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| Restaurant Au Wasigenstein |
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| Candlelight and Roses |
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| Alsatian Beer is Superb |
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| A Touch of Pinot Noir |
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| Avocado Salad done right! |
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| Wild Boar |
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| Red Cabbage |
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| Spätzle |
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| Our Wonderful Waitress |
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| A Toast to an Unforgettable Lunch with friends! |
My job on a cloudy, slightly brisk spring day, was to wind our way from quaint German towns, into nearby France, and through the blooming Alsatian countryside to the tiny village of Wengelsbach, nestled in a deep, almost hidden valley. Why would I want to, besides idle wanderlust? Food of course, but not just any food. The driving force behind the driving were the renowned lunches, impeccably served in the demure but illustrious Restaurant Au Wasigenstein.
Wengelsbach? Wasigenstein? German names in France? Don’t mention it out loud, Alsace has changed hands so many times over the last 150 years, it’s hard to tell who’s right handed and who’s left handed. It’s definitely France now, but evidently the locals are taking no chances. Speak German or French to them and they don’t miss a beat. Guess it’s become too much of an effort to change the village names every few years.
With the dropping of borders and caught in the economic embrace of a common currency, nobody seems to mind the intertwining of cultures and cuisines and no one is impolite enough to dwell on the memories of cannon fire that echoed through the valley not all that long ago.
Wengelbach is truly tiny. There are probably no more than two dozen homes, the restaurant, and a small jewel of a chapel. My first thought was, why not live here?,.. followed shortly by the second thought: why would anyone want to live here? There’s no gas station, no food mart, one restaurant, and a place to pray. Welcome to the simple life. No kids or schools either, which leads me to see Wengelsbach, even with its pastoral beauty, as a dying town.
Still, it’s an interesting place. I passed a house with a flag hanging from the porch. As I stopped to study it, a man came out, with a big smile on his face. “Know what flag that is?” he asked in English. My first thought was Italian. He shook his head no. “Right colors, but there’s a lion in the middle and the stripes are horizontal.”
Reaching into memories of my misspent youth, I blurted out, “Iranian.”
His smile broadened. “But it’s before the current regime.” I was about to thank him and walk on, but this man wanted to talk and he’d found a listener. “I do not like the current regime, but I will be quite angry if the United States or Israel attack Iran.” Was it a challenge? I had no idea, but there are some things I don’t discuss with strangers. Sex, and debauchery yes. Politics, no.
I side-stepped. “I was in Teheran years ago.”
“Did you like the food?” he asked. Ah, fruitless conflict avoided. Huge sighs. Smiles all around. Hand shakes. Pats on the back. On to lunch.
The Restaurant Au Wasigenstein deserves it’s reputation. I knew it as soon as we walked through the door and smelled the wood fire and saw the lavish custard and berry tarts on the bar. The interior resembled a pine paneled hunting lodge, except for the starched white tablecloths, gleaming glasses, and polished cutlery. Roses sat invitingly on each table; sliver candlesticks offered a warm glow. We were shown to our seats and within minutes, every table around us filled up.
Our black and white attired waitress smiled and kept smiling as she handed us extensive menus and warmed our palates with descriptions of the menus of the day. If anything, she understated the dishes. Avocado with a creamy homemade mayonnaise and shrimp, turned out to be a full salad plate, half a avocado on a bed of mixed greens, with boiled egg slices, lightly steamed vegetables, and mounds of baby shrimp. The greens were spiked with lovely vinaigrette. A basket of crusty French bread on the side, made this a meal in itself, but there was more to come.
Roasted wild boar in a rich, dark wine sauce, grilled vegetables, and tiny cups of both fresh apple sauce and wild berry sauce completed the feast and made the hour and a half drive through the twisting mountain roads worth every minute and every bite.
We ate. We drank Alsatian beer and Alsatian pinot noir. “Ready for dessert, or coffee,” the waitress asked. I closed my eyes, clinched my jaws, my knuckles turned white as I gripped the chair and forced myself not to shout, “Hell yes!”
“No,” said the couple we were with. “We’re going to Wissembourg.” Ah, but that’s another story, filled with rich coffee, richer desserts, and another picturesque Alsatian town worth mentioning. I will mention it, later.
Restaurant Au Wasigenstein
Tel: 0388095054
Closed Monday and Tuesday
Why would anyone drink Pinot Noir in Alsace which is noted for incredible whites? Put this man down in the center of Cow Town and he'd order chicken!
ReplyDeleteSeriously, though, I'm envious!
I noted your header comments. I'll bear witness to your fascination with anything. I remember watching you while away hour after hour on Victor watching the sexual behavior of house-flies. Hard to pull you away for a rebound.
You should be over here, Ed. I'd teach you about pinot noir and Alsace....hey, wait sec, I've tried teaching you before. Doesn't work. But, you should be over here anyway!
ReplyDelete