Cath and I have been watching two or three episodes of the old TV show “Cheers” each evening. Cathy recalled it was the same way we watched it in the late ‘80s. We were stationed in Germany and our friend Howard was a lifeline to America. He sent us VHS tapes every couple of months with recorded TV shows and movies. We were binge watching before they invented the term.
Continue reading “Howard and Binge Watching”
It is one of my favorite photos from our time in the Army. I say “our time” because that is what it was. I was the soldier, but Cath and I were both a part of Army Life. To me, the picture brings back the memories of the great joys, along with the intensity of everything in the Army of the early ‘80s.
Continue reading “Army Times”
Yea, we own a Schnupfmaschine (Snuff Machine). What, you might ask, is a Schnupfmaschine? An ingenious little German contraption for shooting snuff up your nose. And why would you want to do that? Well, that story is a little longer, and perhaps a bit nonsensical.
Continue reading “Die Schnupfmaschine”
Oktoberfest in München, Germany is from September 21 to October 6th this year. Thinking back, I remember our adventures there in ‘87 with our friends Tim and Bobby. Cathy injured her arm on the rollercoaster at the fest grounds and had to drink her liter mugs of bier with one arm in a sling for the rest of the day.
Our old friend Tim and his buddy Bobby visited us in the Fall of ‘87. At the time, we were stationed in Worms, Germany. Upon arrival, they spent a few days at our house*, and then boarded a train to tour parts of Germany, Austria and Northern Italy. Before they left, we agreed we’d all meet at a location in the München Bahnhof (Train Station) eight days hence and go to Oktoberfest together. This was before cellphones, or texts or email so coordination was a bit trickier. Plus, phone calls in Europe, especially country-to-country were expensive and we avoided them unless necessary.
Cathy and I had, of course, visited many bier and wein festivals in Germany over the years. We usually enjoyed the smaller local festivals more than the big ones. To borrow a word from the Germans, the smaller fests tended to be more “Gemütlich”, a word that doesn’t really translate well to English, but roughly means a combination of fun, pleasant, comfortable, friendly and of good cheer. When Tim asked about joining them at THE Oktoberfest, we agreed to give it a go, and would meet them in München.
The München Oktoberfest is huge – part bierfest, part carnival, part party and part madhouse. Last year, visitors consumed over 6.5 million liters (a little over 1.7 million gallons) of bier at the festival. Only bier brewed at the city of Munich’s breweries is served. Anyone who has visited München knows about the Hofbrau Haus, but there are actually five other breweries in the city besides Hofbrau, including: Augustiner, Hacker-Pschorr, Löwenbräu, Paulaner and Spaten. The breweries all adhere to Germany’s beer purity law from 1516, the Reinheitsgebot, which states beer is only made from four ingredients: water, malt, hops, and yeast.
On the day before our link up, Cathy and I drove to Augsburg, Germany, about an hour outside of München. There we had reservations for a Gasthaus for the next two nights and for Tim and Bobby on the second night. We spent the night in Augsburg and the next morning, took the train to München. At the Bahnhof in München, all of us miraculously arrived at the appointed time. Then it was off to the Fest!
Paulaner was always my favorite München bier, so when we arrived at the Fest Grounds, we made a beeline to the Paulaner tent. Each of the breweries have massive tents that can hold thousands of people. People sometimes hang all day at one tent, while others move from place to place. The only problem with the second option is the tents fill up early and stay packed. Giving up your seats in one tent doesn’t guarantee seats in another.
As we were finishing our first liter at Paulaner, we were trying to decide what to do next. Someone suggested that if we were going to ride any carnival rides, we should do that now, before consuming more bier. We made the ill-fated decision to ride the rollercoaster before going to the Hacker-Pschorr tent.
At the roller coaster, Tim and I climbed in one car and Bobby and Cathy jumped in the next. I should point out Bobby was only a few inches taller than Cathy, but probably weighed 75 pounds more. You might see where this is going.
