La Entropista

In german, its kichererbsensalat, but the direct translation is that and I love it so much. Wouldn’t YOU want to just eat that up? I sure would. I brought a version of this to Rowain’s for dinner and then was upset that I couldn’t take the leftovers home so I made it again, this time with cucumber and let it sit overnight and it was even bettah.

Here: two or three cans garbanzo beans/chickpeas/ceci/kichererbsen rinsed and drained (the chickpeas here are really tiny and lovely and feel great in the mouth, proper creamy interior/papery exterior ratio, you know? buttery flavor and look so nice with all the other colorful ingredients it makes my heart jump just as a virtuoso drum solo might yours, or finding the perfect pair of stacked-heel boots, you get the idea)

red onion, chopped tiny

one tomato, squeeze out the guts, chopped

one third english cucumber, chopped

crumbled feta cheese

various herbs chopped up (I used basil, chives, flat-leaf parsley, use a lot, make it herbaceous, think middle eastern)

dress with olive oil and juice of one lemon (or white balsamic is nice too)

you could use chopped garlic, too, but you don’t have to put garlic in everything, you know.

salt and pepper

I think that’s it. Ratios are up to you. Mix and gobble up immediately or refrigerate and bring the next day for lunch to eat in front of people having egg-salad sandwiches and Fritos.

In other news: I had ethiopian again tonight and I’ll be fine if I don’t have it again any time soon. I am going to readjust my theory that Russians are uptight to mathematicians are uptight. Russians are friggin’ off the hook (yes, I know, depths of the Russian soul, the suffering and so forth, but still, you know, a bit nutters, a bit wild). Also, last night was not the first night I have had dinner with a director, but last night confirmed my suspicion that when they stare at you with those penetrating hippie hash-smoking eyes and ask you about yourself, they really don’t care so much about YOU, but more about what your deal is so they can add you to their databank of character types and back story, you know, for future reference. A bit unnerving. Three days left of german language school. Realizing it will all be a pointless exercise (aside from the socialization, which is not to be underestimated) as I will be going back to post-Mexico soon. But before then there will be Salzburg, Prague, Berlin (for two weeks!), and maybe Vienna. Vamos a ver. Wir müssen sehen. Doesn’t roll off the tongue quite as easily, does it?

Last week, to extend my visa, I went to the Ausländerpolizei. Which is no longer the Ausländerpolizei (german teacher: “We don’t have that anymore, gah! That’s like, so pre-Rectschreibreform!”) but the much longer and unpronounceabler Kreisverwaltungsreferat. After 35 Euro and about an hour in front of one typically rude German civil employee and one very nice one, I am now officially allowed to stay in Germany until June. Maybe by then Spring will be here.

Despite all the advances I have made adapting to german culture (my increasing alcohol tolerence, pork desire, etc.), there are still some things that shall forever set me apart as an auslander. First, I don’t think I will ever be able to say “horse salami? yes, very delicious,” properly declinate personal pronouns, or get used to all the pushing and shoving and line-jumping (but I have said enough about that in the past). What else? Well, last night we left a company dinner at midnight - the first ones gone from the restaurant- thinking it was very late, then came to find out that the rest of the party stayed past 4! in the morning! Drinking and smoking and carrying on and damn, I just can’t do it. Not without more drugs. These Germans are HARD CORE.

But us Ausländers, we are working on it.

Hyacinth bloom tilts

to the East reaching for Spring

Must it snow again?

A minute ago somebody buzzed to be let into the building and said something about blumen, I let him in and even put a two euro coin in my pocket in order to tip him. Still waiting in anticipation, even though I peeped out the hole in the door and saw him, bouquet in hand, standing there, then not. Oh well, not for me I guess. 

Anyway. Fine. Vase currently occupied by these lovelies, purchased at Elizabethplatz Markt:

all curly edges and greenish purple petals with fiery orange and yellow as it opens. More dinosaur-like than tulip-like.

