M is for Mahlzeit (Mealtime)

Erol's brother is coming to visit on Thursday from Nuremberg. For some reason, I always associate the word Mahlzeit with him. The word means “meal,” but it’s used as a greeting, akin to guten Appetit. I don't think my brother-in-law has ever started a meal without saying it. It’s practical, efficient, and completely unceremonious—in short, very German.

Don't try to sneak a bite off his plate!

Spending time with my brother-in-law over the years has taught me a lot about German dining habits. For one, he’s not a fan of sharing food. I’m used to Israeli-style meals, where various dishes are placed in the center of the table for everyone to dig into (or compete for). It’s not quite the lazy Susan vibe of a Chinese bistro (though, as a Vancouver Jew, that too was a weekly Sunday ritual), but it’s definitely communal. "Family style" just isn’t his thing. Everyone orders what they want—why nibble on someone else’s Käsespätzle when your heart's set on Sauerbraten? There’s a certain logic to it, I suppose. He also swears by the simplest meals, like a classic Eintopfgericht—literally a "one-pot meal." No frills, just comfort. Of course, he’s got it good: his wife is Turkish and could cook circles around most people, even with one hand tied behind her back.

Tonight, Leo decided to make place cards. Ima became, delightfully, Ami :)

I wish I could say the same about myself. I’m a decent cook, but also super disorganized and, frankly, unmotivated. Hence, our home meals have been basic and repetitive. We eat a lot of eggs. And schnitzel. And pancakes. The lack of variety reflects my own lack of creativity, to be sure, but also the generally sparse produce options.

At least the kids can make their own Pfannkuchen.... but I'm not exactly expanding their culinary repertoire.

Now, I’m not complaining. The produce here is incredibly fresh and flavorful, and it also spoils much faster than in Canada (which I take to be a good sign). So we go grocery shopping almost daily, rather than weekly as we did in Toronto, a stress habit that formed during the first pandemic lockdown. Still, I find myself buying the same ingredients over and over with little variation. Hey, I may be turning German after all!

Full disclosure: I don’t buy sauerkraut, but I will never say no to Kohl, another word for cabbage in all its varieties—Blumenkohl (cauliflower), Rosenkohl (brussels sprouts), Grünkohl (kale), Helmut Kohl (former German Chancellor).

So many potatoes, so much cabbage. Leo was a wonderful vegetable model.

Dining out? Same story. We venture into new spots, but inevitably return to our favorites. Rafi has already ranked his top Freiburg eateries: #1 is Lollo—best burger in town (world, if you ask him, and I might agree). #2 Kartoffelhaus (Potato House—seriously, Germany, are you trying to live up to the stereotypes?!), which is ironic since the kids only deign to eat potatoes in pommes frites form—or pom-mess, as Germans charmingly butcher it. My kids’ entire restaurant lexicon: burger or schnitzel for Rafi, Nudeln mit Tomatensoße for Leo. Their Yelp reviews could fit on a cocktail napkin.

Some of their best artwork has been produced at Lollo

Lollo's homemade raspberry-elderflower lemonade adds a touch of sophistication to burger night.

Germany has come a long way in terms of ethnic food and vegetarian/vegan options. While I’m not a vegetarian, I’ve always tried to follow a plant-based diet—since before I knew “plant-based” was a thing. The first time I was in Berlin as a student over twenty years ago, I tried to buy tofu. It came in a jar that looked like it contained formaldehyde, and the consistency was—well, hard to describe.

Butter-Gemüse. I now know better.

At the time, I didn’t really know how to cook, having only lived at home or in dorms with a cafeteria and meal plan. I asked my mom for some foolproof recipes. She suggested a simple soup made from frozen, pre-cut vegetables. I bought a package suspiciously labeled “Buttergemüse.” Even with my limited German, I knew Buttergemüse meant “butter vegetables,” but I rationalized it as simply meaning vegetables that one might serve with butter. Duh. When I opened the package at home, I found a giant, yellowish, frozen monolith with a few carrots and peas trapped inside. The soup turned out…uh…buttery.

But I digress…

Then there’s bread (hearkening back to the letter B for Brot post). We eat a lot of bread. Like constantly. But it’s so hearty and contains an almost risky amount of fiber.

Leo's go-to bakery pick: Quarkbällchen (sort of an elevated, not-too-sweet donut hole)

Erol and I have spent an absurd amount of time working in bakeries (I’m sitting in Kaisers Gute Backstube as I type this), not to mention countless after-school stops. Bakeries are more plentiful than cafes here and usually have free wifi, and since we go through insane quantities of bread each day, it makes sense to spend time at the source.

There’s a particular type of bread we love, but it comes with its own warning label: Life-Changing Bread. This is what you might call a euphemism. The loaf earns the name because it keeps things... moving. This morning, I recommended it to the guy at the counter who was mulling over his options. He grinned, leaned in until his face was maybe two inches from mine, and said, “Yes! It's great for the Stuhlgang.” (That’s bowel movements, in case you’re wondering.) Just casual, friendly small talk—German-style.

Here, digestive function is discussed with surprising openness—and, dare I say it, even enthusiasm. Erol once remarked that North American curse words tend to revolve around sex or genitals (you can supply your own examples—this is a family-friendly blog, after all). In contrast, German swearing is largely scatological. No one bats an eye at a casual Scheiße, but if you want to insult someone, Arschloch (asshole) is a popular go-to. Meanwhile, people discuss Stuhlgang like it's the weather.

He really does eat a lot of schnitzel.

There’s a German saying: “Wer A sagt, muss auch B sagen”—if you say A, you must also say B, meaning you should follow through, finish what you started. My German-Jewish grandfather had his own twist on it: “Wer A sagt, muss auch Schloch sagen.” That's German humor, in a nutshell—wordplay paired with toilet talk.

Apologies, this post took an unexpected turn. I guess I did finish what I started, but somehow went from Mahlzeit straight to the toilet. Maybe my grandfather was onto something after all.