As I'm spending the weekend in Berlin, I'm going to have to steal myself to the realisation that I'll be eating pickles at some point. Actually, I'm sure things must have moved on a little in the decade since I was last in Germany. On that occasion I was on a mob-handed stag do. We dined exlusively at Burger King, so I was able to give the gerkins the swerve.
This first time I went to Germany was in 1990, whilst interrailing. My mate and I arrived in Munich, and I was mortified to discover that all the supermarkets etc. had shut on Saturday afternoon and would not reopen until Monday morning. Bavaria wears its Catholic heart on its sleeve. No matter though - we'd simply eat out. Unfortunately, the only takeaways trading were traditional German places, so even the cutlery was picked. And I cannot abide pickles.
I think I spent the entire weekend eating oranges and buns. By Sunday afternoon I was so desperate I'd have eaten a husky had we had the presence of mind to bring one.
I've been scarred by this experience. My worst misgivings about the merciless nature of Teutonic cuisine were confirmed, and I still to this day refuse to believe they are capable to producing anything intended for human consumption that is anything other than appalling. Let's hope they progressed in the last quarter of a century. I know I have.
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