The rollercoaster took off and rapidly gained speed. At the second corner, it made a sharp left turn and Bobby slid hard into Cathy, slamming her into the right side of the rollercoaster car. When we all got off the rollercoaster a few minutes later, Cathy could not move or lift her right arm without pain. In fact, she could hardly move the arm at all. What to do!?
Well, it turned out Oktoberfest had its very own first aid station with doctors and we visited it (in 2023, over 8,000 people used the aid station during the festival). Still early in the day, there were no patients yet. Cathy got right in, while Tim, Bobby and I waited outside. Eventually she returned with her arm in a sling. They didn’t believe she broke any bones, but had severely pulled the muscles around the shoulder and strained some ligaments. They put her in a sling to immobilize her arm and gave her aspirin for the pain.
What to do now? Of course we headed to the Hacker-Pschorr tent and ordered four biers. As the biers arrived, Cath ran into a slight problem. She’s right-handed and that’s the arm she injured, so she had to drink with her left hand. It sounds simple, but liter mugs are heavy, especially when full of bier. She ended up holding the stein in her left hand and then used her right hand (in the sling) to support the mug from the bottom. It was quite the operation. ;-).
The rest of the day was a fun time, and anyone who knows Cathy, knows she’s a trooper. We made it to a couple of other tents along the way and also ate some great food. I think Cath and Bobby both had the famous roast chicken, while Tim and I ordered grilled ham hocks the size of small hams. I’ve never seen ham hocks that big before or since. They were huge, and oh-so-tasty.
Eventually it was getting late and we caught a train back to Augsburg. It was crammed with other revelers heading out of the city. There were various states of intoxication, but people were all in a good mood – a few were still singing German songs, while others tried to sleep. About an hour later we arrived in Augsburg, and finally made it to the hotel and bed.
The next morning, I woke up and felt surprisingly good. After taking a shower, I heard Cathy call out to me. She was in bed, but couldn’t turn over or get out of bed – her arm was of no use. I turned her over and other than her arm hurting like hell, she was ok. We put her arm back in the sling.
We linked up with Bobby and Tim for breakfast and then the four of us made the drive back to Worms. The next day, Cathy went to the doctor’s office. Diagnosis? Just as the doctor said at Oktoberfest, she had some pulled muscles and strained ligaments. She ended up wearing the sling for two more weeks.
We joked later that rather than riding the roller coaster early, we should have skipped it all together and stuck to the bier tents. It would have been a safer day. 😉
Addendum:
In the summer of ‘87, my folks visited us in Germany. We had a grand time touring Germany, Austria, Northern Italy and Switzerland. One of the highlights was Glacier Skiing at Sölden, Austria and then afterwards, hanging at the Lodge drinking bier, while Cathy worked on her tan.
On our first tour in Germany from ‘79-83, Mom and Dad visited once for a vacation in the summer of 1982. I was a Company Commander in the 34th Signal Battalion at the time and the day we were to leave on vacation with them, the phone rang about 4AM. Cath said, “Don’t Answer it”. I said, “I have to.” She answered back, “Don’t answer it.” I answered the phone.
The call came from Battalion Headquarters and we deployed on an alert for the next three days. While I was in the field, Cath showed Mom and Dad around Southern Germany and the Black Forest. When I returned from the alert, we travelled the next ten days together. Dad understood what happened with the alert and why I had to go, but I’m not sure Mom did.
When we moved back to Germany in ‘85, we didn’t think Mom and Dad could afford another visit. Airline travel was expensive, as was the trip itself. Then, fate intervened. Dad hit 5 out of 6 numbers on a lottery ticket and won several thousand dollars. Never ones to let extra money go to waste, they scheduled a visit with us in Worms in the summer of 1987.
When they arrived, we spent the first few days near Worms and the village of Rheindurkheim, where we lived. In addition to introducing them to local friends, we spent an evening at one of our favorite Weinfests. Everyone enjoyed themselves, or at least that’s what the photos seemed to indicate.
Eventually, we left Rheindurkheim and headed South for the main part of the vacation. I’m not sure why, but Cath and I decided to take our skis along and get some Glacier skiing in, something we’d never done before. Looking back now, it seems an odd decision. Mom and Dad wouldn’t ski, but I’m sure we talked with them about it. In any case, off we went down the Autobahn with the skis strapped on the roof rack of our Saab.
