Today was cold, windy, and wet, and Elias was outside at soccer camp from 10 a.m. to 5:30 p.m. In the U.S., I would warm up my boy with a nice steaming bowl of matzoball soup for dinner. Alas, matzo meal is not exactly a staple here in Germany, so we made the next best thing: Flaedlesuppe.Flaedle are Swabian crepe-like pancakes, also known in our house as "papa pancakes," since Stefan's usually the one who makes them. To make Flaedlesuppe for three hungry vegetarians, take six eggs and beat them with a generous flumph of flour and an appropriate amount of milk (don't ask me how much, just wing it), until the batter is the right consistency--thicker than crepe batter, thinner than spaetzle dough. Cook the batter into several pancakes the way you would cook crepes (but not as thin), in a pan with a little butter or oil. After they're all cooked, roll one or two Flaedle at a time into a cylinder, then slice into thin strips. Once all the Flaedle are sliced, ladle some of your favorite veggie broth into a bowl, add some of the Flaedle strips, a little parsley, and voilà: Flaedlesuppe.
Over our bowls of soup, I felt poetic, and so recited "Tod und das Maedchen" using my well-honed maiden and Samiel voices (Samiel being the demon in Weber's opera Der Freischuetz). Flaedlesuppe and Death don't really have much in common--or they shouldn't, anyway--but "Tod und das Maedchen" is the only poem I remember in its entirety auf Deutsch, so that was that.
1 comment:
Once, years ago, you and your father and I took a walk out to Picnic Point during which you burst into a dramatic recitation of "Tod und das Maedchen". So, I want to warn you off reciting such Golum-ish poetry whilst your dear husband and son are trying to eat their hot Flaedlesuppe. It could cause them to laugh so hard they might aspirate little bits of Flaedle, making it a Very Dangerous thing to do. Just saying.
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