Schnitzel and Such

As a girl born and raised in the South, it's fair to say that I don't know much about schnitzel. Or wursts or krauts, for that matter. The closest thing to German food I've really experienced in my sheltered lifetime is sauerkraut, which my worldly friend Wendy convinced me to try back when we were in college, on a hot dog at a baseball game (you were right, Wendy, I've been a fan ever since). When I think of German cuisine, I always think of it as being heavy and masculine. Sausages and beer, eaten by big lumberjack types with heavy accents during Oktoberfest and the like...at least until last week, when we found ourselves in an unlikely restaurant in Pineville, North Carolina, enjoying a very German and very delicious meal.

I suppose I should rewind a bit and tell you how that daring date night came to be. Clint, as I have undoubtedly already complained, has been on a whirlwind travel schedule the last several months. Last week, he was supposed to be in Berlin for work. This left me feeling a little jilted because it is my general rule that he should not do anything that could be construed as fun unless I am around to enjoy it, too (which seems completely and totally fair and not the least bit selfish, thankyouverymuch). Not one to be outdone by his international itinerary, I asked some friends to meet me for our very own little slice of Germany, at the Waldhorn restaurant out in the suburbs of our city. Over the years that we have lived here, I have heard quite a few people talk about how amazing the food is at the Waldhorn, but I've really never had the cause or occasion to try it for myself. And now, the Berlin trip provided just the motivation necessary to try something new.

Luckily for him, the Berlin trip was canceled at the last minute, and Clint wound up home for the week and free to join our friends Ryan, Jason, and me for dinner. He even shook off the man cold he had been battling so he could participate, and I am reasonably sure it was worth the effort.

Located just off the beaten path, the Waldhorn almost looks like a castle from the outside:

Coincidentally, there was a small Porsche convention at the restaurant that evening, so as we walked through the parking lot when we arrived, we were surrounded by luxury sport cars. It was probably an unfair assumption, but took it as a good sign that people with the good taste to drive such beautiful cars had chosen the same dining establishment. We were already off to a, albeit materialistic, good start.

Naturally, we all ordered German beer as our beverage of choice. Hey, when in Rome, right?

Jason and I, because we both love food and enjoy a touch of OCD, had already done a little research about what to order. (The only German I know is "auf wiedersehen" and that is because Heidi Klum says "goodbye" in her native tongue to failed contestants on Project Runway. Let's just say I had plenty of room for learning.)

We read lot of positive reviews and all kinds of recommendations, but the one commonality in all of them was this: pretzel rolls.

Soft, warm, salted, and served with spicy mustard or butter, these little babies lived up to their reputation. They were so light, I could have eaten a dozen of them, and one member of our group may or may not have taken an entire basket of pretzel rolls home in a to-go container. They were heaven!

We each ordered something different, although there were some similarities in a few of our choices. Everyone was ultimately pleased with their decision, and there was lots of oohing and aahing over each other's plates as we dug into our German fare.

The Waldhorn Sampler

Never one to settle, I decided to try the sampler, which came with pork weinerschnitzel, beef roulade, and bratwurst, with homemade spatzle and red cabbage. Spatzle (or spaetzle) is a popular German side dish of soft egg noodles that goes well with all sorts of spices and flavors. The other side, red cabbage, was especially delicious, and I do not usually reserve high praise for things like cabbage. This was basically sauteed, sweet and sour cabbage and I could eat it every single day. Clint also ordered the weinerschnitzel and was pleasantly surprised at how light and fork-tender it was (not an easy accomplishment for breaded, fried pork).

The "Rinderfilet Stephanie"

The next dish was, visually, the star of the show. My friend Ryan ordered the Rinderfilet Stephanie: filet mignon wrapped in bacon and puff pastry and topped with Bernaise sauce. How could you go wrong with that? The night we dined, it was a chilly fall evening and this seemed like such great comfort food.

Schwabische Wurstplatte

I'm just going to come right out and say it: the wurstplatte wasn't pretty; in fact, our whole table got a good chuckle over how, er, masculine this plating seemed when it arrived. This was Jason's choice and it included bratwurst, knockwurst, and something called bauernbratwurst, with home fries and some sauteed vegetables for good measure. It has to be healthy if there are veggies involved, right?

We were stuffed. We ate, we drank, we decided that this German food thing is kind of great. Then our waitress mentioned that the restaurant's monthly special was a free slice of Black Forest cake with every two entrees. Well, I said we were stuffed, not stupid. Always prudent, we decided to split one order of cake and get the other to go. Hey, someone was going to need another dessert to accompany that leftover basket of pretzel rolls, after all.

Black Forest cake, or the remains!

In my excitement, I forgot to snap a picture of the cake when it arrived, so I'm posting a shot of of the aftermath. Clearly, we hated it. I think we left a few granules of powdered sugar and the mint leaf garnish behind, and that's about it.

As walked among the rows of Porsches and back to our own cars, we agreed that the Waldhorn is a unique and tasty find, whether you're looking for something adventurous or just feel like enjoying a basket (or three) of pretzel rolls. I think I've gained weight just typing the details, so, as my friend Heidi always says, Auf Wiedersehen! And if Clint's trip to Germany gets rescheduled again, I know a great dinner spot for myself while he's away.

The Man Cold

Be careful what you wish for, dear friends, that is my advice for you today. My husband's travel schedule for work has become so busy and hectic, I have been complaining about his absence for weeks. I've made snarky comments about needing to find a roommate, complained that he only stops by our house to get his laundry washed, and gotten downright bitter about him being away so often. And then, as karma would have it, his trip to Germany this week was cancelled at the last minute and now he's home. He's here, and he has caught the thing that strikes fear into the heart of women everywhere: the man cold.