After visiting good friends Jim and Res in Stuttgart for a night, we made our way to the Alps. We planned a drive through Austria, Northern Italy and Switzerland, but started with Sölden, Austria where we would ski. In the 1980s, you could still ski Sölden virtually all year long*.
Glacier skiing is a bit different from regular skiing. You have to hit the slopes early, and most people only ski in the AM. By late morning, the sun has warmed the slope and the glacier starts turning to slush. Also, as the morning wears on, the snow/ice on the glacier tends to become gravelly, not quite ice and not quite snow.
That first night at Sölden, we ate dinner in the little Gasthaus where we were staying. We discussed skiing the following morning. Cathy was thinking about skiing in her bikini and I was up for wearing a pair of shorts. Ultimately, we decided to ski in sweats and jeans. If we fell, the gravelly snow would scrape us up pretty good.
The next day, after an early breakfast of Kaffee, Brotchen, Wurst und Käse (Coffee, rolls, sausage and cheese) we made our way to the slope and were skiing by 7:30AM. We’d told Mom and Dad they could hang at the Gasthaus, but they insisted on coming with us to the ski lodge. Dad took a photo as we headed to the lift.
Cath and I spent the next three hours skiing the glacier and it was wonderful. The piste (ski trail) wasn’t crowded, the snow was in great shape and we were skiing well. Occasionally, we’d check on Mom and Dad who were drinking Kaffee on a picnic table outside the lodge. Dad snapped some pics of us skiing, but for the life of me, I can’t find them. Around 10:30 the snow started getting slushy. By 11, we were through. We started getting wet from the knees down and were tired from the morning’s activities. In the additional good news department, we hadn’t fallen all morning.
We stacked our skis in a rack, joined Mom and Dad and ordered some biers. Cathy stripped off her sweater and jeans, revealing the bikini she wore underneath. In the photo I took of Cath with Mom and Dad, I love the bored/sullen Euro look she adopted. Just another ho-hum day skiing the Alps and catching rays.
We spent one more night in Sölden, before heading for Nauders, Austria right on the Italian border. We’d previously skied a couple of winters there. After a couple of days seeing friends, we eventually crossed into Italy and then Switzerland, having an occasional roadside lunch of bread, cheese and wine. One day we forgot glasses, but that didn’t stop us. ;-).
We worked our way to Davos, where we enjoyed a multi-course 5-Star meal at a restaurant just outside of town. At our hotel that night, we saw fireworks going off in the mountains across the valley. It was the celebration of the Swiss National Day, their equivalent to our 4th of July and pretty amazing. At the time, we had no clue about the importance of Davos or the World Economic Forum. All we knew was that we ate a great meal that evening and then saw a cool light show in the Alps.
Eventually, we returned to Rheindurkheim and other adventures, before Mom and Dad flew home.
It’s funny, I remember many parts of that vacation**, but for some reason skiing the glacier at Sölden stands out. It was only a small part of the trip, but remains firmly in my mind. Maybe it was the fun of the day. Maybe it was the skiing. Maybe it was just the remembrance of my wife soaking up sunshine in a bikini at the ski lodge after a morning of good play. All our days should be so happy.
Addendum:
80 years ago this week, my “Uncle” Noble and the 9th Infantry Division sealed off the Cherbourg Peninsula eleven days after D-Day during WWII. I was thinking about him while watching the Band of Brothers on TV. When Easy Company jumped into Normandy for their first wartime engagement, Noble and the 9th had already been in combat for over 1 1/2 years.
Noble was Dad’s best friend, after his brothers, Mick and George. Both he and Dad joined the Army when underage in 1940, over a year before WWII started. They were in B Company, 60th Regimental Combat Team (RCT), of the storied 9th Infantry Division.
Mom, Dad, “Uncle” Noble and “Aunt” Myra were great friends through the years and got together several times a year. The four of them had a close friendship that lasted a lifetime. I learned a lot about life, and about enjoying life from all of them, but particularly Dad and Noble. They told stories from their time in the Army – almost always funny stories of things that happened. The serious stuff? The stories of death and destruction? Those didn’t make it to the kitchen table where folks gathered, drinking coffee and listening, as these two combat veterans told their tales.
