Taking a Döner for the Team

I like Döner Kebaps, I really do.  In fact, it was one of my main staples during my first few months in Frankfurt, mostly due to the fact that it was one of the few things I felt comfortable ordering in the German language (albeit with lots of pointing and gesturing).  

Ironically, towards the end of the summer in 2006, a little Kepab shop opened up in the village where I was living in Spain.  It was new, semi-fresh, and was almost the only take-out option available.  At that time, I was eating more and more meals on my own, and all too frequently I had no real desire to cook. 

Although I was a semi-regular customer at the Spanish shop, I noticed very quickly that the venture was going to be short lived.  Almost every time I went there, there was a new employee, and fairly soon the quality started to drop off.  At the time, I sort of assumed that it was simply a type of food that Spaniards are not so keen on.  

On the topic of fast food, I grew up loving it, just like every other kid.  Once I turned 21, I tended to migrate towards pub and bar food, preferring deep fried more expensive (but certainly better quality) snacks as opposed to the dollar menu stuff was the rage at all the fast food places.  

By the time I was 25, the only time I ate fast food was after a heavy night out in the pub or clubs enjoying good music and plenty of beers.  There was always that second wind that you caught on the way home when suddenly you think that you are starving and, as the judgement is already impeded by (I already lost count) beers, the logical decision is to pull into the nearest drive-through that you find on your way home. 

Sure, I was also in these drive-throughs with some frequency, and invariably seemed to order enough food for a family four, then proceeded to drive home and consume everything at 2h30 in the morning.  

Fortunately, I eventually moved on from the habit, and by the time I was hitting 30, my fast food experiences were limited to maybe one or two late night runs to Whataburger a month.  Maybe less than that.  Those are fond memories, and I always liked the breakfast burrito wraps they offered.  

The wrap thing kind of stuck with me, which is what got me interested in the Döners again several years later in Spain.  My previous experiences with Turkish food were more formal; there was a great Turkish restaurant in Dallas that our family liked, creatively known as Cafe Istanbul.  I greatly enjoyed eating there, but since all the dishes were served in a sit down dining experience, I sort of overlooked the fact that had I simply taken everything on my plate at Cafe Istanbul and shoved it in bread (either flatbread or a panini kind of thing), I would have a Döner Kebap or Dürüm.  

I find this humorous, because in those days that I was also going to a place called Chipotle, which offered some fresh burritos in a fast-casual environment.  I do not know if they ever had drive-through, but I am glad I always ate in, because those things were super hefty and tended to get out of control very quickly.  On the Chipotle note, their advertising campaigns back then were brilliant:  usually one or two foil wrapped burritos would come thumping into the picture, with a witty statement like, "You can workout with them before you eat them," referring to their size and resemblance to dumbbells.  

So, I am in Frankfurt at the end of 2006, looking for a quick meal solution, and discovered my local kebap guy.  Early on, I always went for the Dürüm, which is the wrap version, and I always tended to get two, so I could work out before eating them.  Those Dürüms were just as hefty as the Chipotle burritos, but filled with thinly shaved beef, lettuce, tomato, onion, other veggie, and covered in a garlic cream sauce.   Delicious.  

Being new to Germany, I was glad that the guy in the kebap shop was so friendly; he always went out of his way to make me a "real good döner."   Turns out he was the neighborhood drug dealer, but somehow he remained friendly even after he knew I was not a customer.  As I got to know my neighborhood better, I realized that the actual owner of the imbiss was an OK guy, and that my little fast talking "real good döner maker" was only working there temporarily; he soon moved on to another local.  

For those first few years of life in Germany, I regularly ate kebaps, and frequently as part of my late night routine on the way home from the pub.  Late night experiences in the kebap shops are very similar to the late night drive-through experiences the American reader can relate to.  A bunch of drunk people, in a very small place, all talking at once, with varying levels of sobriety, which creates kind of an exciting atmosphere.  I never liked to stick around very long, but once or twice (thanks Chris) did spend a few late late evenings at my local shop, listening to someone playing the guitar, and watching others slumped over their kebaps, somehow managing to keep the sauce from getting all over them. 

