February 23, 2012 @11:54 pm
This post first appeared on my Tumblr. And yes, I had a mild fascination with the name Emma then. I think I might want to name my daughter Emma, if I ever get married and have kids.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Emma had a couple of hours before the dinner party tonight.
Everyone was looking forward to Emma’s
sehr gut bread and butter pudding, courtesy of Marie. “Who knows,” she said, “a really cute German guy might fall for you after that pudding!” Emma raised her eyebrows. She knew that Marie was doing this for the British lad who was missing home terribly.
Alright, she would make a lovely pudding because Marie had so generously let her crash in for her month-long holiday.
She looked at the map in her notebook, and decided to spend the day at the farmer’s market.
Brilliant colours competed for her attention as she walked past racks of fruit picked just the day before. Spoken greetings of
Guten tag played off shouts of
Frischer fisch! Frische brot!,creating a wonderful cacophony that sounded sweeter to Emma’s ears than many modern symphonies. Mothers and grandmothers were out in light cotton dresses, their littlest offspring in tow. It was a photographer’s heaven! Emma ran around, trying to capture all the sights before the sun got too bright.
At noon, Emma ducked into a little bakery, and looked around for a young person. Marie said that they were more likely to have studied English. No luck. A middle-aged woman beckoned her over. “
Guten tag Fräulein!”
“
Guten tag Fräu! One baguette please.”
“
Was? Das brot wollen sie?”
Emma tilted her head, her brows frowning slightly.
The woman asked, “
Sprechen sie Deutsche?”
“
Nein. Pommes Deutsche.”
“Ahhh…” The woman pointed at the loaf of bread in front of her. “
Das brot. Zu essen?” She took two pieces, swiped her hand over it, and pretended to eat it. “
Landbrot, sonnenblumenbrot, fünfkornbrot,mit schinken sehr gut.Ich mag bein picknick essen.”
Emma’s eyes widened. The woman was asking her if she was going for a picnic. But Emma had no idea what everything else meant. She decided to try her luck, and pointed at the bread.
“Brot?"
“Ja.”
Emma took out her notebook. She pursed her lips, flipped to an empty page and doodled. She drew a pie dish filled with buttered bread slices. She sprinkled raisins over them. She drew a bowl, into which milk was poured and eggs were whisked. She drew an oven, with the pie dish inside.
The woman’s face lit up. She pointed to the bowl, and said “
Eier? Milch?” Emma pointed at the eggs and clucked. She then pointed at the milk bottle and mooed. The woman laughed, “
Ich weiß! Sie machen Ofenschlupfer.” She took some hard bread rolls and wrapped them. “
Ofenschlupfer, sehr gut. Mmmmm.” Emma chuckled, thanked her and went in search of milk and eggs.
Emma did not have to walk far to find what she wanted. She approached the shopkeeper, mentally preparing herself for another pantomime, “
Guten tag, Herr! Ich einen eiers und milch.”
“Guten tag Fräulein! Wie viele?”
“Sprechen sie Englisch?”
The shopkeeper laughed and called someone from the back of the store. “
Jakob, diese Fräulein spricht Englisch.” A young man emerged. “Hi, my name is Jakob. My Uncle said you speak English? What do you need?”
“Hi Jakob, I’m Emma. Oh good! I think I’ll need two eggs and a bottle of milk. I’m making something like Ofenschlupfer.”
“Ah… For your family?”
“Oh, no no. I’m making them for some friends.”
“I love Ofenschlupfer. My colleague from the Universitat mentioned that they call it bread and butter pudding back in England.”
“Oh, yes! I’m making that tonight. You work in the Universitat?”
“I am sorry, I study there. Maybe there is another word for colleagues?”
“We usually say ‘classmates’ or ‘coursemates’ back home. Perhaps it is different here.”
“Perhaps. Here are your purchases. That will be 3 Franc please.”
“Danke! I hope the pudding turns out well. Guten tag!”
“I am sure it will be delicious. You have a beautiful voice so I think you have a lot of love. Your friends will be able to feel the love in the food you cook. Guten tag, Emma, I hope we meet again!”
Emma blushed and escaped to the anonymity of the streets. All the sights and sounds had tired her. She bought a simple kebab for lunch, and she made her way back to Marie’s apartment.
Marie was already back, stacking piles of magazines and books, and dusting all the furniture. She worked quickly, putting back in place what Hurricane Marie had thrown everywhere. Emma was secretly glad she could just cook – Marie was not synonymous with neat, and Emma only liked dust when it showed the sun’s rays. They finished up with just enough time to freshen up before the guests arrived.
As the guests streamed in, Emma heard at least five different accents. Marie kept on playing with the beads on her necklace and stealing glances in all reflective surfaces, all while talking non-stop to the guests. Emma had to rescue the guests with little snacks, and by asking some to help out with the food. They obliged, and gave each other knowing looks. They too, knew why Marie was behaving out of sorts.
Marie’s British lad, Andrew, finally arrived. He was indeed very charming, as those that attend Eton College usually are. Emma wanted to turn away when Andrew arrived, she was so afraid that she would grin like a Cheshire cat when Marie went into a fluster. But she knew it was rude, and forced herself to keep a poker face.
Instead, Emma blushed. Andrew brought along a good friend, a Swiss-born German. His name was Jakob.