Noble’s actual WWII story is interesting. It’s one you can’t really tell without also telling the story of the 9th.
Dad and Noble’s wartime experience started on November 8th, 1942, when the 9th took part in the Invasion of North Africa. Until D-Day happened, it was the largest wartime amphibious assault ever. After three days of battle, they took Port Lyautey, Morocco and the Vichy French surrendered. After some downtime, in January of ‘43, the 60th RCT was the only unit selected to take part in a review for President Roosevelt who was at the Casablanca Conference. Dad and Noble were both there and told us funny stories of the comments in the ranks as Roosevelt passed their unit in a jeep for the review. “Hey Rosie – who’s leading the country while you’re over here?” “Hey Rosie – Who’s keeping Mamie warm while you’re over here?”
Things got tough again after that. Starting in February, they fought their way across Algeria and then Tunisia. Station de Sened, Maknassy, Bizerte – forgotten names now, but deadly locations in the spring of ‘43. The Germans eventually surrendered at Bizerte, on May 9th, 1943, just over a year before D-Day.
The 9th wasn’t finished though. A little over two months later, in July of ‘43 they took part in the invasion of Sicily. The 60th conducted the famous “Ghost March” through the mountains of Sicily, which the Germans originally thought were impenetrable. Dad was shot three times there, and almost died. It took them a few days to evacuate Dad to an aid station, and then a hospital. The war was over for him and they eventually sent him back to the States.
In fact Dad’s wounds were so severe, Noble thought he had died, or would die shortly. As they evacuated him, Noble and the 60th continued the fight. 38 days after the invasion began, Sicily fell on August 20th. Noble was there when Patton addressed the Division on August 26th, congratulating them for their efforts.
In September of ‘43, the 9th deployed to England for rest and refitting. With just over nine months until D-Day, the 60th had already fought in four countries on two continents.
On June 10th, D-Day plus 4, Noble and the 9th landed on Utah Beach. Their mission? Attack towards Cherbourg and cut off the peninsula. This they did and on the 17th of June, reached the ocean on the other side of the peninsula, and eventually, captured the port of Cherbourg itself. If you’ve forgotten your history, Cherbourg was critical for the allies to establish a port on the Atlantic Seaboard. Back home, the news singled out the 9th for their efforts.
From there, they started on the great chase across France. The 9th advanced over 600 miles by the end of September thru France and into Belgium. In 3 1/2 months they were engaged in three major campaigns and were only out of action for a total of five days.
The 9th was among the first units entering Germany itself. For actions on December 12th in the Hurtgen Forest area of Germany, Noble’s unit, B company 60th RCT, received a Distinguished Unit Citation for combat actions in Germany. At the time, the company probably had around 80 or so men.
Just after the 12th, The 9th was pulled out of the line due to the heavy casualties they had sustained. It was “resting” in the Monschau Forest area of Belgium, when on December 16th, 1944, the German winter offensive, the “Battle of the Bulge” started. Thrown back into combat, the Division beat back the enemy at the northern edge of “The Bulge”.
The Battle of the Bulge, The Ardennes, the fight across Germany to the Rhine River – Noble saw all of that. On 7 March, when the American 9th Armored Division captured the bridge across the Rhine River at Remagen, Noble and the 60th RCT were among the first Infantry units to cross under heavy fire and defend the bridgehead from the East side of the Rhine.
On across Germany – The Ruhr, The Hartz Mountains… On April 26th, 1945, a patrol from the 60th RCT linked up with the Russians at the Elbe River. The war in Europe officially ended on May 7th.
Noble spent 2 1/2 years in combat, fought in seven countries and survived without a scratch. Miracles do happen.
In 1950, a minor miracle also happened.
In July of that year, a knock came at my parent’s door and Mom answered. A young couple was standing there and wanted to know if William Hall lived there. Mom said yes and called Dad. All of a sudden there was yelling, and exclamations, and hugging, and dancing and back pounding – it was Noble, and his new wife Myra.