I think it was the sauce that finally got me.  A little garlic sauce goes a long way, and a typical kebap has a good quantity of sauce added to it.  One day, I simply had had enough, and rather abruptly stopped eating döners.  This made things a little awkward with my relationship with the local OK kebap guy, who I saw about 50 times per week as I walked by his shop.  We still nod a greeting to one another from time to time, all these years later, but I know that he is a little pissed off that I went from frequent flyer to nothing without any warning. 

Through the next years, I did trade kebap stories with friends.  One of the things that never went away was that as the evenings got later at the pub, someone would always announce how hungry they were, and at closing time, someone would stagger into the nearest kebap imbis on the way home.  I used my own personal experience to deter myself from making the same error.  I will spare the details, and simply state that waking up with one side of your face using a dürüm as a pillow is not particularly pleasant, and garlic sauce does NOT come out of your hair as easily as you might think. 

In fairness to kebaps, late night eating while drunk is never really a good idea, regardless of the cuisine.  This is why you rarely see a line at the Taco Bell drive-through between the hours of 8am-10pm...no one goes there except late at night, with sometimes horrific consequences.  (Fire sauce in the eye is another personal experience that I will leave for another tale.)

So pretty much the last 10 years, I have been kebap free.  By that, I mean literally that I have only eaten maybe 10 kebaps in total.  

So, fast forward, now, to January 2021.  Freshly employed, my company sent me to a small town in the east of Germany to spend some time onboarding, getting to know the site's operations.  

I was a little antsy about things.  New job, global pandemic, high infection rates in Germany (we were and are still in lockdown), and a pretty direct message from the government stating that one should NOT travel if they could avoid it.  My boss made it clear that I needed to be in Sömmerda, so I worked with the local site and got booked into a local hotel for the next four weeks.  

One of the challenges with the lockdown is that no restaurants could offer anything other than take-out.  As a result, many restaurants elected to simply close up, without offering anything.  This applied to hotels, also.  Hotels were allowed to offer a limited breakfast (similar to all German hotel breakfasts), which was kind of a trick in itself.  More on that later.   But, the hotels are not allowed to offer any dinner services.  

So, on the train ride up to Sömmerda the first Monday afternoon, I was thinking about my options for meals, not just for the next day or two, but for the next four weeks.  A little research on the internet showed that  there was very little.  The 1 mile walk from the train station (generous description) to the hotel confirmed the limited food opportunities; I saw NOTHING.  

At check-in, the woman at the hotel gave me a little map of the village (printed, but it could just as easily have been drawn by hand by a four year old) showed some little markings of establishments in the nearby area.  There were a total of 10 places within about a 10-25 minute walk from the hotel, 2 of which were grocery stores.  4 were actual restaurants, and the other 4 were more of the imbis type. 

I went up to my room, unpacked, and then got out the google maps to get more familiar with things.  Keep in mind that it was the 10th of January, and winter in Germany is cold.  

The first thing I realized was that on Mondays, only one restaurant (of the 8) was open.  The rest were closed as part of normal operations; most German restaurants use Monday as their Ruhetag.  I had forgotten about this because I rarely eat out on Mondays, and currently rarely eat out period (not just because of the pandemic, I simply do more cooking these days).  

For clarification, my hotel was situated in a residential neighborhood.  The nearest supermarket was about 25 minutes walk away, and no kiosks or gas stations anywhere.  Thus, I ate from the minibar, which was a bag of peanuts, a bag of chips, and a bag of M and Ms.  That, along with a bottle of water, came to a total of 12 euro.  While eating, I checked out the local restaurants, and found that the four sit-in places (currently, supposedly open for take-out) were not really the kind of places suited for take out.  They had pricey, limited menus, but none of the restaurant websites really promoted take out dining for antsy people living in region where the corona infection rate was really high.  

I was also discouraged as I read up on the 4 "take-out" places.  2 rated as "close to shit," and, somewhat more promising, the other 2 rated from better than adequate to pretty darn good.  Unfortunately, the pretty darn good place was a bit further from the hotel, as opposed to the adequate place, which was about 2 minutes walk from the front of the hotel.  