As any male will gladly tell you, the man cold is much different than any illness a woman has ever had. No medical malady, no matter what the severity, can compare to the life-threatening misery a man experiences in coping with what the rest of us call the common cold. This has become such an epidemic that the term "man cold" is even listed in the Urban Dictionary:

"The name 'man cold' disguises the true terrible, debilitating disease that is the man cold. Nearly all men will die from man colds unless they are administered immediately with large amounts of mindless TV such as daytime TV, or childrens' cartoons. It is essential that they not move from bed or a comfy sofa to allow for rehabilitation, and must have tissues and man cold medicine (such as chocolate biscuits, McDonalds, or a nice cup of tea) brought to them constantly by a nearby female."

Oh yes, that sounds hauntingly familiar.

Saturday, the sick spouse was king of the remote and recuperated while watching football, Sunday was spent catching up on all the shows our DVR had recorded since he had last been home, and I thought we were over the worst of it. After all, a new work week was upon us and I assumed he would suffer through his affliction from the confines of his office and that would be that. Sunday night at bedtime, I enjoyed a NyQuil night cap just like Clint, in an effort to dull the snoring, coughing, wheezing slumber that would be resting next to me. I put in my trusty ear plugs to drown out the noise, and started to doze....

What occurred next I would akin to Chinese water torture. Every single time I almost drifted off to dreamland, without fail, my darling spouse would elicit a cough that I estimate to have reached around 100 decibels (a jet engine at 100 feet is around 140 decibels, so this seems like an accurate and educated guess). I hope that getting the bejeezus scared out of you burns calories, because if so, Sunday night was some amazing body-sculpting cardio, y'all. I spent half the night scared out of my wits, heart pounding, trying to take calming breaths and get back into some sort of relaxed state, and every time I managed to calm back down, the hack attacks started again. I finally surrendered to my captor around 2:30 in the morning and retreated to the silent safety of our family room couch. Side note: anyone who ever tells you they slept well on a couch is, unequivocally, a pants-on-fire-liar. It is not possible to achieve REM sleep on a sofa. 

In addition to the sleep deprivation, I knew we were in the throes of a man cold when I saw how thoughtfully our patient had decorated the house. Every room has been adorned with Hall's cough drop wrappers, strewn about like confetti after a party. The bathroom is now accessorized with a lovely assortment of bottles and boxes of every over the counter medicine known to the Northern hemisphere. Apparently, it is also a necessity to constantly check our medicine cabinet in case any new and miraculous wonder drugs have appeared since the last round of medication. Better safe than suffering is the man cold mantra.

Last night, I had already decided that one of us was sleeping in the guest room. Exhaustion is not a good look on me, and I was beginning to fear what little patience I possess was slipping away. Through two closed doors, a hallway, and a box fan on the highest setting, that high pitched coughing still literally haunted my dreams. 

It's been four days now and I've encouraged Patient Zero to head to the doctor. All this sickness could become *ahem* hazardous to his health, if it continues much longer. I'm starting to get punchy, and there's not enough caffeine in the world to soothe my jangled nerves. On the bright side, at least this is the man cold and not its more severe cousin, the man flu. There have been no sick days taken, and (please hear me Jesus) I don't think the disease is contagious, so the end has to be near. Hey, a girl can dream, right? At least she can if she can doze off, with a man cold lying there next to her.

All Treats, No Tricks

I've told you before that I love this time of year--the cooler weather, the leaves changing colors, cozy sweaters and crackling fires...but also, decorating and getting into the spirit of fall. I've never met a pumpkin I didn't love, so this year we bought an enormous one and put out some fun new Halloween decor. At the Stancil house this season, we're all treats, no tricks.

I always start with this sign, which I think sets the tone for nights spent with friends out on our deck around the fire pit:

Inside, I've been enjoying a gorgeous fall lantern my (very talented) mom made for me this year. It's on our hearth in the family room, and every time I walk by, it puts a smile on my face.

Just looking at that, how can you not love this time of year? Acorns and gourds and lanterns, oh my!

I do have to admit that I've been lazy with my outdoor decorations over the last couple of years. Let me ashamedly confess that we have been one of those houses that puts a bowl of Halloween candy on the front porch rather than answer the door a zillion times for all the trick-or-treaters that bombard our neighborhood. Because of that, I have left my Halloween decorations in their storage bins and kept things to a minimum--I feel strongly that to decorate our exterior for Halloween and then not answer our door on the actual holiday is a surefire way to get our yard rolled. This year, however, I promise to stock up on candy, keep the porch lights on, and dole out confections like it is my job. And to go along with that, we have two new friends outside in our yard....

Meet Mr. Bonejangles and his dog, Fang (we thought it would be bad luck not to name our skeletons and we do not invite bad luck in this house). I saw them in a catalog over the summer and instantly fell in love. I knew we had to have them, and they've already gotten their fair share of attention since I put them out Monday.

Can you see that sizable pumpkin in the background? Go big or go home, am I right?

After I found our skeleton and his four-legged friend, I wanted a similar wreath to take the theme right up to our front door. All it took was a visit to the Etsy website, and I found this one which was a perfect companion.

The last step was to give a little Halloween touch to the mailbox, so I fancied it up just a bit with a matching bow and some spooky black foliage.

I think we're dressed and ready for the occasion; now, to restrain myself from eating all the Halloween candy before the end of the month. Maybe the best part of all the decorations is that they're calorie-free!

Happy Fall!