A garden from Eiden

Eiden, a shop I can imagine taking my sleeping bag into and staying over night in. The porcelain ware in this shop is just so pretty, it makes for a lovely atmosphere. It feels sort of other worldly when you go in there and I am never in a hurry to leave. Luckily the owners are very friendly, and I am often treated to cups of tea and a quick catch up in between spending my hard earned euros. I don't think my pictures really do it justice but they do have a nifty website (only in German though) with some photos that will give you an idea of why this place is so special. Jan and Dagmar Eiden, the owners also feature on the website photos. They make and sell porcelain cups, mugs, bowls, vases, soap dishes, the list goes on, not to mention lamps and lights. Everything is handmade in their work shop. Unbelievable! We don't have much of a garden, but to get ready for spring I bought a few hyacinth pots from Eiden and planted some bulbs. I am so looking forward to the flowers.
As you can imagine, as with anything special, Eiden's porcelain is not cheap but worth every penny if you appreciate the hard work involved and the individuality of the product.

A vase on display in the shop
Hand dotted bowls
Porcelain ceiling light - it's on the wish list!

And since I have shown you my hyacinths here, I will also show you Husband's beloved chillies. He plants them from seeds he has dried and this is the stage they are at now. These plants usually give us a yield to keep our freezer stocked for a good few months.

The babies

Enter maximum bid

I realised today that I am fast approaching my third year of life in Ulm. Nuts! I can hardly believe it. It doesn't seem like that long but if I think about it lots has happened in that time. I wonder how I can still feel so foreign after three years here. Because I am, I guess. I still get asked if I am Indian everywhere I go. That's OK, I don't mind. I do feel that I am sort of a let down in both respects. I don't really know anything about India for those Bollywood fans and I am not really fair dinkum Australian. Know what I mean? People I know, those I consider friends here, still ask me when my friends from India are coming to visit me. You mean Australia? Yes, Sydney, Australia. That is where I am from. That is what I know. I have only been to India for about six weeks in my entire existence. It seems hard for people to get over the exterior. How can I explain it? It's like cutting into a watermelon to realise that the interior is of an orange. An orange that looks like a watermelon. That's me. A Malaysian born, Australian grown, Indian looking mish mash. This can have it's upside, I guess. I get lots of 'My! Look at your big eyes' style compliments. When I think back about growing up in Australia, I guess it wasn't really much different. Lots of people would try to guess if I was from Sri Lanka, Pakistan, Fiji, India, Africa - where else do those black people live? I seem to recall that in school, and hanging out with friends I often used to forget I was different. There were times it would puzzle me when someone asked me where I was from, I would forget. Forget, that I looked different enough to prompt such a question. What do you mean where am I from? Here, like everyone else. But no, realistically, I didn't belong to that category of foreigner either. I wasn't born in Australia. But this is about Ulm. So, what have I learnt in my three years here in Ulm? What experiences have I to share?

I can start with some things I love about being here.
One of them is the distinctive change of seasons.
Flowers in Spring, red leaves in Autumn.
The proximity of where we live to Italy.
The proximity of where we live to London thanks to budget airlines.
Berlin.
The uninhibited curiousity and friendliness of small town folk - I love all the 'Guten Morgens' when I go for a walk.
I love that schnitzel is 'normal food' as opposed to 'junk food' here.
These people are serious about recycling and caring for the environment.
The bread.
No shopping on Sundays means Husband and I have a whole day to sit around staring at each other.
I can now speak a pretty good, broken version of the language.
The infamous German directness - straight faced, cuts like a knife,
nothing if not well meant.

Which brings me to the real point of this post. A friend, my German BFF (best friend forever), whom I went to visit the other day. We sat like usual, talked shop, drank espresso, ate sweets. Then he asks me to consider the possibility that people here may think I am a mail order bride. Hmmm... OK, so it wasn't as out of the blue as I have made it sound, it was in the context of what we were discussing but nevertheless, it had me wide eyed and speechless. His words were,'You know how Germans think.' They see Husband, they see you. You still look like a student. There is a clear age difference. They wonder, apparently 'How much did he pay for her?' Really? Is that what they wonder? I thought he was joking with me. My German BFF has a wicked sense of humour. But no. It seems in my third year here I have been promoted from standard foreigner, to Mail Order Bride foreigner. An unexpected title. German BFF has now been downgraded to Frenemy status (unbeknownst to him), subject to review if/when I get over this. I am already thinking of t-shirt designs. It's not nice to make people wonder. I may as well wear my status on my sleeve. What about 'He won me on E-bay' or 'I was purchased on mailorderbride.com (free delivery)'. All ideas welcome.