The following day, I walked the mile from the site back to my hotel, and stopped in at the local restaurant.  It was one of those super super fast casual type of restaurants which offers kebaps, burgers, pizzas, and pasta.  Hence the "better than adequate" rating, as such restaurants are not really good at any one thing.  Instead, they provide a mediocre quality of dining.  

I was not there to be on vacation, and I am a pretty easy going guy.  I just wanted a place to grab a bite to eat, and knew that I would likely be a repeat customer for the next few weeks.  I ordered a döner kebap that first evening, with everything.  

And I was pleased.  4 euro for the sandwich, and another 4 euro for beverages (2 liters of water).  

"I can eat this again tomorrow," I thought to myself as I finished my dinner in the hotel room.  

The following evening, I returned to the establishment, and found the same three guys working.  I was slightly annoyed that they were not wearing masks (just like the day before), but I had the impression that they were all from the same family.  Besides that, the two other customers who were also ordering (and, as it turned out, staying in my hotel) were wearing masks, as per regulations. 

I was a little surprised that the three employees did not seem to recognize me.  It was if I had never been in there before, even while I ordered the EXACT same thing as the day before.  But, 8 euros later, I was enjoying another döner, and figured that I could make it work for the next few weeks.  

The following evening, I surprised myself as I made a little change up:  instead of a döner sandwich, I elected for a kebap pizza, which was simply a pizza with kebap meat as the topping.  It was also tasty, but I was also feeling glad that the next evening I would be back in Frankfurt for the weekend. 

That was the plan.  Up to Sömmerda on Monday afternoon, work at the site Tuesday through Friday morning, then return to Frankfurt Friday afternoon, arriving home around 18h30.  

Because I was not at home, I had had to adjust my shopping trips, which meant that Friday evenings the fridge would be empty.  No problem, since I was not feeling like cooking anything, anyway.  Thus, my Friday evenings turned into routine pizzas from my local pizzeria.  Earlier when I mentioned that I was not eating out much over the past year, this included the absence of pizzas.  

For my second week in Sömmerda, I tried to plan ahead.  At the train station, I picked up some water and snacks to try and avoid the mini bar prices.  Upon check in at the hotel, the young woman working at reception was very friendly.  I had not seen her the previous week (though I was almost certain that she was the daughter of the hotel owner) and listened as she apologized that the hotel had no current dining service.  She showed me the little map (that I had seen the previous week), then went on to point out her favorite kebap place.  She went on to say that the place closest to the hotel (where I had eaten the previous week) was not that great, and the other kebap place was MUCH better.  She described her favorite kebap and indicated that she ate there about twice a week, minimum.  Someone of her age (approximately 20 years old) and her figure (she was very fit) reminded me that kebaps, while considered fast food, are not totally junk food.  

That Monday evening, I went to the hotel employee's favorite kebap shop.  They, too, offered pizzas, burgers, and pasta.  Again, I ordered a döner, and again, was best pleased.  

Unfortunately, the weather for my second week in Sömmerda was not so pleasant.  It was not just the cold but also the rain and sleet that happened to fall during the inconvenient times when I was walking home from work.  This left me with less desire to hoof it 10 minutes to the cool kebap shop and instead opt for the local (less tasty) solution.  

Although I had been in their shop three times the previous week, the guys did not seem to recognize me when I walked in that Tuesday evening.  Again, I ordered a döner, and found myself comparing it to the döner I had eaten the previous night.  While I could tell a difference between the two, I found both to be fine, and let us be clear:  I am not a restaurant critic.  If I like the food and it tastes good, then hooray. 

The next two evenings, I opted for the kebap pizza, and told myself that kebaps are healthy.  The hotel employee certainly appeared to be having no issues, and she includes them in her diet.  One evening as I waited for my pizza, one of the employees did strike up a conversation with me.  He asked me if I was Swiss, which was a new one for me.  In all my time in Europe, no one has ever mistaken me for a native German speaker.  If anything, people might think I am from Britain.  

Once I told the guy where I was from, he immediately wanted to talk about boxing, stating that "the best boxers come from the US."  I have no idea, since I do not really follow the sport.  The famous boxers I know were probably active well before the guy was born.  At any rate, I appreciated the chat, thinking that at the very least he was recognizing that I was a repeat customer. 

