Glimmering Ghost of German Autumn

I always thought of myself as a summertime guy.  Maybe the image is left over from blissful school days, Spring Break, icy beer, and romance on the beach.  Are those my memories, or somebody else’s?  Seems they were mine…now where was I?

Lived over a decade in a sunny clime.  Temps of 60ºF (16ºC) brought out parkas, gloves, and worries about your kids waiting in the morning cold for the school bus.  Most of the time it was year-round shorts and short sleeves. Central heating was optional. Air conditioning was not.

Now I live in Germany and I’ve come to look forward to the four seasons. 

Summer flashes by in a short burst, ending in wine fests and whole pigs roasting on an open fire.  Autumn takes over like a charging bull.  Hints of wood smoke tantalizingly curl and linger on residential streets.  Wool scarves are part of the uniform.  Warm rain turns to cold rain.  Clouds mask the sun.

I help my neighbors stack a big supply of chopped wood.  Oak. Cherry. Elm. Takes four of us, working rapidly for forty minutes.

My garden is gone, replaced with naked brown stalks and half naked trees.  The last faithful blooms try their best, but it’s only a desperate act of charity.

A field of winter grass grows next to dead corn stalks

Some days the sun teases, but soon disappears at the slightest excuse.   I walk down the narrow roads, trails, and footpaths.  Beautiful color abounds, but soon the tree limbs will be only black scratches against a wall of cement gray clouds.

Ever wonder why the leaves change color?  Here’s a short answer: 

“…in the fall, because of changes in the length of daylight and changes in temperature, the leaves stop their food-making process. The chlorophyll breaks down, the green color disappears, and the yellow to orange colors become visible and give the leaves part of their fall splendor.

At the same time other chemical changes may occur, which form additional colors through the development of red anthocyanin pigments. Some mixtures give rise to the reddish and purplish fall colors of trees such as dogwoods and sumacs, while others give the sugar maple its brilliant orange.

The autumn foliage of some trees show only yellow colors. Others, like many oaks, display mostly browns. All these colors are due to the mixing of varying amounts of the chlorophyll residue and other pigments in the leaf during the fall season.”

If you need the full explanation, here’s the link. http://www.esf.edu/pubprog/brochure/leaves/leaves.htm

Here's another thing that robs me of sleep:  Why do we have two names for autumn, or fall, or autumn, or....?  Autumn comes from French (autumne) and farther back, from Latin.  Fall came into the language in 16th or 17th Century England, probably because leaves 'fall’ and poets noticed.  Popular for awhile, but now is heard mostly in America.

Doesn’t matter what you call it.  This time of year, nature’s beauty astounds me.  I see what I was missing all those years in the sunshine.  But after a couple of cold ones,  I think back to Spring Break and icy beer and bikinis….aw shit, why do I do that to myself?

Zwiebelkuchen und Neuerwein

So many things happen in Germany in the autumn.  Weinfests. Oktoberfests.  Leaves molting from green to yellow, amber, brown, and red. A slight chill in the morning air. Best of all, it’s harvest time in the Vineyards.  Which means…

It’s Zwiebelkuchen and Neuerwein time!  Gets the heart pumping, doesn’t it!  Bet if you knew what the hell they are, your heart would pound a hole in your puny chest!  Just settle back and leave it to me to keep you informed and well fed.

Just to whet your appetite, sip some Neuerwein, or new wine.  It’s also called Federweißer, meaning feather white, from the bits of yeast still floating around.  Actually, it’s not new wine, its just headed in that direction.  Cloudy and generally 4% alcohol, it’s sweet and slightly bitter, with a hint of natural carbonation from the fermentation.  Matter of fact, the Germans only loosely cap it so the carbonation can escape.  At this point you’re having a conversation with yourself.  You’re not in Germany.  You’ve never heard of, let alone tasted Neuerwein, but by golly you’d like to try some!

Leave it to me to come up with a solution.  Let me amend that, to ‘leave it to my wife,’ who subs in the kitchen when she is not out working and slaving to support me.  Here’s the basic formula from La Cuisine de Chez Moi:

2 parts tonic water

1 part white grape juice

1 part dry white wine

Ok, it’s not exact, but it’s close.  Not satisfied?  Well, shell out some coin, you cheap bastard, and catch a flight to Germany!

On to the pièce de resistance, zwiebelkuchen, or onion cake.  Don’t know why they call it cake, since it’s more of an onion pie.   But, whatever you call it, grab a fork!  Don’t worry about a napkin; you won’t leave a crumb.