It turned out Noble and Myra were traveling from a vacation in Wisconsin back to Southern Illinois where they lived, when they passed our hometown – Ottawa. Noble thought Dad had died in Sicily, and then remembering he was from Ottawa, decided to stop in and see if he could find Dad’s parents and offer his condolences. He looked the name William Hall up in the phone book, and stopped off at the local VFW to see if anyone knew of Dad or his relations. They then drove to the address from the phone book, assuming it was my grandfather’s home. Instead, he and Dad saw each other for the first time since August of 1943 in Sicily.
I was born in ’55 and named Max Noble Hall in honor of Noble. I always enjoyed seeing him and Myra over the years during their visits. Later, at West Point, and then while spending my own time in the Army, I often asked myself if I was measuring up to these men from B Company of the 60th RCT.
I feel so lucky having known them and having heard the stories Noble and Dad told. It’s only in the last decade I’ve matched those stories up to the details in history books. I can tell you they greatly underplayed what they did for America and the free world. What I wouldn’t give for another day with Noble and Dad – listening to the stories, and this time, asking more questions.
The “Greatest Generation” is mostly gone now. I think it’s important we not let them, or their stories be forgotten.
Here’s to you Uncle Noble. Thanks for everything you did for this country and being an influence in my life. It’s a debt I can never repay.
Addendum:
With no kids to talk about, Cath and I have a million stories about our dogs, particularly our first dog, Top. Don’t parents always have the most pictures and stories about their first born?! A German friend called Top “Einmalig”, which translates to “one of a kind”. This story, from 1981, involved Top, Cathy hitting a tree with our car, the MPs, the German Polizei and a little old lady. We were stationed in Würzburg, Germany at the time.
Cathy had been shopping at the commissary and was returning home with both Top and our groceries in the back seat. Here is her version of what happened.
#—#
Top and I were on our way home from shopping at the commissary at Leighton Barracks in Würzburg one afternoon. As we entered a traffic circle, I must have been going a little too fast, as the groceries fell over onto Top and scared him. Out of my peripheral vision I saw him try and jump out my car window. I caught him by the collar and pulled him back into the car, but of course I didn’t pay attention to where I was driving. When I looked back at the road I was heading straight for a tree, which I hit. I must have only glanced off of it because the car was fine, or so I thought at the time.
I kept driving and stopped at a red light, where reaction to the accident set in. I said to Top in the back seat, “Well at least we are still together and OK!” I looked in the back and Top wasn’t there – he jumped out of the window after all. I pulled over and imagining the worst, got out of the car and looked under it, making sure I hadn’t dragged him by his leash. No Top there, so that was a small bit of grace, but where was he, and what to do?
I was near the American MP station, so I drove there. I repeated the story of what happened, and they decided it would be prudent to call the Polizei.
In Germany, they treat their animals and trees well. Really well. If you illegally kill an animal or damage or fell a tree, there are hefty fines. Hearing we were involving the PoIizei, I naturally became concerned and worried about both them and a potential fine. My only real interaction with the Polizei up to this time was at the German airports where they guarded against terrorists, were always in riot gear and carrying automatic weapons. You didn’t mess around with them.
The Polizei arrived and looked a bit stern at first. I explained everything again, this time in German, and at one point I think I saw one of the Polizei hiding a laugh or a small smirk. I should point out you generally didn’t see the Polizei laughing. In this instance they were quite nice and helpful. We determined the tree wasn’t really damaged and they let me go with a warning to drive more carefully.
As I was getting ready to leave, it turned out something was wrong with the car, as it was making a funny noise. The MPs and I decided to leave the car at the MP station and have someone pick me up. We called Hindenburg Kaserne where Max was stationed, but he had deployed to an undisclosed location in the field and was unreachable. His company said they would send Lieutenant Smrt (yes, that really was his last name – it had no vowels) from his Company to pick me up.
