Nuremberg,
Germany
Tuesday, January 25, 1972
There is a picture in my photo album, where at age 5, I am wearing a Dirndl (typical Bavarian folklore costume), braided hair, standing next to my paternal grandmother Mamke, that reflects the paradigm of my upbringing. Only looking at it evokes deep emotions and memories, often culminating in a torrent of tears, of her incredible love, nurturing and stature, and how, if only it were possible, we could turn back the clock for only an instant to savor one more moment with those we love. I am lucky to still have my parents and their contribution to my life and my psyche in years gone by, has made me who I am today, realizing more than ever that my unspoken words of thanks are no longer sufficient. It is never too early, nor too late to express our feelings for their unbiased, unconditional love and sacrifice, and I for one will be making that extra phone call to let them know just how profound my appreciation is. That said and done, our trips through Germany often ended in Nuremberg, where visiting friends and family was a high priority on our list, but eating Nurnberger bratwurst ranked right up there. My recollections of the smells at Bratwurst Hertzl, our favorite restaurant, are as vivid as the day and conjure up images of platters of potato salad, sauerkraut, red cabbage and those intensely flavored finger sized sausages, best ordered in multiples of 6.
At my heaviest I remember eating 8 but Jose Luis put away an amazing 16 in one sitting, or was that 26? Who can remember when the table would go quiet with the intense focus of food enjoyment and I can't abjure from the fact ,that we often relate our social and family gatherings, to food. Sitting around a table laden with all of our favorites, somehow relinquishes any squabbles or intense discussions to a corner, to be forgotten, at least for awhile.