Week 2 came to a close, and week 3 started, the meal routine identical.  Monday evening to the "cool" kebap place, where I would extend greetings from the cute hotel employee to the nice guys working, then Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursdays back at the "hello, who the hell are you?" gang at the place across from the hotel. 

Something I have always experienced when speaking German with someone in a new environment is that my counterparts need a moment or two to get adjusted to my accent, my communication style, or whatever.  I had already experienced this at the Sömmerda site, where I found that many employees did not have a lot of experience speaking with someone speaking their language as a non-native speaker.  To try and better explain myself, I use an example of Spanish from Mexico, South America, or Spain.  A native speaker will notice a difference almost immediately, but someone speaking as a second language needs longer before they can differentiate.  English speakers will relate to the difference from the northern states in comparison to the southern states in the US, or an Irish or a Scottish accent.  Even now, I need a moment or two to adjust myself to a strong Scottish accent.  

German is no different.  I still have trouble with the dialect from Bavaria, and just the other day was listening to a Swiss person speak German and got completely lost.  

Over time, I recognize it is not personal, and it is not necessarily my accent that stands out.  I am not deferring all responsibility, instead merely highlighting that communication has several aspects. 

In the company site, the employees I was meeting for the first immediately noticed that I was a non-native speaker, then quickly adjusted as our conversation continued.  

In my kebap shop, the guys had some difficulty understanding me (hence the question about Swiss German), and ultimately I concluded that it had more to do with the likely fact that these guys were buddies with my little drug selling kebap guy in Frankfurt as opposed to it being an issue with me being able to communicate in the local language.  

After all, if you go into the SAME place every day for 3 days straight, and order the SAME thing, you would probably assume that the following day the person is going to sound just like he did previously. 

Here I was in Sömmerda, eating at the same place 3 straight weeks, and it was like groundhog day every day. 

Not to insult the local area or the particular employees, I do have to point out that my little pizzeria guys each Friday evening started making my pizza before I even got to the ordering window.  

As my fourth week of travel began, I was thankful that I had to walk a mile to work each morning, and likewise walk the mile back to the hotel each evening.  I figured the additional fitness routine was helping to prevent me from becoming a fat bastard who ate döners every day.  Again, while they are healthier than what I consider to be junk food, perhaps 4 weeks of said diet is a little questionable. 

Because I am a creature of habit, because the weather was still pretty cold, and because I was a little lazy, and because I was curious to see how the little trio of Moron and Moron's two brothers would react to me visiting them 4 weeks in a row, I went right back to the local kebap shop for my last week.  (The onboarding session was planned only for the 4 weeks.  After that, I would be doing home office for the next little while)

Well, the fourth week went just like the previous three, at least from the kebap perspective.  Each evening I ordered my döner, grabbed a few liters of water, paid up, and went back to the hotel.  Besides the one evening where I talked with the guy about boxing, hardly any other conversation with them took place.  Each time I went in, it was if they had never seen me before. 

So, to tally up, I ate 15 döners last month, more than I had in the previous decade.  And the guys who served me have no recollection that I was even there. 

Food rating:  better than adequate

Service rating: I had low expectations, and certainly the guys did not exceed those expectations, but I would tell a friend, especially if that friend was a spy who wanted to remain incognito. 

Will I go back?  Sure I will, but I do hope that my return trip is without lock down restrictions, so that I get to explore some other options. 

What is on my menu for the upcoming weeks?  Certainly nothing with garlic sauce, and, while I do consider myself to be a satisfied customer, I am currently finding it difficult to even look in the direction of my local kebap shop on my street. 

Am I going to post anything on yelp?  No.  

It was all about taking one for the team.  After all, someone has to. 

see you out there

bryan

Busting Pipes and Jeans

My father mentioned in passing yesterday that my nephew had recently purchased some new vintage jeans, the kind of jeans that my sister and brother-in-law wore years ago.  True, the information is third hand, but "years ago" suggests that I was wearing similar jeans at that time, too, so I spent last evening (as well as a couple of hours lying in bed) thinking about my own jeans wearing history. 

