Souls

Frustrated by escalating market prices for decent bread, and inspired by our new neighbor (who makes an incredible crusty rye bread in his dutch oven). Darling Husband has taken to baking bread. The Internet gave him a basic recipe for Seelen, and after a few weeks of practice runs, we have been enjoying spectacular golden Seelen on Sunday.

After posting pictures on Facebook, many friends asked about what they are. Seelen, literally "souls" are the bread found in the pocket of Swabia where my Darling Husband originates; the same place he rushed to, to gather with his family and share salty tears and Seelen with his family. For while he was baking Seelen here, his father was slipping towards the other side, and passed the threshold in the wee hours of our morning, shortly after his son arrived in the Vaterland.

Seelen were originally the small loaves placed on graves for All Soul's Day. But they're so good with fresh butter, it would be a waste to not share it with the living, and make it daily.

This is where I admonish you to hold your family tight, and perhaps share a crusty loaf with those you love. Because all too soon, we must say goodbye.

Of cabbage and kings

A mention that we were in Germany over the Christmas break triggered a dormant thought in my English friend's brain: had I ever heard of something called a Gaitopf for making Sauerkraut, and did I know of any less expensive option than the one on Amazon?

I checked out the link she sent, to the Harsch Gaitopf, with its jaw-dropping prices. It's a nifty-difty old-fashioned looking ceramic crock designed to ferment lowly (and plentiful in winter) cabbage into delicious and healthy sauerkraut. The trick is a rim of water that the lid sits in; it forms a seal to keep the bad bacteria out, and let the beneficial ones multiply.

There is a long-standing tradition of fermented foods (think yoghurt, cheese wine, sauerkraut, oh, yes, don't forget yeast for bread and beer…), and the white coats that have deigned to look at traditional foods are still scratching their heads on why they are so good for us. But even they readily admit that these ancient foods are still around, both for taste and their benefits.

Which meant I was equally baffled as I helped her hunt online for a more reasonably-priced version of such a clearly traditional vessel. It turned out to be a two-fold problem: the Germans have been/are slow to adopt "new" technology (Number One son actually got to see someone use a typewriter--in the hospital no less) so online shopping is a hit-and-miss proposition.

The other problem turned out to be linguistic: the term to use was gaeren or gären, not gairen. Once I figured that one out, Google's floodgates opened, and we found oodles of them. I laughingly joked that prices were so reasonable that she couldn't spend a hundred dollars unless she really wanted to make 25 liters of the stuff. Turns out she did, and at the latest report, she had bought the 16 liter pot, which arrived in only two days from Leipzig. I can only hope that she also invested in the nifty slicer they had for preparing that much cabbage too.

And so I thought of her cabbage bubbling away this evening, as I chopped up a heavy purple cabbage and threw it into my bubbling pot on the stove for tomorrow evening's meal. We'll be out all day tomorrow, exploring by train (the destination is secondary to the mode of transportation as far as Little one is concerned), so I'm making supper ahead. And I know that my Rotkohl will taste better tomorrow anyway.