Last night at the Unterfahrt Jazz Club for Jam Session with other Spracheschule students and their SO’s. Not everyone was there but how cute are they anyway??? With their little Japanese peace signs that none of us can stop making anytime our picture is taken.

Yuka-Kyoto, Rowain-Singapore, Ismael-Seville, Maher-Tunis. At Caffe Florian.

Conversation amongst us is an interesting affair, our german is only good enough for basic conversation (your mother, sad, here you now?), but we are all patient with each other and fill in the blanks with french and spanish; arabic and chinese, japanese and russian make it to english, which mostly everyone understands a little bit. Except for Ismael who, as the sweet potato so succinctly put it, wants to communicate so badly he more emotes than speaks.

Tandem Spracheschule. Hotbed for Yellow Fever.

In the British Museum:

Text:  “A schoolmaster is seated on the left. Before him stands Jesus, a boy leaping on his back in attack. The boy falls dead.”

Text: “Jesus plays by the side of the river Jordan making pools; a boy destroys one with a stick and falls dead.”

Text: “Parents, to prevent their children playing with Jesus, have shut them in an oven; Jesus, asking what that oven contains, is told “Pigs”. (the remainder of the story, showing the children transformed in to pigs and their subsequent cure by Jesus, is missing.)”

Oh, the rich people, now I understand. The rich people, they have money to buy stuff and for to look nice. Their food is pretty and they smell good, too. They also sleep well, on soft sheets atop of beds that must be climbed into. 

And then there is the ass kissing. People kiss your ass, just a little bit! Thank you hotel people, for treating us like rich people (even though you knew we were faking). Thank you, snooty production company assistants, despite your ineptitude in other areas, you managed to do a spanking good job putting us up.

More of the white stuff here. It’s worth looking at. Ay so preeetee.

And then! There’s London! Four days! Early Thursday we fly over, stay here, then back for my Monday morning class. Sweet Potato has work for a new project, and there is the anniversary of this random weirdness. Aw. (When he told me London, I said, not Paris??? I’m such a bitch.)

In between gorging myself on English-type things I plan on stuffing myself full of Indian-type things. I’ve been scouring Chowhounds International for good eats and am hearing Masala Zone and New Tayyab. Any other suggestions?

And in between seeing all that cultural stuff I didn’t see last time (that means you won’t be seeing me again, Jeremy Bentham!) I will shop for euro-sneakers. And then balk at the exchange rate. And then get mad at England. And then be happy again because there’s Muji. Again, suggestions? And please, not the turny thing. I will throw up. Seriously.

Last night there were two loud claps of thunder and a shockingly bright round of lightning, and since then, it has been snowing steadily. As I was trudging through the snow on my way to the market this afternoon I saw my new Russian friend walking down the street. Do you know what a nice surprise it is to run into a friend so randomly in a big city, especially if you only have one of them? This morning, from the bedroom window:

it snowed

and snowed

and snowed

and then there was pork:

Schweinshaxe.

Gene Pritzker, Composer. Ate the whole thing.

In Munich, Mardi Gras is a pretty big deal, although, apparently Ash Wednesday isn’t. Except for in the Wirtshaus, where they have a giant fish menu. No one actually walks around with ashes on their forehead here. But I digress. Typically businesses are closed either all day or close down early so that all the Leute can head to Marienplatz and Viktualienmarkt to watch the Marktfrauen do their dance and to party like the wild and crazy Germans they are (Again, think Sprockets. Remember, this is not Spain).

Tandem Language School took a half day and we all went down to participate in the behavior. Above, our motley group of auslanders. And below, some Germans.

Here are Megumi and Eriko. Aren’t they adorable? These little bitches, not more than 80 pounds a piece mind you, kicked my ass (and the Russian’s ass) in the drinking department. It went something like this: Would you like a beer? Um! (w/ affirmative nod) Would you like a schnapps? Um!! Would you like some pop-rocks with a vodka chaser from a complete stranger? Um!!!  

In da house.

(P.S. Don’t READ MORE. There is never more to read. Sometimes I hate you Blog.com)