For me, it started with Toughskins, a house brand of jeans that I believe Sears offered to all boys in the 1970s.  I will not bother to research how popular they were, but I do know that I was one of many kids at school who wore these jeans each day on the playground.  The name stayed true; an afternoon of heavy playing outside with Adventure People (Fisher-Price) or various trucks (Tonka) allowed for plenty of opportunity to crawl around on the hands and knees in the dirt, grass, or rock garden (as we had in our front yard, complete with a couple of very dangerous yucca plants).  

Toughskins had a kind of rubbery, leathery patch on the back of the jeans, exactly where the Levi's thing is on jeans.  This was the one part of the apparel that was not so tough.  The patch came off fairly easily, but I found it to be a perfect addition to the other makeshift toys I tended to use with my action figures, etc. For example, said patch could serve as a cover of a little hole that I had dug in the yard for a figure to hide in, or to be used as a little raft for a guy to stand on in a river (which was located right at the curb of the street, sometimes turning turbulent after a heavy rain.)  This made for some fun times having to go chase the little group of figurines down the block, frantically trying to rescue them before they got to the storm drain, where they would drain away never to be seen again.  (Note - Had the book IT been published during my childhood, I NEVER would have been playing in this fashion.)

At any rate, the toughskins always held up.  I always grew out of mine as opposed to wearing them out, despite the tremendous wear and tear they took.  They probably saved the life of my butt cheek that one day that I decided to "sit" on a cactus that was planted in the yard of one of the houses that we passed by on our way to and home from school.  

I recall very clearly that we would buy these jeans at the Sears store at Valley View Mall.  The boys section was right at the entrance to the store, and the jeans were always at the front, next to the Husky section.  I was always intrigued by the Husky section; the society labelled size used for those boys who were on the "big" side, even though they were little kids.  At the time, I did not know that many overweight kids, but there was always one or two in every class.  Today, I would think of Mo, the bully who intimidates Calvin (from Calvin and Hobbes) as husky, and come to think of it, many of the bullies in elementary school were on the "larger than the average student" scale.  

Husky was a funny word, and we did not use it much.  In fact, I had to ask what the word meant (in context of the children's size) during an early shopping trip when my mom said, "No, that is not your section," when I went to the jeans rack. And, I do not recall ever using the word husky on the playground at school, partially because I had learned that it was not the politest way to describe someone's size.   People my grandmother's age probably used the word more frequently, much the way that her generation helped to generate the use of the word "spaz" or "hyper."  Ironic that these terms were used by adults who thought that they were just stating the facts, despite the negative connotations.  

Spaz was a word that we DID frequently use on the playground, primarily because it was even more fun to say than husky.  And, spaz covered a whole lot of topics, especially in the imaginative world of a child.  

But, it was a negative word, and even though I did drop it from my vocabulary, along with the other aforementioned words, I remember being dismayed from time to time when hearing an adult refer to a rather active, overweight child as being husky and hyper.  

Our family was not goody-goody (though if anyone came close, it would have been my mother), but we did discuss acts of right and wrong, as well as the significance of how hurtful words could be.  As a result, we knew the words, but we also knew how devastating the words could be, particularly when you are the recipient.  

My mother told me once how proud she was of me when I was describing a classmate standing in a group across the parking lot as my mother picked me from school.  I simply indicated that I was referring to the girl in the big sweater (instead of suggesting that she was overweight).  Although I remember the incident, I had never really considered describing the girl in any other way. 

Back to jeans.  As a preteen, my mother took me a local store for my age group for some new jeans for the upcoming school year.  Somehow, my mother got talked into purchasing some jeans that were on sale, on sale because they were the previous year's style.  That is why, as an 11 or 12 year old, I was wearing Selfridge bell bottoms.  In the store, I was excited to be getting multiple pairs of jeans.  A few weeks later when I realized that I was the ONLY one wearing silly jeans, I was none too pleased.  

I did not grow all that quickly, but I eventually got through the experience, and by the time I was in junior high and certainly high school, I was wearing Levi's.  

Things were easier back then.  There was only one decision to make, really: which size. 

During the end of high school and through college, I did regularly wear jeans, but I also wore pants, mostly black pants, but sometimes gray, and I still own a pair of houndstooth pants that are fucking awesome.  