Bella Vista: Candle Light Dinner

While we often go to Bella Vista for a drink or for lunch I am not sure we would have booked a Candle Light dinner there. We received vouchers to this event as a gift and of course, were eager to try it. We were treated to a four course meal from a set menu and were not let down where the candle light was concerned. Very romantic. These are held in the evening once a month or perhaps even more randomly than that (check the website for dates). I will focus on the third and main course as I think it had all the components to sum up the entire evening. The Filet de boeuf Tuna Kartoffelterrine and Shii-Take. This is how this dish was described on the menu. I am not sure if this was an attempt at being different, or maybe this is the way things are done now - describing one dish using every language under the sun. Fashionable or not, I found it a little confusing. What on earth were we supposed to expect?
Well, above is what we got. All the described components were on the plate. Personally, while the beef was tasty and cooked to pink perfection, the sashimi style tuna with ginger, carrot, bean sprouts and soya sauce are all flavours I love and don't get enough of here, I could have eaten a plate of just that. Yes, you are seeing right, for some reason the tuna was topped with a wasabi coated peanut. OK, yes, they are Japanese too, but flavour wise this was a pretty unnecessary addition. It had nothing to do with the rest of the dish, except may be for adding a little colour. Is this something else I have missed? Is purely decorative garnish (think sprigs of parsley) making a comeback? It may be, because the beef was not immune to this treatment. It was topped with a long ribbon of what tasted like deep fried spring roll pastry. Again, purely an aesthetic addition. Nothing to do with the dish and unlike the wasabi peanut, it didn't really taste very good. These oddities aside the dishes, while small (we were grateful for the bread basket on our table, the gracious wait staff kept it full for us), were well presented and flavoursome. Would I go again? I don't know, at €40 per person not including wine and considering the serving sizes, it is pretty pricey by Ulm standards. Lunch is easier on the wallet and you get the spectacular daytime view.

bee-sting

There's a new lady at the market and she is selling home-baked goods. When I asked her if I could take a photo of her cute, little stand (I thought she had done a great job setting up) she said 'no'. She was all embarrassed that I might get the plastic sheet she had pinned up on the side of the stall that you can't see, to protect her from the wind and the rain. Not one to take 'no' for an answer, I took the photo and showed it to her. She approved. I managed to omit the offending plastic, flying in the wind.
As we were chatting, I asked her how business was going, I looked down to see what she had to offer. I realised, in a rush of excitement, that she was selling bee-sting and of course I bought a slice. Bee-stings are one of my favourite German sweets ever. Two usually thin, dryish pieces of sponge, sandwich whipped honey cream, topped with honeyed almond flakes. Heaven! After finishing our Saturday morning shopping I found the bee-sting somewhat squashed almost at the bottom of the bread bag, unwrapped it and sat down for my weekend treat with a strong cup of tea.
The first thing I noticed is that the sponge layers were thicker than what I was used to. But it wasn't until I had a mouthful that I realised why the sponge layer appeared to be so thick. The layer of honeyed almonds, usually reserved for the top had been replicated on her bottom layer of sponge as well. I have included the close up photo so you can see what I mean. If you look closely you can see the almond layer below the cream.
Well, was I ever surprised! I have tried many versions of this but this is the only I have come across with two almond layers. However, even though this was an interesting twist, for me, two almond layers did not make it twice as good. It was a little too sickly sweet for me and all that almond required more chewing than I was willing. So I had to bring in Husband to help me finish it. He is not the biggest fan of bee-stings but he tried it nevertheless and to my surprise was totally taken with it. The man who usually wrinkles his nose at me when I buy this creamy slice, exclaimed that this was the best bee-sting he had ever eaten. Well! So the new lady's bee-sting gets the title of 'cake of the week' for this week. Not really because I liked it but because it knocked Husband's socks off, and that is not easy to do.

Who brought the fish paste?

