It was an absolutely gorgeous day in Bavarian, and all Rand wanted to do was go to Garmisch. He wanted to sit in the sunshine in a picturesque Bavarian town and do nothing all morning, besides eating a pretzel or three. “But we’ve been to Garmisch a dozen times,” I whined. “That’s because Garmisch is amazing.”…
Rand and I stopped in Garmisch for a quick snack at a bakery (because if I say I need a snack, 90% of the time what I mean is “I need a pastry). Upon leaving, I noticed the sign on the restaurant across the way, and went in for a closer look. –
Sometimes I will grab my husband, usually by the head, mash up his cheeks in my hands and say, “Your face. Your STUPID face. I LOVE YOUR FACE. I’m … I’m gonna eat your face because I LOVE IT SO MUCH.” I assume that all couples who have been together for more than a decade…
I’d like to deviate for a moment from my pastry tour of France to discuss my dalliance with an ambiguous piece of Bavarian taxidermy. – I should clarify (though I remain incredibly proud of that opening sentence): when I say Bavarian, I don’t mean that the actual taxidermical practices were ones that I’d distinctly associate…
– I’m not big on souvenirs. At least, not in the traditional sense. Rand and I are on the road a lot, and if I purchased every delightfully tasteless memento I encountered, we’d long ago have been buried under a pile of snowglobes, novelty beer bottle openers, and tiny resin sculptures of bears in swimming trunks.…
Tales of Food, Feminism, and Fury
by Geraldine DeRuiter
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