German accent.

We talked a lot about food and cooking. We did a lot of eating, as you can imagine, and I was pretty excited to learn that they each can consume more food in one sitting than I can eat in one year. I was impressed and happy, because this meant that we spent a lot of our time on a food tour of Chicago, and having an excuse to do that is nothing short of delightful for a girl like me. I learned that all three of them -- Ludwig, Francesco, and Lennart -- like to cook, and, apparently, are quite adept in the kitchen. Ah, lovely. Boys who cook! Bring it on!

I had the honor of cooking for them one night and, of course, because I am a perfectionist who is rarely impressed with my own creations, ended up feeling like I completely botched it. They were so appreciative and so happy with the food, but you know how it goes -- I had one chance to impress my new friends who, possibly, will never again be convened around my dining room table, and I chose (naturally) to cook something extremely ordinary. Supremely ordinary. Like, work-night-supper-easy. Why! Why! Why!  Why do I do this to myself? Why can't I choose to make something fancy? Something inventive! Something exciting! Why can't I use this as an opportunity for challenge and discovery?

Well, it's because, first of all, I'm a crazy person, but, second of all, it's because, I suppose, I trust myself in the kitchen. It is perhaps a flaw, or perhaps a blessing, but for some reason I feel all too confident serving incredibly ordinary things when there are guests at stake. Nevertheless, I started to kick myself as soon as the dishes were cleared. I thought, why didn't I make a beef Wellington? I moaned, why didn't I do something even remotely big and impressive? WHY the burgers? Why ANY kind of burger for a DINNER PARTY? Is that ALL I can do? I slumped into myself and thought, why on earth did I serve something as banal as corn? And potatoes! Who on earth makes dumb potatoes for COMPANY?

But here's what it comes down to. I always think these things. It's never good enough, you see. I cook nearly every day, and, naturally, the very best, most impressive things that roll out of my kitchen are when I am cooking for just myself or for Andy and myself. But when company rolls in, I pull the oddest, most mundane things out of the oven. I might as well serve rocks to the guests! And every single time, I moan to myself, Why didn't I make beef Wellington? Yep. Every time. And the hysterical thing is that I have never actually MADE beef Wellington.

Somehow, it stands in my mind as the ultimate impress-your-guests sort of dish. It's not like a rock, it's like a geode! Crack it open and shield your eyes from the beauty! But instead, when the Germans came, I made the most typical meal -- something I would eat on an ordinary day. I beat myself up over it for days, but then! Then Anthony Bourdain saved me, as he tends to do. He opined the beauty of homecooked meals, as he is want to do, and I watched him in the home of a family far, far away. He had been invited to dinner, and the family was preparing traditional dishes. They served with mismatched plates atop a plastic tablecloth on a makeshift table with rickety legs. There was a dozen of them at least, crowded around, elbows touching, dishes clanking, traffic noises coming in through the open windows, the summer's steam wetting everyone's brow -- and, well, it was good. It was amazing, he said. And I believed him.

It was perfect, he thought, because it showed him what this new country was, what family was in this unfamiliar place, and, most importantly, it showed him what real food was. Not restaurant food, not show-offy food, not expensive food, and certainly not beef Wellington. And then, well, then I felt better. The next day, I came across a recipe in the new Saveur for a homestyle German soup. You know, the kind every German grandma makes. The traditional thing, the real deal. I read about it, and I loved learning that it's the kind of soup that you might have when you swing by someone's house, or as an after school snack, or for supper. The thought of serving this extremely simple soup to guests made me smile. It was bare bones, this soup recipe, and I leapt at it. It is, I think, a very nice ode to my new German friends, my German heritage, and all these German puzzle pieces that are settling into my life these days.

Try this soup. I think you will be impressed. And so will your guests.


Graupensuppe (Barley Soup)
based on the recipe from Saveur in, I believe, the October 2011 issue


4 T unsalted butter
1 small yellow onion, finely chopped
1/2 cup pearl barley
4 cups vegetable or chicken stock
1/2 cup finely chopped potato (russet or new potatoes work well)
1/4 cup finely chopped carrot
1/4 cup finely chopped leek
1/2 t dried marjoram
1 German sausage, like bockwurst or bratwurst (optional)
1 piece of bacon (optional)
salt and black pepper to taste

Heat butter in a stockpot or Dutch oven over medium-high heat. When it is melted and bubbly, add the onion, and cook, stirring, until translucent and a little bit caramelized, about 5 minutes. Add the barley, and cook, stirring, until lightly toasted, about 5 minutes. Add stock, potato, carrot, leek, marjoram, sausages, and bacon, and cook, stirring occasionally, until barley is softened, about 30 minutes. Remove sausages and bacon from saucepan, thinly slice sausages, and discard bacon. Season soup with nutmeg, salt, and pepper.

See! That's it! So easy!


Notes:
Many versions of the recipe call for celery root, which I didn't use, simply because I didn't have any! So feel free to add that, although I'm not sure it would change the soup drastically. Additionally,  the original Graupensuppe calls for sausage and bacon, which I'm sure would be super-delicious and highly approved by all the German grandmothers. I had the sausage and bacon on hand, but there was an upset belly at my kitchen table when I was making this soup, and I thought a milder, non-greasy version of this soup would be more appropriate for the occasion. Last, there's the nutmeg issue. This soup traditionally has nutmeg, which is added at the end, but I just wasn't feelin' it, so I held off. So. There you have it. I will now sit here patiently, waiting for those aforementioned German grandmothers to call me up and tell me to get my hintern back into the kitchen and add that meat to the suppe before I'm disqualified from the cooking club.