Bittner's Bakery

It was a simple request. "A box of Triscuits for Nannie." But what an upheaval of emotions it created inside of me. Even before I moved to Germany, I wasn't good at finding crackers. You'd think they'd be near the chips, or perhaps cereal, but they always seem to be hidden, in an obscure middle aisle, expiration dates slipping by since no one can ever find them. But how could I refuse, on my grandparent's 60th wedding anniverary, to buy them a box of crackers?

I started making my way through the store that felt bigger than King Ludvig's castle. I nearly teared up when I spotted school-boy cookies that were a favorite of mine in Germany. The card aisle was a bright spot because the world of greeting cards was opened for me once again, in a language I could read. But I don't even like greeting cards. The despair settled in as I found myself in the "bakery." I say bakery, only because that's what they called it. A case full of doughnuts and some rubbery looking croissants doesn't really cut it. I perused the bread options with dismay- pre-sliced loaves nearly suffocating in their plastic wrappings. I discovered my mother in the deli and in my dismay I told her I couldn't find the crackers. She sent me to the car to recover while she and my cousins finished the shopping.

It felt kind of like that Garth Brooks song, "Wish I didn't know now (what I didn't know then)." For a moment, I wished I'd never sunk my teeth into a warm, buttery croissant, never tasted the delights of a sandwich made with a salty pretzel roll, and never known the smell of fresh rosemary bread, drizzled in melty butter. Was it worth the pain, the withdrawal, knowing I might never taste them again?! My cousins soon joined me in the car, pulling me back to reality and out of my misery. Unbelievably, they'd found the requested Triscuits.

We had one more stop to make before returning to the lake house where the rest of the family was gathered to celebrate Nannie and Granddad's anniversary. We needed to pick up the cake. I was too depressed to recognize that this errand might be the redemption of my first trying trip to the American grocery store. We pulled up to Bittner's Bakery and were immediately greeted by a heavenly smell. The smell of hope. My spirits rose as the little bell clanged with the opening of the door and we were greeted by rosie-faced Ruby who welcomed us to Bittner's. At once, I felt at ease, amongst the glass cases displaying braided breads and fruit-filled tarts. The smiley faced cookies seemed to share my joy and relief that there was a bakery out there that could live up to the name bakery. A place that would sanction an afternoon meal of 'Kaffee und Kuchen' with honor and respect.

Mom picked up the cake, and perhaps sensing my dampened spirits, offered to treat each of us to a pastry. My brave cousin, Kiley, ordered a maple bacon doughnut. Though I'm sure it wouldn't be approved of in a German bakery, it clearly needed to be investigated. I happily ordered a croissant, drizzled in chocolate. My old standby. The moment of truth came in the car, with the anniversary cake balancing precariously on my lap. I carefully removed the croissant from the bag, and breathed in deeply. The chocolate smelled promising. But when I bit into it, instead of delicate, buttery flakes, I found crunchy dough. There was too much chocolate, and it had been tragically overcooked. Bittner's, too, had disappointed me. I saved the rest of the croissant for Jordan, mostly so he could commiserate.

Pre-taste 

Later, after I'd had some time to recover, I asked Kiley about the maple bacon doughnut. Her eyes widened as she shared with me the surprising discovery that, "It was actually really good!" And that's when I realized that maybe it was okay that Bittner's Bakery could only make a mediocre croissant. Because apparently they made amazing maple bacon doughnuts. Truth be told, Germany's chocolate croissants are rather unimpressive compared to the ones in France. Once, we drove twenty minutes to France, just to buy a chocolate croissant because they were so superior there. Well, France is no longer twenty minutes away. But Bittner's Bakery is. Perhaps this is a season for letting go of chocolate croissants, and embracing maple bacon doughnuts. And someday, when I return to Kandern, I'll drive twenty minutes to France for a chocolate croissant...and I'll probably be wishing they made maple bacon doughnuts.

This picture was stolen from google images...I didn't have the foresight to photograph the maple bacon doughnut in the moment. 

Our First Night in Germany

I can hardly believe that our time in Germany is over. I think back to our first starry-eyed night when, after a meal of cheese, apples, orange juice, and of course, bread, we eagerly set off on foot to explore our new town. I was delighted to find tiny garden paths spilling over with pink geraniums and red roses, and crumbling barns behind pastel blue and yellow half-timbered houses. An hour later, the evening light was starting to fade as we unlatched the gate and strolled back up the brick driveway leading to our refurbished barn apartment. It wasn't until we reached our front steps that we realized that in our jet-lagged state, neither of us had grabbed the key to the automatically locking door. We were locked out.

We didn't have a cell phone, much less anyone's phone number. Not that it would have helped, since we knew that our landlord, who had the extra key, was out of town for the week. We didn't know where our host, Rachel, lived. It was after 9 pm and we had no idea what to do.

We didn't know, at the time, that most of our immediate neighbors spoke English and that we could have knocked on any one of their doors for help. We also didn't know that our soon-to-be best friends lived right across the river, and we could see their apartment from our front porch. We didn't know that we could have walked to the Italian Eis Cafe down the street, and most likely would have run into someone connected with BFA there. We'd never lived in such an intimate community and didn't know that people were no longer separated into work, neighborhood, or church categories. Instead of working to integrate our lives, it would soon require effort to separate it. We didn't know how immediately known that would make us feel, and how much we would enjoy small town life. But we would learn.

We also didn't know that any one of the people in this wonderful, tight-knit community would have bent over backwards to help us out. We'd never lived in a community quite like it before. After-all, Dayla hadn't yet given us her precious bottle of wrinkle spray from the states, after learning how much I hated to iron; Marcy hadn't given us her electric water kettle so that I could drink the comforts of my tea from home; and Kari and Mike hadn't yet offered to pick us up from the airport on Christmas Eve. We didn't yet know what it was like to receive such bountiful generosity from people who hardly knew us. But we would learn.

We didn't know that had we actually knocked on a German neighbor's door, the fact that we didn't speak German might not have prevented us from communicating. In all likelihood, they probably would have said they spoke, "a little" English, which really means that they spoke English quite proficiently, and if they didn't, charades worked really well, too. But we hadn't yet had to act out bread crumbs at the grocery store, or jump starting a car for the policeman. Like a chocolate-vanilla twist ice cream cone, our interactions with Germans would soon alternate between funny and frustrating many times in the same conversation. We didn't yet know the fun, and the terror of living in a country where we didn't speak the language.  But we would learn.

We also didn't know that despite how great everyone claims German windows are, if they are cracked open at the top, it actually only takes about fifteen minutes of panicky jiggling and wiggling, after you've tied your curtain to the handle and pulled the window shut as far as possible, until the lock pops open and you no longer have to plan on sleeping on your neighbor's trampoline in the rain. But that night, we learned.