So, circa 1990, I had blue jeans from Levi's, and black pants from wherever, but usually from Structure or the Gap.  

By this time, I was pretty much at full height, and size was pretty straight forward.  I did start to migrate more and more towards black jeans, but once in a while I would wear blue, and that is pretty much how things have continued for the past 30 years.  

For the most part, I never got caught up in the various styles and fits that Levi's started offering.  In fact, their selection has made things all the more difficult for me when making the infrequent purchases. I stick with the same version, simply in blue or black, but to FIND that version in the store means you have to wander through lots of shelves and racks of all the other offerings; acid wash, skinny, flexi, boot cut, straight leg, etc.  

Sigh, I guess things could be worse.  Ultimately, it is a great thing that I have been wearing the same size for about 25 years, and, because of the cost of Levi's in Europe, I tend to stock up on jeans during stateside visits.  

Unlike toughskins, which might have been dyed with lead paint, my jeans these days tend to fade with time and washes. I tend to wash my jeans semi-frequently, though I am aware of the process of never washing them.  I personally feel that is a little gross.  Sure, the jeans do fade with time, but I can now wear them out and then get more, since I do tend to like a darker color, especially since I try to wear jeans as often as I can in the workplace.  (We will discuss work apparel in another post)

Normally, this is not a tremendous issue.  Despite being unable to travel stateside the past 18 months, I have a reserve stock of jeans, at least 3 or 4 pairs.  However, there has been no need to get them out into action, since I have plenty of other jeans already in circulation.  My routine, wear the jeans until the button fly doesn't work well; with time (and washes), the buttons sometimes don't stay fastened. 

Last year, as I was unemployed and not having to (not being able to) go to work, I just wore whatever jeans I grabbed from the closet, usually choosing the older pairs that had been worn more times.  The logic here, of course, is that any video call involved only the torso.  Likewise, for the few months we were not in lockdown, I tended to wear shorts, as it was the summer period.  

This is all significant because I sort of got off track and could no longer identify which jeans were suitable for public wearing as opposed to for sitting around the house. 

As luck would have it, I discovered that I had unfortunately taken the wrong jeans with me when I went to visit one of my company's facilities a few hours away from Frankfurt during the month of January.  I was there every week for four weeks, and after the initial visit, I decided to dress slightly more casual, partly because the weather was pretty wintery (snow and rain) and partly because the site just dressed more casually. 

One day during that second week, I was standing outside with some folks and I realized that ALL of my buttons on my jeans had come undone.  This was the pair of jeans that was normally assigned to the weekend or stay at home days, but had somehow slipped into the suitcase.  When I say that the buttons come undone, I actually mean that they hardly work...they barely button.  Not because I have put on weight in that area, but simply because the fabric has become so relaxed.  Perfect for sitting around the house, but not great when standing in front of a few people while you are telling them how happy you are to be there.  

I took more care in packing the following week, but still came up short, as I only managed to select another pair of jeans where the buttons were ready to stop holding.  

I share this information because if anyone else happens to be looking for vintage jeans, I may have a few pair on offer for them.  I am actively retiring these so as to avoid future embarrassment in the workplace.  

Now, it might be a bit of a stretch, but busting out of jeans, which is kind of how it feels when the buttons come undone without any use of the hands, got me thinking about the recent weather in my home state.  Since we are looking at history, I will point out that the mentioned Sedgefield jeans that I wore?  That was in 1983. 

When I did purchase my first pair of black jeans?  1989. 

And when did I notice that I had a jean bursting problem most recently? 2021. 

Isn't it interesting that those are the years that Texas has experienced the most severe winters.  

In all seriousness, my thoughts and prayers are with everyone going through the tough times in Texas at the moment.  That husky spaz that went to Cancun the other day is not the role model I think of; I know better.  I know plenty of people who are dealing with all the challenges of freezing pipes, power outages, and general feelings of "it is cold as fuck,"  and I can only cheer and send happy thoughts your way. 

Keep it vintage. 

and keep the faith.

bryan

stay tuned for more adventures...including a tentative title, "colon blow, and how much fun it is to eat kebaps for 4 weeks during your onboarding at a new job."