Monday, I left off remarking that Jorge, aka the "Anti-Claus" maintained a great attitude throughout the night. In fact, all the husbands did.
Sometimes our husbands stood over an open fire warming their hands while we went in and out of shops. It was like a scene out of Dickens, except no one wore a top hat or said, "Please, sir, I want some more."
Although one guy, who is from a very small, rural community around here called "Modoc," has a strange sort of accent that his sweet wife calls, "Modoccian," so his accent could be likened to Cockney, I suppose.
Dark fell at the shockingly early hour of 5:00 pm (Hoosiers are still adjusting to this whole Daylight Savings thing) and suddenly, the place looked so much better, in the dark. Because it was harder to see. But the lights were pretty, and there were some horse-drawn carriages.
On the way home, we stopped at a restaurant/bar that one couple had eaten at many times as children and teenagers in a nearby town called "Oldenberg." This couple has nostalgic feelings about this place; the rest of us had creepy feelings about this place.
We were seated in a dark, paneled room with a suspended TV that had the classic "Rudolph" show on. Of course, we had the mandatory old people's conversation about how when we were little you had one chance per year to see these shows, and now kids can see them anytime they want. Spoiled brats.
Once we got that important gripe out of the way, we could fully take in the surroundings, like the wobbly white tables with little gold flecks in the Formica.
Or several pictures, in one room, mind you, of Jesus of the Sacred Heart, similar to this one, which everyone looked to my formerly-Catholic husband to interpret, which he did by saying, "It's a heart," because one person thought Jesus was holding an acorn.
The odd thing was (well, among many odd things) is that they also had a yellowed 8 x 10 of a local athletic team between the Jesus pictures. We could only speculate that the team represented the 12 Disciples.
It took an hour for our food to arrive, which was actually good because we had that full hour to notice all kinds of ambiance, like the dish towels that served as napkins, and the grizzled old dishwasher in a dirty apron clearing the table next to us, who definitely resembled the convict from Dickens' Great Expectations.
You might think an hour wait is excessive, but our young server assured us that all was being taken care of and after all, "You wouldn't want bloody chicken, would ya?"
Yes, she actually said that. You can imagine how funny that struck me, and even though I buried my face in my hands, I could not contain the "Bwa-ha-ha" outburst, which neither stoic Germans nor restaurant servers appreciate.
We also noticed this quaint little reminder of the German influence:
Our sauerkraut is raw, never heated or cooked as in "canned sauerkraut." The flavors of the cabbage are enhanced in a special German-made crock in which the sauerkraut is aged.
Friendly, beneficial bacteria ferment the cabbage to preserve it and give it a pleasant taste plus a rich content of vitamins and minerals.
Sauerkraut is one of the healthiest foods on earth. It is a great aid for digestion and making it a wonderful compliment (sic) to any meal. Vicar Sebastian Kneipp, known as the "Father of German Medicine," called sauerkraut the "Broom of the Intestines."
Oh, that Sebastian Kneipp, he sure had a way with words.
And if that description doesn't have you Jones'n for some fermented cabbage, I don't know what will.
We were so hungry by the time the food came, no one cared about blood or taste or friendly or nonfriendly bacteria; we just snarfed it down and headed home in the buzz-mobile.
And that concludes the Metamora report. Do you think I could get work as a travel writer?