I grew up with the language of food. When I talk with my grandmother, I describe my week through the foods I tried - the fresh ravioli at a new Italian place, the bratwurst at the market, the tomato pesto sauce I discovered at Rewe. My mother quickly follows, "I went to a shower this weekend" with a full run down of each dish served.
Frankfurt frequently reminds me of New York from the culinary perspective. I found butchers for my meat. I buy my Parmesan cheese from a cheese-maker. Bakeries sit on every corner. Somehow, I like the food better when I sense fewer layers between me and the producer.
This weekend, I tried the Chicken Soup recipe. I made the broth on Wednesday, and I still spent two hours preparing the soup on Friday. I made dumplings for the first time and a roux to thicken the soup - delicious.
The picky eaters who live with me prefer sliced turkey, pizza, and apples with peanut butter - plus occasional treats like happy-meal shaped desserts.
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