A Great Day In The Life

I love my life.

Why?

Well, for a great many reasons, but for the purposes of this post and this day in particular I must declare my love for life through the appreciation of friends, family and food. This past weekend was a beautiful one in Malix; not only did the sun shine and the snow begin to melt, but my cultural experiences expanded a thousand fold in the course of 12 hours thanks to Carrie, Chrigl, and lots of food.

The morning began like any other day here, though considering it was a Saturday we all got up earlier than normal (the Swiss are backwards, I know) and had a fantastic breakfast, courtesy of Chrigl. He returned home in the early hours of the morning after a two week stint of training in Austria and instead of getting some much needed sleep the man drank some coffee and then started flipping flapjacks at 5 a.m.  Yes sir, Chrigl is climbing the charts of "most awesome human ever;" for in addition to the much loved American pancakes (complete with Nutella and peanut butter, bless him!) he also took the time to prepare the traditional Rosti for me to try. Let me tell you friends, it is fantastic. Somewhere between the boarder of hashbrowns and crepes lies the happy land of Rosti--hot, eggy, potatoy, buttery goodness--not besmirched with such vial American sins as ketchup, but rather lovingly crowned with cinnamon, sugar and hot applesauce. Pure bliss!

Now, I was floored and thankful for the morning's surprise, to say the least, but at the same time I felt kind of caught off guard. This was the first weekend where all three adults were in the house at the same time for more than a few hours and I'll admit I was unsure of what to do. When either Carrie or Chrigl is away I tend to take on all culinary detail simply because I know that each has a million other things to be doing. With breakfast out of my hands I found myself standing in the kitchen at 5:45 with no occupation other than to watch my tea water boil while Chrigl flew around the room like a man possessed. (While a respectable cook and an amazingly involved and domestic father by Swiss standards, Chrigl does tend to have what I lovingly refer to as "The Sam Effect" on a room when he gets into a project. Thus, by the time I retreated to the doorway to lean against the post and repose with my Earl Grey the kitchen looked a lot like a disaster area.)

However, I need not have worried about feeling useless because a moment later, as if on cue, Jamie appeared (clad in nothing but a bathrobe and brandishing a pocket comb as he has done every morning for the past week after I told him he looked like James Dean...I freaking love this kid!) demanding to know where the french toast I promised him could be found. I reddened and tried to explain that Chrigl had made a special breakfast and that I'd make it for him another day, but Chrigl merely smiled and said "ah, yes, this is good. We have all the breakfast at once, America and Swiss together, yes?" and kindly produced a clean pan (from I know not where) and stepped aside to allow breakfast, round two, to begin. (And about five minutes after that Raina arrived demanding Ovomaltine on toast, thus facilitating yet another addition to the breakfast relay.)

I wish I had taken a picture of the havoc-stricken kitchen (how the hell all three of us presided over various cooking projects at once, I will never know) or at least of the carbo-kingdom spread we laid out afterwards, but alas for my lack of forethought! Therefore, I will say only that it was one of the better breakfasts I've had this side of 2005. Carbs and glucose were consumed by all in great abundance before the village clock struck eight, whereupon I cleaned, Chrigl slept, and Carrie took the kids for a walk to their Grandmother's house to put the last of their summer stuff in the storage barn.

By the time we all reconvened I was sure there would be no need for food again for a long time, but when Jamie and Raina's friends from school came over and all showed sighs of being bored I jumped at the chance to distract them with a little culinary adventure. The objective: tarts.