'Who brought the fish paste?' I'll take that as a compliment. I'm certain it was intended as one because the asker proceeded to clean out all remnants of the 'fish paste' from the dish with a piece of bread. Glad you liked it. If Dagmar's dad liked it, (Dagmar of Eiden that is, who I will post about soon), then I am sure you will too. Thing is, I can't really call it my fish paste because the recipe comes from Nigella Express, and Nigella calls it Trout Pate. la-di-da. Well, I add a dash of Tabasco at the end and she doesn't. Is that enough of a modification to make it mine? This has been, to date, the most made recipe from my copy of Nigella Express. Due to it's moreish tastiness but also in part, to how unbelievably 'schnell' it is to make. Smoked trout is readily available here, in the exact quantity the recipe requires. It is usually in the fridge section and is sold in flat, plastic packets, boned, skinned and ready to use.
Nigella's Smoked Trout Pate or Fish Paste

2 smoked trout fillets, approx. 125g total weight
50g cream cheese
1 tablespoon horseradish sauce
1 tablespoons lemon juice
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
2 tablespoons olive oil

Put all ingredients into a blender and blend until smooth. Spoon pate into a small bowl, making sure to get it all out of the blender. You won't want to waste any. Cover and chill in the fridge until ready to serve. I usually serve this with cornichons, tabasco and thinly sliced fresh bread.

Ulmer Wochenmarkt or the weekly Ulmer market

It is a strange time to go to the market at the moment. Winter persists but spring is fighting back, there is no clear winner and so we are in limbo. Quite a few of the usual stall holders weren't there, I guess for this very reason. We have the tail end of winter veggies and not much else, although oyster mushrooms seem to be everywhere. Husband and I made our usual Saturday morning trip. We stopped to by eggs at our chicken lady, but this can be a complicated business, because she is right across from our meat man. We didn't really want to stop at the butcher, but he spotted us before we could get away and when he greets us with a robust 'Guten Morgen' we can't really walk past can we? We ended up with 2 types of smoked sausage and 3 types of ham.

Our butcher

It is also time for pussy willow (see new header photo), and ignoring husband's impatience I stopped to buy. Now there is a bunch sitting pretty on my dining table.

Nobody takes pictures at the market. This guys thinks I am weird. Notice the cathedral in the background?

The market is on every Wednesday and Saturday morning. It takes place in the town square, known as the Münsterplatz where the Münster, the cathedral with the highest church tower in the world, provides a dramatic background.

The potato man is out of Annabelle potatoes, our favourite. He says that they are an early potato. What does that mean? Does anyone know when is early for potatoes?

Blaukraut or red cabbage

Husband makes a mean Blaukraut. He cooks it the traditional way, with vinegar, sugar, onions, an apple, bay leaves and preiselbeere or lingonberries. When my mum used to make spaghetti bolognaise, bless her determined wooden spoon, somehow it always ended up tasting like curry. A dish without a pinch of her mixed spice was unfathomable. Husband cooked fish (perch), with the Blaukraut and somehow it turned out like a schnitzel. It was crumbed and fried but never before has fish had such a schnitzely quality. Needless to say, I had seconds. I love schnitzel.

Ever seen apples displayed like this before? All in the name of being easy to unhook and take with you.

These are the last apples for the season but the apple man will continue to sell what he has stored, as well as schnapps and juice over summer. He also does a roaring trade with berries. I am his number one raspberry customer, I'd like to think so anyway. When I first bought apples from him, I always used to get a free one for the road. This practice stopped after he noticed that Husband benefited from this freebie more than I did. I have a floury apple phobia, so someone has to test bite first. Husband's bite means there is little but core left by the time it's my turn. As the weather gets warmer, the market becomes unbearably beautiful. I'll have to try to remember my camera so I can show you what I mean.

Zwetschgenkuchen

Zwetschgenkuchen is traditional German plum cake. Zwetschge are Damson or Damask plums and the cake made from these is very popular here when they are in season. They weren't in season a few weeks ago but it is possible to store them (this is where a cellar comes in handy) like apples until you are ready to whip them up into something delightful. The plums are sour and are usually used for jams and cakes. This cake was particularly good because it was served warm, and it had a unique base made from a mixture of almond and hazelnut meal. Usually, the base is similar to a buttery, sweet, shortcrust pastry. I much prefer it with the nutty meal, it goes together quite well with the deliciously squishy plums. We drove to Wirtshaus zum Silberwald (Silver Forest) to sample this Zwetschgenkuchen. Wirtshaus zum Silberwald is a very cosy restaurant with an open fire, tucked away, as the name suggests in the Silberwald which isn't very far away from where we are. They have a beautiful beer garden in summer. You really feel like your miles away from everything. It's not just the cake that is good here, the traditional Bavarian food is also worth the trip.