I was waiting on a corner for LT Smrt’s arrival when all of a sudden Top, seemingly without a care, trotted down the sidewalk towards me, trailing his leash. I grabbed him and sat on the corner hugging and holding him, crying tears of joy and relief. A little old lady who was walking by, stopped and asked me what was wrong and “Ist dein Hund krank?” (Is your dog sick?) I looked at her and just couldn’t go through the story a third time, and for a second time in German. I said the easiest thing that came to mind. “Ja. Er hat Krebs.” (Yes, he has cancer.) She petted Top, wished us good luck and looking sad, walked away.
We’ve told this story over the years and it always gets a chuckle. I laugh at myself a bit in the telling. We spoke fluent, or near fluent German at the time, but I was so overwhelmed with emotions, the “Krebs” story was the best I could do.
#—#
Top was with us for 16 years, dying, not of cancer, but old age in 1997. By then he was a world traveler, having crossed the Atlantic three times, visited numerous European countries and several States back home. He truly was Einmalig and we still miss him and his antics.
Addendum:
Here are three previous blogs about Top.
American ingenuity – we see it applied every day in all kinds of ways. Recently, I needed to look no further than a couple of local breweries, where in addition to great beer, they are serving Sausage Gravy Pizza and Bratwurst Pizza. I put those ideas in the borderline genius category.
Pizza – it’s almost as American as apple pie. Yea, it originated in Naples, Italy, but we Americans have made it our own. For me, from pizza at Sam’s* in my hometown, to New York Sicilian at West Point, to Chicago deep dish, to rediscovering the simple pleasures of a Pizza Margherita, it’s been a great journey. Of course, these days you can find almost anything on a pizza including the outstanding combination of prosciutto, arugula and a balsamic reduction at Ava’s in St Michaels, MD.
Currently, I need to say two local breweries have caught my attention with outside the box thinking.
The first is Death Ridge Brewery, located on a farm off of Route 229 about halfway between Warrenton and Culpeper. Their beers are excellent and they have wonderful views of the Virginia Piedmont. They have their own kitchen and often a food truck, but you should really try visiting on a Sunday, when they do it up right. They have bluegrass music all day long, and there’s typically a food truck. The real reason to visit on a Sunday? Their Sausage Gravy Pizza, which is only served on Sundays.
I kid you not, it is outstanding. Does it taste like sausage gravy? Yes. Does it taste like Pizza? Again, yes. I’m not sure exactly how they do it. If I had to guess, I’d say they blend some mozzarella in with their homemade sausage gravy, and it turns into a wonderful, delicious, perfect Sunday lunch. The pizza probably has about a bazillion calories, but who’s counting?
The second place to try is a new brewery in Warrenton called Silver Branch, Warrenton Station. It took over the location of the former Wort Hog Brewery**, which only lasted a couple of years. Silver Branch, like Death Ridge, has good beers, with excellent IPAs and great European varieties, including Pils, Saisons, Stouts, and a Belgian Tripel that will knock your socks off. They have a full food menu including moules (mussels), a bratwurst sandwich with frites and several good pizzas. My favorite? “The Wurst”, a bratwurst pizza with caramelized onions – a brilliant idea!
Now you might think the Germans would have “invented” the Bratwurst Pizza, or at least served it, but I’m doubtful of that and never saw it when we lived there. Cathy and I were stationed in Germany for 9 years with the Army and loved both the country and the people. Having said that, the German people live up to at least one stereotype – They in fact are an “orderly” people and tend to follow rules. As a result, they serve bratwurst in Germany, and they serve pizza in Germany at Italian restaurants. The two together?! Niemals! (Never!) I’m glad someone at Silver Branch thought “Hmmm. I like brats. I love pizza. AND, I enjoy drinking bier with both of them. Let’s play around in the kitchen and see what we can come up with.” Pizza, brats and beer – what could possibly go better together?