Before I start, here’s a disclaimer:  Every German grandmother makes a different version of zwiebelkuchen, so I took liberties, too.  In the first place, I prefer a lighter, flakier crust than you find on most commercial zwiebelkuchens, so I used a homemade pie crust. instead of the traditional yeast crust.  See video below.

Let’s have a drink and get started!

Preheat the oven to 430ºF (220ºC) ( after the crust comes out of the frig)

Favorite Pie Crust (this will chill for an hour)

2 1/2 Cups all purpose flour

1/2 Teaspoon salt

1 1/2 Cups butter

3-6 Tablespoons of ice water.

Rather than a lengthy explanation, just watch this short (less than 5 min), dynamite video and you’ll be an instant expert. http://allrecipes.com/video/265/how-to-make-pie-crust/

Pie Filling

Note:  Before you start on the filling, roll out the pie crust, put it in a pie pan and put it back in the frig while you make the filling.

3 Large onions, peeled, quartered, and thinly sliced

1 Cup raw bacon, diced

2 Cups Crème Frâiche

4 Eggs

Pepper

Nutmeg

Caraway seeds

Cook the onions on low heat, in a large skillet.  You want them translucent, not caramelized. About 15-20 minutes.  

When cooked the onions will reduce to about half this amount

Remove the onions and add the bacon to the skillet.  Cook until crispy.  Mix the onions and bacon in a bowl.  In another bowl, mix the crème frâiche, eggs, gratings of nutmeg and pepper.  When the onion mixture has cooled, mix it with the egg mixture.  Pour it into the prepared pie pan. Sprinkle on a few caraway seeds.

Slide the pie into the preheated oven and bake for 40-50 minutes.  Check it at the 30 minute point and if the crust is browning too rapidly, cover the pie with a sheet of aluminum foil.

You may have guessed that Zwiebelkuchen is very similar to Quiche.  No secret there.  Both come from roughly the same area.  Lorraine is now France, but has bounced back and forth, so a lot of recipes traveled.

Besides a flaky crust, another peeve of mine is an egg dish that tastes too eggy.  If I want scrambled eggs, I’ll make ‘em.  This recipe for Zwiebelkuchen is light and fluffy, without a hint of heavy egg flavor.

Now, quit dallying, pour yourself another Federweißer, and get to work!

Autumn's Not Just For Kids - Pumpkin Soup

Here’s some trivia:

Is pumpkin a gourd?

Yes.

Is pumpkin a vegetable?

Yes

Is pumpkin a squash?

Starting to get the idea?

Pumpkin is also a harbinger of autumn, and the favorite of Halloween ghouls and goblins.   But, Halloween’s kid stuff.  Want to go trick-or-treating when you’re graying and short of breath?  Throw in fear of arrest and you'll know you need another way to celebrate.

Pumpkin season is eating-season and I’m not talking about pumpkin pie, usually made with canned this and overly sweetened that.  Let’s have some gourmet thoughts about this most popular of the gourd-squash family.  By the way, pumpkins aren’t always referred to as pumpkins, even in the English-speaking world (and that includes parts of California).  In Australia, they’re known as winter squash.

Pumpkins are also chock full of vitamins and minerals.

Biggest pumpkin producers in the world?  China, India, Russia, U.S. and Egypt.  (http://www.top5ofanything.com/)    In the U.S., which state produces the most?  Illinois.

But, let’s forget the trivia and bar bets for a moment and get back to eating.  As soon as you stop looking at pumpkins as big orange jack-o-lanterns and start wrapping your mind around pumpkins as delicious squash….you ready for this pseudo-psycho speak???…. your paradigm will shift and you’re on your way to some tongue-wagging goodness.

Pumpkin Soup

Serves 6

5 cups of cooked pumpkin (a five pound pumpkin ought to do it)

3 1/2 Cups vegetable or chicken broth

2 Cups heavy cream, plus a half cup more for whipping

1/2 medium onion, minced

2 Tablespoons butter

Pumpkin oil

Pumpkin seeds, toasted

1) Cut out the stem of the pumpkin, leaving a hole large enough to scrape out the seeds

2) Put the pumpkin in a 350ºF ª (180ºC) oven.  Bake for one hour.  Let cool.

3) Cut the cooked pumpkin into a few pieces. Scrape the pumpkin flesh off the shell and discard the shell

4) Put the butter in a pan and add the onion.  Careful to let the minced onion wilt, not brown 

5) Put broth, wilted onions, cream, and pumpkin flesh in a food processor and blend well.   If it’s too thick, add a little more broth

6) Put the soup in a sauce pan and cook on medium/low until it is well heated.  Do not boil.

