So, while I'm sitting here, shoving down what Germans call "Farmer's Breakfast", or at least something similar as it's without the fun, as some of you might say, I'm thinking that I'm not much for thinking today. The #weekend-engagement questions are very interesting and I could answer them all, but given my condition, I'm not going to re-invent the wheel and stick to what I feel, right now.
"Bauernfrühstück" is a typical Northern German dish, according to me. Wikipedia says there are variants of that all around Europa, but Wikipedia is pooled knowledge, and there's pee in each pool. Except mine. I'm pool broken.
I'm pretty sure that the dish was created for and by hangovers. By accident, I suppose, as most things: "Oh no, I forgot the dough for the flat bread... Wait... It's spongy now... It smells good... I'll just bake it, nobody will notice." Tadaaaa, sourdough, and consequently, beer. I imagine the creation of Bauernfrühstück like this:
Around 1750, Europe was alright. Northern Germany changes mandate from time to time, from Kingdom of Denmark to Sacrum Imperium Romanum almost weekly, but that was normal, so nobody worried. Good old Frederick the Second, aka the Great, a wise man, had ordered to grow potatoes everywhere, and the sandy soil left behind by the glaciers in the last ice age made the soil in Lüneburg, Lauenburg and Holstein perfect to grow this tuber.
It was the day after Michael's Day, which had been chosen as day to thank for an abundant harvest. It had been a good year, especially for barley and hops, and the brewers had outdone themselves in their craft, preserving the precious bounty to last through the winter. Of course, sampling was obligatory and very strict, including multiple layers of fail-safes to guarantee that everything was in order. It was. The whole peasant village made certain of that.
The next day, the brats started nagging at 6.10 am, wanting food and if it wasn't for their incredible reflexes, their mom would've feed them bird style. After downing a bucket of watery liquid, she got up, which was a mistake, so she sat down again. Kids kept nagging, and again their reflexes saved them from a glowing lump on their forehead as the nearest item (a rock that was found "so beautiful... and smooth... he's going to live with us!" the night before) crossed space and time towards them.
Then mom fell back in bed. Kids still hungry. Hungry kids back in those days were quite independent, not like those Uber-eats-brats today. No wonder, working the fields or the household as soon as they could walk and carry a potato. So, they went to the main square, where the "quality control" had happened, and scavenged for leftovers. The the coals were still hot, so they threw whatever they found in the pan.
Potatoes, of course. Some pieces of the pig that had been slaughtered the day before. Onions, no question. Some pig grease, and Fritz scooped some eggs from the chicken coop. They even found some pickled cucumbers in a barrel close by.
As this mix of residues started heating up, an intense smell emanated from the square towards all the houses. Fritz was just waiting for the extraordinary combination of delights to cool down, as he felt a shadow falling over him. This time, his reflexes didn't save him from a ear deafening smack, rearranging his already prepared stomach fluids. The hungovers, naturally attracted by the salty and greasy food, made whole by the sour and crunchy pickles, had arrived. They praised God for the miracle, and scolded the kids for trying to steal the food God made appear and not being working the fields yet. Greedy, lazy brats...
Bauernfrühstück is perfect for a hangover-morning. It replenishes electrolytes, the fats supports the stomach mucosa, and the pickles are just refreshing, and there's plenty of protein. At least that's what I tell myself.
My version is a little different, but equally nourishing. The potatoes are double-fried, together with the onions and some baked tofu with herbs. Some extra salt, a ton of black pepper and smoked paprika, way too much oil, and a whole jar of home made dill pickles.
And then back to bed. Open the window. Drink some water, put on a movie, wait for the day to pass. Because though there's no perfect remedy for a hangover, there is one thing that never falters to make it worse: Humans.
Written for the #weekend-engagement by Galenkp. I took the weird question this time, and hope I somewhat lived up to the challenge.
What is your favorite story about how an invention was made? Doesn't have to be real, can be just imagined. Funniest one gets a prize!