The boys seemed more hungry than excited so I sent them out to the garden to gather the last of the blackberries and raspberries while I scraped together a pie crust recipe from various cookbooks and, with the help of Raina and her friend Joanna, made some respectable muffin-tin sized rounds by the time the boys returned with the vestiges of their berry-picking. It was hard enough trying to sweeten and reduce the meager harvest without prior experience, but doing so in the company of four kids under 10 was nearly impossible---or so I thought. Miraculously, we managed to produce four respectable looking tarts (two having succumbed to the wrath of Jamie and his friend Enzo's over-eagerness to remove them from the muffin tin, and thereby turning them into unrecognizable globs of redish-black jelly flecked with pastry. These, though not beautiful, were no less delicious, or so I'm told.) The surviving pastries were distributed to each child to top as they pleased, resulting in one cream, one shaved chocolate, one sugar, and one with sweetened condensed milk being presented to Mami and Papi as an afternoon surprise.  Carrie ate her sugared one with pride while Chrigl manfully endured the condensed milk and pronounced Jamie's creation "a real triumph" while I shook with silent laughter and packed the other two up to be taken home to neighboring mothers and fathers.

The remainder of the afternoon was spent out of doors, with me alternating between throwing a baseball with Chrigl and Jamie, then sketching landscapes with Carrie and Raina. As the sun began to set and the cold stole in around us I figured I should start dinner before it got too dark, but Carrie stopped me and said that as tonight was a celebration of sorts (that of Chrigl's return and Carrie's three-week anniversary of being hospital-free) we were going on a family outing. I became more and more excited and intrigued as heavy winter clothes, flashlights, and matches started to appear. Uninformed but eager, I suited up in my warmest gear, donned a head lamp, found Raina's hand in mine, and the five of us set off into the wilderness.

After about a 25 minute walk up and away from the town of Malix we arrived at a remote farm with a covered out-building, beside which I could see a fire already blazing. Even from a distance the sound of hearty voices carried into our midst and I felt the cold of the night surrender to the powers of warmth and good cheer. Once seated around the fire I was introduced to Paulo, a older farmer and family friend of Chrigl's; his wife Ruth, their son Karl, a man of about 35, and their granddaughter Juliana, who said to me in near-perfect English, " I'm thirteen and I love Nick Jonas. Do you know him?" One of the funnier conversations of my life. Hurrah for being American, I guess?

Introductions were followed by drinks that seemed to materialize out of nowhere, for I could see no chest or cooler from whence they came.  Still having little to no knowledge of German food and drink I simply smiled and nodded when Paulo offered me an unknown liquid from a stoneware blue and white jug. Chrigl mumbled the word "Apfelwein" to me and when I was handed an enormous mug of cold, fizzy-looking cider I nodded again and raised my mug to toast with the others before taking a long pull of the most delicious beverage known to man. Seriously. I think Jameson and Malibu have been officially unhorsed by a barrel of Swiss apple juice. Man, do I love Switzerland!

Dinner had been simmering over the fire since before we arrived--another local treat. Now, I had had the pleasure of enjoying Carrie's homemade fondu a few weeks before in the comfort of home, but I can now say that nothing beats the sweet, almost smokey taste of melted raclette, gruyere and whole cloves of garlic over fire-baked potatoes with pan rustica and pears. Between eight of us, we killed two boiling pots of fondu and more than three loaves of bread (all the better to soak up the apfelwein for the walk home, so I was told,) and yet we somehow made room for a brick or two of simple, solid Swiss chocolate for dessert, plus coca for the kids and apple Schnapps for the grown-ups to help us home, though we stayed around the fire for a good hour or more after all the  drinks were dry. The three kids talking animatedly about their favorite Jonas Brother's songs, the adults discussing hunting season and tourism and Carrie's recovery, while I sat happily on the sidelines of each group, content to listen and absorb. (Though my speaking is still virtually nonexistent, I can usually pick up enough to understand what is being said around me in German. Usually.)

By the time we rose to return home night had fallen in earnest, yet we opted to take the long way home, meandering here and there through the dense forrest, headlamps bobbing as various members took it in turns to sing German folk songs or old camp classics (I resorted to Ode to Joy when called upon to sing in the local vernacular...obviously I drank to much cider...) The light of the little house was nevertheless a welcome sight by the end of the walk, Raina heavy in my arms and Jamie beginning to snore into Chrigl's shoulder. Laughing soundlessly, the three adults disrobed and put to bed two shockingly acquiescent children before nodding off ourselves.

It was a great day.