I still enjoy a Cheese, Sausage, Mushroom pizza from Sam’s when back home in Ottawa, or a Greek pizza from Joe & Vinnie’s here in Warrenton. Still, it’s nice to know there are new options, and with American Ingenuity, pizza continues evolving. In the meantime, if you are here in Fauquier County, I highly recommend trying both Death Ridge and Silver Branch, for their beers, and their pizza. You can’t go wrong unless you try and do both on the same Sunday, in which case you might overeat. 😉
Addendum:
In 1988, Cath and I enjoyed a ski vacation in the village of Ischgl, Austria, known for both its skiing, and its Après-ski activities. It also presented the opportunity to ski from Austria to Switzerland, as long as we brought our passports. As is usual, Cathy had the last word after we completed the run.
While stationed in Germany in the ‘80s, we took many ski vacations to Austria, sometimes for a long weekend, sometimes for a week. We often went with our friends Jim and Res to the Austrian town of Nauders on the Italian border. The skiing was great there and we enjoyed many fun trips with them.
In ‘88, Jim and Res couldn’t get away, so we decided to go on our own and try a new location. We eventually settled on Ischgl, a village in Austria’s Paznaun Valley with nearly 150 miles of groomed downhill trails. It’s also known as something of a party town with a multitude of Après-ski bars, clubs and restaurants.
We had a great time that week and the town lived up to both its ski and Après reputation. We would ski in the morning, have lunch and a bier at a restaurant on the mountainside, and then ski all afternoon. Eventually, we skied our way back to town and stopped at different places for a drink. Afterwards, we walked to our Gasthaus, cleaned up and went out for dinner, and maybe dancing later. Finally, we’d make it to bed, sleep like the dead, and then do the same thing the next day. It was wonderful, and an easy thing to do when in your early thirties.
We learned we could ski from Ischgl, across the border and into the duty-free town of Samnaun, Switzerland. As the crow flies, about 10 kilometers separate the two towns, but It’s farther when skiing. Looking at the map, the route was a combination of ski lifts and Blue and Red trails. (in Europe, Blue are considered easy and Red are intermediate trails). Although we didn’t need passports to enter Switzerland, we would need them to re-enter Austria. We decided to give it a go the next day and have lunch in Samnaun, before returning to Austria.
It was a perfect day with a blue sky as we started towards Samnaun. Through a combination of skiing and a couple of chairlifts, we arrived at the red trail heading into Switzerland. As we descended, it was nice skiing, but then we came upon an icy, relatively steep cat-track, connecting on its far side to a steep descent to the village of Samnaun. Several people stopped there gathering their breath, before continuing. The mountain was on the right side of the track. On the left side, the ground dropped rapidly away into an unskiable valley. As we were watching, many people had problems on the ice and were falling, so some caution was warranted. We were about ready to go when someone came zooming down the slope from above, cut his skis into the snow and ice to turn onto the cat-track and… the skis didn’t grab the ice. Instead of turning, he shot off the side of the mountain, traveled through the air for about 40 feet, and then landed 20 feet below the trail in the snow. Hmmmm.
That caught our attention, particularly Cathy’s. The guy was OK, but now needed to find one of his skis and then climb back up the side of the valley to reach the trail. He couldn’t ski out from where he was.
We watched awhile longer, and then I said to Cath it was time to go. She disagreed and wanted to wait a little longer. More time went by and Cathy still wasn’t quite ready. Finally, I said something like “We can’t stay here, and we can’t go back up. The only way out is down the cat-track.” Eventually we started and slowly made our way. Cathy reverted to snow-plowing and her edges grabbed on the ice. After what seemed like forever, but in reality was probably two or three minutes, we made it past the cat-track. A few people were crashing and burning around us, but we had nary a fall. All that was left was the final descent.
We stood there congratulating ourselves and I pulled out my flask for us to share a short shot of brandy. I filled the cap about half full and handed it to Cathy. She looked in the cap and said, “Really? Do you think I could have a double?!” We both laughed and I filled the cap to the brim. She shot it down, handed it back, and took off on the final descent into Samnaun. After pouring myself a short one, I put away the flask and tore after her, eventually catching up. While the slope was a little steep, the snow was good and we arrived in town without mishap.
We took off our skis and found a nice looking Gasthaus. I don’t remember what we ate, but the bier we drank with lunch tasted awfully good. After lingering a while and doing a little shopping, we took a cable car back up the mountain. Following a short ski, and then an additional chairlift ride further up, we arrived at the border crossing into Austria, where we dutifully presented our passports.
