One Journey Ends, A New One Begins

Yesterday, Wednesday morning, I awoke in Heidelburg, Germany.  At times this goal seemed so distant, so remote, and then it fell into place.  After two days in Qatar, I got shepherded to Doha International by the good folks at Log2020, who escorts me and a couple fellow travelers up until the security checkpoint.

I spent a couple hours waiting ... I seemed to do a lot of that ... which I spent reading (Defend the Realm, if anyone is interested), people-watching, and of course spending a couple bucks in the duty-free.  Finally, I rode the shuttle bus to Qatari Air flight 27, an Airbus 330, settled into a none-too-comfortable seat, and watched the sea of humanity flow past me.  As they closed the door, I breathed a heavy sigh of relief ... no one sitting next to me!  As the Kool-Aid guy says, "Oh yeaaaahhhh!"

I reached Frankfurt around 7AM on Tuesday and, after clearing customs, found a place to check my luggage rather than do a bag-drag during my five-hour wait.  Several cups of coffee later, and after numerous circuits of the airport, Jeanne's ETA got very close.  I retrieved my bags, donned the t-shirt I'd bought just for the occasion (reading "Here I am ... what were your other two wishes?"), which drew a couple bemused looks, and waited.  Patiently at first, then a little less so.  It seemed, at least to me in my anxious state, that it was taking waaaaaay to long for her flight's luggage to drop to the carousel.  But finally, she emerged, and my face lit up.  After a few hugs and kisses that, surprisingly, didn't earn us any "Get a room!" comments, I gave her the single long-stemmed red rose I'd gotten, and we worked our way to the bahnhof to catch our train to Heidelburg.

Thirty minutes to Mannheim, a frenzied rush to make our connection at another track, then fifteen minutes and we found ourselves at Heidelburg Hauptbahnhof (main train station).  A brief cab ride took us to the Arthotel, a curious blend of old and new sitting in the heart of the Old Town, or Altstadt.  In fact, our room quite literally straddles both parts of the hotel.  Half of the room is 200 years old, the other half a mere seven.

Dinner on that first night was at a restaurant called Simplicissimus, a short walk from the hotel.  The "lovely terrace" so lovingly described in the Michelin Guide (Simplicissimus is an "also-ran," not rating a Michelin star) was full, so we ate inside.  It was a revelation.  After six months of eating food that tasted like ass, everything that came to the table was bursting with flavor.  From the glass of champagne and amuse bouche to the warm lobster salad, chanterelle soup, beef tournedos, and apricot sorbet, I felt my taste buds re-awakening.

Wednesday, we toured the Schloss (castle), which involved a funicular ride in both directions.  I took it all in like a little kid, running to the front of the car to watch the ride up and down the mountain.  While Jeannie had some doubts about "urban myths" arising during the tour guide's narration, I took it all in like a good tourist.

That evening, we did a 180 from the previous evening's haute cuisine and hit Zum Roten Ochsen, described in the Green Guide as having "stick to your ribs" German fare.  The wild boar with spaetzle and "egg mushroom" sauce (the egg mushrooms looked and tasted a whole lot like the chanterelles of the previous evening) was rib-sticking and utterly delicious. But pity my poor bride ... the dish also came with sautéed red cabbage.

With each meal here, I am reminded of how deprived my taste buds have been for the past six months.  I find myself asking what this flavor or that spice is.  Eating will be a bit more of a chore until my palate reconnects with reality, with cooks who actually strive to impart flavor into what they put on a plate.

Finally, this evening, we hit the hotel restaurant.  And what a treat it was.  When I saw the list of chanterelle-laden dishes on the daily menu, I knew it must be mushroom-harvesting season here.  Cream of chanterelle soup (topped with deep-fried dumplings wrapped around a pork filling) topped the menu.  We may have missed the asparagus festival by a couple months, but apparently are in the midst of a fungus mania.  Lucky me!

So here I sit, late on a Thursday night, writing about my culinary exploits after being separated from the love of my life for six months.  Hey, she's taking it in stride, why can't you?  I knew I'd miss her, and I did, and the reunion was wonderful.

But I didn't realize how badly my palate had been trashed by six months of DFAC fare.  Learning anew what things are supposed to taste like is a revelation.

Next stop ... Nuremburg.