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Notes05/06/2018
Meggi
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Meggi
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With everything? And with properly sharp again?
For some years now we have been going on a very special tour as a family on one of the weekends following May 17th: in the morning we leave early for Eckernförde. There we have breakfast in a café at the harbour before we visit the "Bonbonkocherei Hermann Hinrichs" and stroll along the pedestrian zone. At some point we drive a bit around the Eckernförder Bay to the funeral forest "Küstenfrieden", where my mother, who died in 2011, and my father's second partner rest. A beautiful spot directly on the steep coast. Mostly I brought two branches of flowering Flieders with me.
Then we take the branch line to Kiel. Sometimes it is warm enough to spend an hour at one of the small beaches on the Danish Wohld. Arrived in Kiel, we stop at the northern end of the Knooper Weg and eat a scoop of ice cream from the "Ice Paradise". One is enough, the tiny shop has been locally famous for decades for a pleasant coexistence of quality and quantity.
Afterwards we either drive back home for about an hour, trusting in temporary saturation, or - if the hunger is too great - on the way to the motorway we make a detour into the Metzstraße to Garip's snack bar on a doner kebab. What now? Yes, now! Triple:
1. Of course there's the ice first. We're not going up and down 2. The Internet does not give a complete account of the history of that gastronomic pearl. The truth is, it goes back to at least my college days. I know that, because
3. my wife and I had our first apartment together around the corner.
During our last visit we were just sitting on the small terrace in front of the restaurant with our dumplings in our hands when another family with younger children appeared. What we heard proved that we weren't the only ones travelling for nostalgia.
Dear Farih Garip! You haven't been there for ages, but you and your successors may forgive me for initiating your snack here, even though I never had any reason to complain as below. Your "With everything? And with "properly sharp again" I have - in best memory - until today in my ears.
So. To the scent:
A petrol-biting botany note quickly followed by a massive dose of hot-sweaty cumins. That smells like slyly overseasoned doner meat, whose age - or an interruption of the cold chain - is not supposed to become callable. Of course, the olfactory evidence still steams unstoppably out of every pore of the dead flesh. After all, the operators have put an above-average amount of effort into the originality of the salad. Probably a fog candle, which - see above - should also only distract from the real problem.
Only after a good half hour does more floral fights emerge and the salad impression fades away. In addition, a trace of caramely-creamy-vanilla-artificial sweetness appears. Well, there's some questionable desserts in the fridges. I even kept my fingers off such things at Farih...
The undeniably musty, sour and sweaty aroma of spices, the freshly prepared botany and the subtle, synthetic sweetness mix extremely unhappily in my opinion. This may be an original thought, but in this case the originality seems to have been forced on the drawing board, so to speak, and is only sufficient for theoretical requirements.
As I progress, I find the fragrance very static for a long time. The same description would still be possible around noon, although the emphasis has shifted steadily towards spices and continues to do so.
In the afternoon, a new phase begins as all sorts of aromas from the sweet corner cavort under the sweaty, musty layer. Make a wish - the details are quite plausible: honey, bitter almond baking flavour, hay-tonka-coumarin sweetness. They all seem united to me from a young girlishly annoyingly giggling clean musk cream to a mannered-holden overkill.
A few tart wooden aspects and a stubborn remnant of sticky sweatiness, on the other hand, are on the losing end. Right at the end, it is already evening, I imagine a diffuse animalistic breath (one that goes beyond dead animal on the spit, mine). Maybe a pinch of Castoreum? Stinky Labdanum? But that may be hokum, basically I switched off anyway and am glad that this nightcap takes place very closely
Conclusion: Oblique and unbalanced in a penetrating way.
I thank Ergoproxy for the sample.
Then we take the branch line to Kiel. Sometimes it is warm enough to spend an hour at one of the small beaches on the Danish Wohld. Arrived in Kiel, we stop at the northern end of the Knooper Weg and eat a scoop of ice cream from the "Ice Paradise". One is enough, the tiny shop has been locally famous for decades for a pleasant coexistence of quality and quantity.
Afterwards we either drive back home for about an hour, trusting in temporary saturation, or - if the hunger is too great - on the way to the motorway we make a detour into the Metzstraße to Garip's snack bar on a doner kebab. What now? Yes, now! Triple:
1. Of course there's the ice first. We're not going up and down 2. The Internet does not give a complete account of the history of that gastronomic pearl. The truth is, it goes back to at least my college days. I know that, because
3. my wife and I had our first apartment together around the corner.
During our last visit we were just sitting on the small terrace in front of the restaurant with our dumplings in our hands when another family with younger children appeared. What we heard proved that we weren't the only ones travelling for nostalgia.
Dear Farih Garip! You haven't been there for ages, but you and your successors may forgive me for initiating your snack here, even though I never had any reason to complain as below. Your "With everything? And with "properly sharp again" I have - in best memory - until today in my ears.
So. To the scent:
A petrol-biting botany note quickly followed by a massive dose of hot-sweaty cumins. That smells like slyly overseasoned doner meat, whose age - or an interruption of the cold chain - is not supposed to become callable. Of course, the olfactory evidence still steams unstoppably out of every pore of the dead flesh. After all, the operators have put an above-average amount of effort into the originality of the salad. Probably a fog candle, which - see above - should also only distract from the real problem.
Only after a good half hour does more floral fights emerge and the salad impression fades away. In addition, a trace of caramely-creamy-vanilla-artificial sweetness appears. Well, there's some questionable desserts in the fridges. I even kept my fingers off such things at Farih...
The undeniably musty, sour and sweaty aroma of spices, the freshly prepared botany and the subtle, synthetic sweetness mix extremely unhappily in my opinion. This may be an original thought, but in this case the originality seems to have been forced on the drawing board, so to speak, and is only sufficient for theoretical requirements.
As I progress, I find the fragrance very static for a long time. The same description would still be possible around noon, although the emphasis has shifted steadily towards spices and continues to do so.
In the afternoon, a new phase begins as all sorts of aromas from the sweet corner cavort under the sweaty, musty layer. Make a wish - the details are quite plausible: honey, bitter almond baking flavour, hay-tonka-coumarin sweetness. They all seem united to me from a young girlishly annoyingly giggling clean musk cream to a mannered-holden overkill.
A few tart wooden aspects and a stubborn remnant of sticky sweatiness, on the other hand, are on the losing end. Right at the end, it is already evening, I imagine a diffuse animalistic breath (one that goes beyond dead animal on the spit, mine). Maybe a pinch of Castoreum? Stinky Labdanum? But that may be hokum, basically I switched off anyway and am glad that this nightcap takes place very closely
Conclusion: Oblique and unbalanced in a penetrating way.
I thank Ergoproxy for the sample.
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