“
It’s like milking a cow. The table gets antsy if it goes too long without feeding people. And we’ll have to touch it anyway, to clean it.” Anjali lifted the lid of a dish. A savory smell, heavy on cabbage, filled the room. “Want to start with the sausages or the potatoes?”
“Sausages, definitely,” said Marc.
“Okay . . .” She lifted more lids and poked around with a fork. “You can have blutwurst, zervelatwurst, bockwurst, plockwurst, leberwurst, knackwurst, and, of course, bratwurst. And what’s this? Weisswurst, I think.”
“Some of each, please,” said Marc.
Anjali handed him a plate piled with wursts. “What about you, Elizabeth?”
“Um, I’m not crazy about sausage—maybe just some potatoes?”
“Okay,” said Anjali. “Kartoffelbällchen, kartoffeltopf, kartoffelkroketten, kartoffelbrei, kartoffelknödel, kartoffelkrusteln, kartoffelnocken, kartoffelpuffer, kartoffelklösse, or kartoffelschnitz? Or maybe some schmorkartoffeln? Or just plain fries?”
“I don’t know—surprise me.”
“Here. Überbackene käsekartoffeln, my favorite. It has cheese.”
“Thanks.” It was delicious and very rich—tender potato slices, with a creamy cheese sauce. “How do you know all those names?” I asked.
“I looked them up. I wanted to know what we were eating.” Anjali peered under more lids.
“You know Anjali—she loves to look things up. Any spätzle?” asked Marc.
“What’s spätzle?”
“Sort of a cross between homemade pasta and dumplings,” said Anjali. “Oh, here’s hasenpfeffer! I love hasenpfeffer!”
“What’s hasenpfeffer?”
“Stewed rabbit with black pepper.” She dished herself a plate. “Mmmm! Don’t tell my parents—we’re vegetarians at home.
”
”