German Genes

The various sauces were mixing together and I was loving it. The creamy sauce from my green beans were slowly making their way towards the gravy that was sloshed all over my potato dumplings, and the juices coming off of the duck were completing the trio of flavors perfectly. My knife sliced into the dark meat and I closed eyes just as I placed it on my tongue, savoring the rich flavors of something I’ve never tried before.  Dammmmn I slowly crunched through the duck skin and I opened my eyes to see silent tears spill down my four year old niece’s cheek. “What’s wrong?” I asked her. “I just miss my mom” she quietly explained. And I could relate.

A week before the Hunter and I were booked to head to Smithers, BC for a two days full of snowboarding with Charlie and Charlie’s gal and one night wandering around the town center checking out breweries’ sure to create some good memories. We found out our schedule was double booked on Family Day weekend, my mum forwarded me a flight confirmation and was scheduled to come to town. We would compromise: a night in Smithers and a night with my mum – making a German meal.

Our teacher would be no other then my bold, no-nonsense friend, Julia. She offered to show me how to make a traditional German meal and my mum showed immediate interest. We softened her with good beer and cheap Champagne. Julia learned how to make the traditional meals (schnitzel and potato dumplings) from her father, who I’ve actually met a couple summers ago. He nonchalantly taught her the basics, and when she ran into a hurdle, like how the hell do we cook a whole duck, she would give him a quick call overseas and he would provide some advice.

Once whole potatoes boiled, Julia sent my mom and I to work on pealing the hot spuds while sipping our beers, where we shared a cutting board and got caught up on life. Julia is one of our few female supervisors’ at the company I work at. We share a love for champagne and dogs (she has two) and unloading about work. We’ve both had to fight to prove ourselves in the male dominated industry we’re invested in, career wise. I’ve relied heavily on her when it came to turning my job into somewhat of a career as well as relationship hiccups and dog problems. She’s as strong as they come and I am so lucky to have her on my side and in my life. She also makes bitching German pancakes, especially after a girls night of too much spirits.

 After combining the mashed spuds with starch we formed palmed size balls and placed them into the almost boiling water. Once they floated to the top, they were ready. We mixed together gravy like substance for some boiled beans and took the whole duck out of the oven.

The Friday before my mom was scheduled to fly in, I was sitting down with the Hunter to eat some kind of bean-based-appetizer-turned-into-a-dinner (it’s my specialty) and I quickly admitted to the Hunter that I lost interest in our Smither’s stay-cation; I wanted to spend time at my sister’s house, where we could go to the local ski hill fifteen minutes from her house: I missed my mum. He placed his mitt like hand on my knee and said we should definitely spend the time at my sister’s with my mum.

 I wiped the tear off of my niece, Natalie’s, cheek as Julia asked how long it had been since Natalie had seen her mother. About an hour, my mum explained with a smile. I asked Natalie if she wanted to cuddle with me. She said she wanted to cuddle with her Gram C. 

Always, 

A girl with German in her genes. 

For the love of food and Jeans