rev:text
| - Authentic is all I want in German bakery. I don't care if the person behind the counter is a 330 pound hausfrau with a bushy, barrel mustache with a Jazz Hans tattoo or a healthy Brunhilde Valkyrie with muscular thighs, long blonde braids, and a bosom full of beers. Authenticity. That's it. And, well, for the most part, this place has it.
Elephant ears. That's what they're called elsewhere and I forget the German name, but you get the picture. Palmiers by any other name. These are my absolute favorite item. No, wait, Bienenstich ("bee stings"), THAT is my all-time favorite. Wait, let me take that back... Ich bin ein Berliner. I'm a believer in Berliner. JFK confuscation aside.
What I don't like is the new set-up. (This is a theme with me). Serve good food and stop trying to make me sit. I'm a-dashin' and a-runnin', I'm not a-sittin'. Don't try to make me sit. And don't make me take a stollen upside your head. Just don't (just doug'nt, get it?).
|