7) Serve the soup in individual bowls.  Drizzle half a teaspoon of pumpkin oil into each bowl of soup and use a spoon to give it a swirl.

8) Top each serving with a dollop of whipped cream and some toasted pumpkin seeds

About toasting pumpkin seeds:  Put the seeds in a pan, without oil or butter.  Turn the heat to medium and watch the seeds like a hawk after a mouse!  The seeds will go from raw to toasted in a hurry.  Give 'em a stir. When you start to see them bulge and pop, give them another quick stir or two.  Most will get a little brown, some will not.  Careful not to let them blacken.

Sweetest soup you’ll ever eat, without even a speck of sugar added.  No salt either.  By the way, it’s also one of the BEST soups you’ll ever eat.  Just another reason, after football, snuggling under a blanket, leaves changing colors, and weinfests,  that I love autumn.

Federweißer und Zwiebelkuchen

German mornings are chilled and raw these days.  Rain is not unknown.   Forests and open fields billow with fog, as if they’re on fire. 

Faded leaves have lost their verdant colors and those that fall, dance across the road like tiny, brown elves. High up on the hills, smudges of gold and red dot the horizon.  Yes, fall, winter’s stepchild, has taken away our splendid, carefree summer.

But, some remnants of fun remain.  After all, this is Germany, the land of seasonal celebrations and glorious libations.  Bierfests, of course, but also Weinfests, including the once a year appearance of Federweißer, or new wine.  Actually, it’s not quite wine yet, but its journey has begun.  Comes in red or white, capped with foil, but never corked because this new wine still bubbles with fermentation.

Ok, time for a quick German language lesson.  First thing to remember:  all German nouns are capitalized.   Number two:  that funny looking letter that looks as if someone got drunk in the middle of the word….ß…is pronounced like a double s.  So if I wanted to pander to my fellow Americans, I could write Federweißer as Federweisser.

Number three:  W is pronounced as a V.  V is pronounced as an F.  Wine is pronounced with a smile.

Number four:  If i comes before e in a word, then ignore the i and pronounce the e as a long e, but if the e comes before i, then ignore the e and pronounce i as a long i.  So, Federweißer is pronounced Fed-er-vice-er.

Got all that?  Grand!  You’re on your way to fluency and debauchery.

Fragrant and sweeter than apple juice, Federweißer (often also called Neuer Wein) signals the coming of autumn as surely as the leaves on the trees, and the sweater on your back.  Unlike other wines, Feder is cloudy and suits the taste buds best if it’s chilled.  Alcohol content is so low and the sugar content so high, you’ll manage a raging case of diabetes well before you get drunk.

This time of year, Federweißer is sold along the roadsides, in grocery stores, and at nearly every German style restaurant.  No home should be without a bottle or two and mine is no exception.

But Germans seldom just drink, unless it’s beer.  With Federweißer comes Ziebelkuchen (Zwebel-kook-en), an onion cake much like the famous quiche from across the nearby border.  Onion cake?  Really?  Yep and you may rest assured that with it’s salty custard flavor, sweetened only by the natural sweetness of onions, it’s a perfect accompaniment to your glass of Federweißer.

I don’t make Ziebelkuchen for the simple reason that an excellent bakery is only a few steps from my house.  For those unfortunates who don’t have a German bakery right down the street and won’t part with the money to fly to Germany for lunch, you can give onion cake a try in your own kitchen. http://www.food.com/recipe/german-zwiebelkuchen-onion-pie-305407

And, if you can’t find Federweißer sub a sweet Riesling.

Prost! 

Our Small Corner of Germany: Autumn to Winter

Our backyard is a wonderful, wild garden, free to twist and change in wind and weather. Trees and hedges.  Winsome, sweet grasses.  Flowers of striking color in the spring, or somber black stalks in December.

Some of the things I like best about the garden, aside from not having a lawn to mow and leaving the gardening to my dirt-loving wife, are the constant changes of color and design from season to season.  It’s been a while since we’ve lived with a year cleaved into four distinct quarters.  The subtleties from one season to the next, dance slowly and blur the edges, yet unite and glide them in a masterly symphony of nature.

            Germany is a country of sheer, never ending beauty, from the rolling green hills and meadows of springtime, to the year around rugged grandeur of the Alps; from the dark, and mysterious forests, swollen with lush summer greenery, to the white blanketed fields and black skeletal trees of winter.

            Our backyard garden is a microcosm of Germany’s seasonal wonders.  I sit and read and sip my morning coffee, sometimes outside and sometimes in, glancing up to marvel at nature’s ever changing tableaux.