Once through customs, we skied down the slope into Austria. We made a couple more runs, and decided to call it quits. It had been a tiring day.
We skied into town to a bar/restaurant we discovered earlier in the week, and after stacking our skis outside, walked in. The place was quite crowded. We found a small table, settled in, and ordered biers along with a couple of Poire Williams*, a French eau de vie (we called them Poor Willies).
As we sipped our biers, the band began playing and their first song was The Stones’ “Satisfaction”. We, along with half the crowd, jumped on the dance floor and started dancing in our ski boots. As we were dancing, the crowd, a mishmash of Austrians, Germans, French, Dutch, Italians and others from who knows where, were all singing at the top of their lungs “I CAN’T GET SNOW… SATISFACTION!” It was one of those perfect moments you can never replicate, but forever remains clear as a bell in your mind’s eye. To this day, I feel my boots hitting the floor in time with the music, hear the crowd singing to “Satisfaction” and see the look of laughter and love in Cathy’s eyes.
Eventually it was time to leave. We went outside to find our skis and make our way home. As we were standing there, Cathy grabbed her crotch with one hand and started pulling at her clothes. I burst out laughing and said, “What the hell are you doing?!” She looked me straight in the eye and answered, “I am adjusting my balls. I kicked that slope’s ass today!” With that, my wife threw her skis over her shoulder and started walking home.
Addendum:
In America, we often ignore cuts of meat used to make excellent dishes elsewhere – beef cheeks and pork jowl are two examples. Oxtail is another. When we lived in Germany, Ochsenschwanzsuppe (Oxtail soup) was a classic you rarely see here. It’s an OMG wonderful dish I’ve made a couple of times now.
Of course, many hear the word Schwanz, and immediately think of the Mel Brooks film, Young Frankenstein and the scene with Inga (the great Terry Garr) using the pseudo-German word schwanzstucker*. I can assure you, there is no schwanzstucker in this Ochsenschwanzsuppe. 😉
In today’s world, what we are really talking about is beef tail, but I’m going to stick with Ochsenschwanz, or oxtail, which is what it was called when we originally learned about it in Germany. Plus, it sounds cooler.
Oxtail is high in protein, has abundant collagen and is a source of healthy fats. With the high collagen and connective tissue content, oxtail was made for long, slow cooking in dishes such as this soup. It’s a great winter dish. I’ve learned from friends who also cook that it is core to many other ethnic dishes as well. As an example, my friend Antoine Freche says, “Oxtail is the preferred bone source when creating a “silky-smooth” broth for Vietnamese Pho. Oxtails are best since they contain more collagen than a regular beef bone. The collagen is what makes the broth silky-smooth.”
I have to agree with Antoine. The broth in this soup is wonderful. It is a different flavor than a typical beef stew and packed with umami**. Silky and smooth are both great descriptors, but so are tasty, delicious and “OMG this is so f’in good!” I’m already thinking of ways to use this broth for other dishes – it really is that outstanding.
This recipe combines a rich beef and vegetable broth with paprika and pepper to add some bite, along with sherry and cream to round it out. It’s finished with a roux. It takes a while to make but is sooooo good. If you don’t have quite enough Oxtail, add some chuck steak, or some other roast to make up the difference.
Traditionally, Oxtail soup is served as a first course in Germany at restaurants or special events. They have two main versions of Oxtail Soup there – one is a clear broth with beef bits, the other is a “gebundene” (bound) version and is a little heartier. This recipe is a gebundene soup.
While the original version of this recipe was for a first course, Cath and I have it as a meal. With some bread and a small salad, it’s hard to beat. If you want to add a little to it for a main course, cut up a carrot or two and simmer with the sauce in the final 1/2 hour. As with most soups and stews, it’s better the day after you first cook the broth. The meal is certainly guest worthy, but I won’t judge if just you and your partner eat it by yourselves over two or three days. By the third day, it will be mostly just broth left, but that doesn’t matter. You’ll still be marveling at how tasty it is.
Addendum:
Live Life Exuberantly 