Rasmenia

When I first moved to France a little over 4 years ago, I was immediately enamored with the food.  I’m sure that’s hardly a surprise.  I mean, this is the country that invented haute cuisine, chefs, bistros & the words “restaurant” & “gourmet”.

French dishes from various regions are known far & wide outside of France’s borders: foie gras, escargot, cassoulet, bouillabaisse, crepes & croque monsieur.

Everyone knows about Brie & Bleu Cheese.  Grocery stores in the U.S. sell Herbes de Provence.  Any idiot knows what a croissant is.

Well... maybe not ANY idiot.

The point is, these people are not fucking around when it comes to the food.  It’s an art; it’s one of life’s greatest pleasures & should be enjoyed.  It isn’t just a means of survival or fuel – it’s a way of life.

However, while America eats itself to death, it’s only natural for the fat of that land to spread.  Little bits of American culture can be seen everywhere & France is no exception.  I’m not talking about the Hollywood influence & the fact that I can’t seem to escape George Clooney’s face no matter where I go in France.  No, the American influence seeps into every little nook & cranny here.

Even the food.

Obviously, the haute cuisine & frog legs remain.  But now, there is a Subway.  There’s Domino’s, McDonald’s, KFC, Oreo’s & Pringles.  While some French people do not consider sandwiches to be food (don’t ask me why) there are more & more people out there stuffing their faces with burgers & subs.

Granted… you might see them eating it with a knife & fork.  The concept is still new for many of them.  Try not to laugh if you see this… no matter how much it reminds you of Mr. Pitt from Seinfeld eating a candy bar with a knife & fork.

"I once saw a French man eating a cheeseburger this way."

Of course, French people are slowly getting fatter.  Not to the extent of the U.S., but it’s still happening.  While French people have not generally been big into snacking, it’s catching on.  The snack aisles in the grocery stores here are very small compared to those found in the states.  You won’t find “family size” bags of chips, or countless varieties of snack food.  It’s a little less obnoxious.

Sometimes, the packaging is the same as in the U.S. – a Pringle’s can looks the same, only with French writing.  Other times, the brands are exclusively European, but it’s still just a boring package.  A bag of pretzels is just a bag of pretzels.

What is the most amusing is when you stumble upon one of these French brands & they’ve attempted to “Americanize” it a bit.

Every now & then, as I wander the aisles, I come across something that is hilarious, but not at all something I would be interested in eating…

Don’t ask me to explain why “rock” is spelled “roc”, or why “monkey” is spelled “monky”.  It doesn’t matter – it only adds to the ridiculosity of it all.

If the Monky Boy snacky crackers get lodged in your gullet, you can always wash them down with some evil green juice:

Of course, the most baffling & hilarious snacking treat that we’ve found so far is this:

There's nothing like a big bowl of Jumblies to start the day right.

Yes… Jumblies.  Also referred to as a guy’s “junk”.  His twig & berries.  His plums.  Sausage & eggs.  The things that hurt when you kick them.  His jumblies.

Ok… so, not all of the food in France is haute cuisine, or a world-famous regional dish, but there’s more than one way to enjoy food – even if that means standing around in the grocery store with a camera, pointing & laughing.

“Dis-moi ce que tu manges, je te dirai ce que tu es.” (Tell me what you eat and I’ll tell you what you are.) -Anthelme Brillat-Savarin

After we had left ever-changing Berlin behind us & the gray nightmares of the concentration camp, Olivier & I headed south, where everything had slowly changed from gray to green & the sharp, hard edges of barracks & cities had smoothed, turning into the rolling hills of Bavaria & the Black Forest of Germany.

Since we had entered a new region, I began fidgeting around with the buttons on the radio, to see what it sounded like here.

Immediately, I was reminded of this:

Indeed, that’s what Bavaria sounds like.

What Bavaria looks like is probably just as one might imagine.  As cliché as it sounds, the scenery & architecture of the homes did remind me very much of those Grimm’s Fairy Tales that I read when I was just a wee little Razzy.

“People here don’t greet one another with ‘Guten Tag‘”, Olivier told me.  “People in this region greet one another with ‘Grüß Gott‘”.

“Uh-huh”, I said.  “So, what does that mean?  What’s the difference?”

“Grüß Gott means something about ‘greet God’, or ‘God bless you’.  Anyway, that’s what they say here.”

Granted, I found this a bit annoying, as I’d rather just say “hello” or “good day” rather than have God & blessings flying about, but the deeper into the region we got, it became clear that we were far from the secular state of France.

Crosses, angels & a bleeding, dying Christ were everywhere.  In our room at the B&B in which we were spending the night, the eyes of Jesus followed me wherever I went & a pair of praying hands hung on the wall above us where we slept.

We found it a bit creepy, but then again, we’re not Republicans.

But, hey… when in Rome, or Bavaria… it’s easy enough to distract yourself from the watchful eye of creepy Jesus paintings when outside of the window, is a view like this one:

Just in case you have ever wondered what “quaint” looks like, that’s it.  Of course, if you add a lake to that & toss in a few cows, the quaintness factor increases slightly.

If you throw in a garden gnome, well… you’ve pretty much gone beyond quaint & have started shitting rainbows.

We hung out in our room, making plans for the following day, trying to decide what we would see & what we had time for before heading to Freiburg.  We talked about visiting Hitler’s Eagle’s Nest, but it was a little too far & not very practical since it would be so far out of our way.

The answer was pretty obvious, because stepping out of the front door of the B&B, we could see this place:

It just happens that I had a poster of Neuschwanstein castle on my bedroom wall when I was a teenager.  So, seeing it in person was a bit surreal.

The walk up to the castle was a bit steep & took about 20 minutes.  After all of the sausages we’d been consuming, we probably needed it.

Once we made it up to the top, we managed to blend in with the rest of the geeked-out tourists that were jabbering & snapping pictures as we all waited for our guided tours to begin.

The tour was actually rather short, as it only goes through a small portion of the castle.  Of course, I could be bullshitting you all about having ever been inside the castle, as we weren’t allowed to snap off any pictures inside.  Ergo, I have no proof that I was ever in there.  You’ll just have to take my word for it.

What I can tell you is that the interior is truly unlike any other castle that I have been to… & I’ve been to several, as I sort of have a thing for castles.  Ludwig II, who had the castle built seemed to be an overgrown child.  The decor is gaudy & murals of fairy tales adorn the walls.

We left the castle & made our way back down the hill, which only took about 5 minutes, as opposed to the 20 minutes it took to go uphill.

Once our eyes had adjusted from the garish, glittering, gold decor of Ludwig’s digs, we were back in the car, making our way to Freiburg… slowly working our way back to France.

We didn’t spend much time in Bavaria, but when I look back on it all, there’s a mad swirling of images… Hansel & Gretel in the forest, garden gnomes in a Cinderella castle… all shitting rainbows to the jaunty sounds of sausage-making music.

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