Chilli Walter's New BFF

This is a bit sad, I know. My thermos is my friend. She has been loyal all through 'the intensive', offering support with warm lidfuls of jasmine green tea. Thank you Husband who brewed the tea fresh and filled her up every morning, and to my 'favourite Singapore supplier' (who will, from here on, be referred to as my FSS) who gifted it to me last Christmas. I love you both but there can only be one BFF. And because I can carry her around, she wins.

The Intensive

I am tired. I have just finished day 8 (2 to go) of an English intensive course. In my case, my twenty kiddies (uni students actually) take part in the 10 day course and then, do an exam at the end of it. It's not easy on them either, nevertheless, when I finally walk through the door after a long day it's only me I feel sorry for. Last week was a shocker for my thighs. I usually sit when I am with small groups but a group of twenty requires a different kind of energy. Pacing the aisles and standing for the full five hours type of energy. At the end of the day, I cannot be asked to speak a full sentence. One may hear these utterances from me, 'Day? Good?' or 'Dinner? Kebab?' But I have to add, they are a very motivated bunch. I could hold up a pair of socks and they would be off, talking mile a minute, discussing the wider impact of socks on society and debating the advantages and disadvantages. There is nothing better than a group of non-native speakers who are not afraid to speak. We haven't discussed socks, I have been a little better organised. What have we talked about? Hmmm... The Stolen Generation. The movie Australia, however dismal, seems to have brought this into awareness. I was surprised that 80% of them (it would have been 100% if it wasn't for the film) hadn't heard or didn't have a clue what I was talking about. I guess Australia is too far away or Aussie history doesn't rate that highly on the scale of world history. One student did comment that they are so busy learning and relearning their own history that it leaves little time for others. Good point. One earnest lad stopped after class and asked me if I was Aboriginal. He was concerned. Was this my shocking history? Um... no. I had to laugh because I think my Indianess is so obvious. I forget that for some of my students, who perhaps haven't yet earned the dosh to do much travelling outside Europe, one brown skinned person looks just like the next. It's great. I wouldn't be mistaken for anything else in Australia. Here, I am mysterious. I guess I am not making it sound too bad, sounds like a day of chatting and joking with some bright young people. It is fun, but after a day of, 'what means...?' (You mean 'what does... mean?'), 'Can you say me...' (You mean can you tell me ...) and 'This car is only allowed to drive the doctor' (What do you mean?), the alertness required to hear and correct these common errors are enough to drain my batteries completely. After three years of life here, it isn't difficult for me to start to accept this Genglish (or as my sister likes to call it, Ingles) as normal speak. Most invasive and must be stamped out of my speak are, 'Have you hunger?' and 'Have you cooked the water?'
Today was the last day for presentations, I love doing this with the kiddies. They usually present on a hobby or interest. Unless somebody gets up and is all monotone or all we manage to learn about them is um and er (we did have a couple of those) they are pretty interesting. We had a bagpipe player today. A big guy, with a big instrument. I have heard and enjoyed the bagpipes many times but didn't really register how alarmingly loud they can be. Especially in an enclosed area, say... a classroom. Procedure in my presentations requires that them to have an interactive part, the bagpipe player decided that he would play a tune so the the class would know how it went and then he would play it again and we would all have to sing a little Scottish ditty that he had projected onto the board. Here it is :

O flower of Scotland

When will we see
Your like again
That fought and died for
Your wee bit hill and glen
And stood against him
Proud Edward's army
And sent him homeward
Tae think again

So off he went with the first round, the windows were vibrating, the class was laughing, and after those initial notes knocked the wind out of me, getting my breath back, I too couldn't help but laugh. Until he stopped and looked up at us innocently. He was all set for us to sing along. A visual: A class full of German students and one Chilli Walter, launching together into a very uncertain rendition of 'The Flower of Scotland'. There was no singalong. I am, after all, there to maintain some order (party pooper!) and I really was scared a fire engine would turn up wondering who set off the alarm. The kiddies were disappointed, they were all set to give it a go. He played well, I like the bagpipes, but within the confines of a classroom I think the sound can best be described with the adjective 'violent.'