Ich stand heute unter Zeitdruck. Deshalb sind mir zwei Fehler unterlaufen.

1. Muss man Pellkaroffeln machen. Das heißt, man wäscht die Kartoffel, kocht sie mit Schale und wenn sie weich ist, tropft man das Wasser ab und schält die Kartoffel.
2. Bitte keine roten Kartoffeln nehmen, sonder eine gute, mittel- bis festkochende helle Kartoffel

Mach Du die Kartoffeln daher bitte nicht wie auf den Fotos, sondern wie unten im Rezept beschrieben

Das sind die Zutaten, die man braucht:

Die Kartoffeln waschen und mit Schale kochen. Aber im GANZEN und nicht wie hier geschnitten!

Eine Pfanne mit Speckwürfeln ansetzen.

In der Zwischenzeit die Schalotten schälen und fein würfeln
Wenn der Speck knusprig ist, das ausgelassene Fett wegschmeißen.

Dann Speck in der gleichen Pfanne mit den Zwiebeln und etwas Sonnenblumenöl garen bis die Zwiebeln glasig sind.

Eine ganze Salatgurke schälen und hobeln und in eine große Salatschüssel geben

Den Zwiebel-Speck Mix in dieselbe Schüssel geben und mit ordentlich Apfelessig (bio winkel), Maggiekraut, Salz, Pfeffer und Sonnenblumenöl und einem ordentlichen Schuss heißer Fleischbrühe würzen (man kann die Gurke hier fast nicht mehr sehen, aber sie ist da.)

Die garen Kartoffeln schälen und in die Schüssel fein schnibbeln (ACHTUNG! Feiner schnibbeln als auf dem Foto und OHNE Schale)

Alles umrühren und zugedeckt noch ein Weilchen ziehen lassen. Der Salat muss feucht sein und glänzen. Lauwarm servieren. Was übrig bleibt tags drauf kalt essen.

Oh Gott.

Ik: „Praat gewoon Nederlands, hoor, ik moet het echt oefenen.“
Zij: „Maar je praat het toch!“
Ik: „Ja maar zodra ik een woord niet kenn switch ik gewoon naar het Engels. Doe ik altijd, moet ik echt mee stoppen“
Zij: „Doe rustig, komt goed“

[praat praat, klets, klets over talen en culturen en het schrijven in vreemde talen]

Ik: „Dutch people are very well in English, this much is sure. Germans don’t know the language as well as you guys do. It’s not even comparable“
Zij: „True“
Ik: „It’s a disaster actually“
Zij i: „Ja. And all this dubbing of films. They synchronise everything on German TV because of all those illiterates in your country, right?“

20 minutes later I was able to breathe again. She explained me, that somebody had told her this bullshit she actually had believed.

Since I felt the urge to let Mayra feel and know that we all live with those myths not knowing at all that they are myths I told her my „illiterate story“.

One or two years ago, I don’t remember to whom I talked, I had the following dialogue:

I: „Yes, it’s true. PMS and menstruation isn’t always easy to handle.“
Man: „It can be quite painful …“
I: „Can be, yes. But you guys suffer too ….“
Man: „What do you mean?“
I: „From your erections“
Man: „From our erections?“

I was 20 and very very much in love with my first boyfriend who constantly wanted to make love to me. Which was fine, but also quite tiring, especially in the mornings. One of those mornings he told me „It’s ok when you don’t want to have sex. But I am telling you, it does hurt.“ I didn’t understand what he meant, so he explained it to me. He told me, that MEN suffer from PAIN when they don’t find no way to get rid of their morning erection through sex.

This is 20 years ago and God knows that I had quite some occasions to reveal this impertinent lie. But for some reason it never happened. I cannot count how often I thought to myself „What a brave and dear man. He leaves me alone having my coffee and doesn’t bother me, even though he is having pain now“

Tja.

Leaving the city centre behind me and entering one of my very most favourite areas – a very cute, calm and special street – I and my bike stopped at a red traffic light. In front of me stood a woman, also on her bike. She was beautiful! Black, curvy with a very nice blazer and super sexy dark blue, tight Jeans:

I: „Sorry, but those Jeans you are wearing are SO pretty“
She: „Thaaaaaaank youuuuuuuu! And guess what: They were only 10 Euro!“
I: „Whaaaat? Wow! Were did you get them?“
She: „At Dappermarkt! You must go to the very very very end of Dappermarkt. You know were Dappermarkt is?“
I: „Yes I do!“
She: „Good! Go to the end nearby the water to the Pakistanis! They sell them! And they have them in YOUR size TOO!“

The lights turned green again, we waved each others goodbye. I still followed her a bit and could tell – she was exactly as happy as I was. A WinWinWin situation just had taken place: Win for her, because she got reminded how pretty she is. A WinSituation for the PA-KI-STA-NIS (that’s how she called them. She almost sung it) because they will get me as their customer. And a WinWinWin situation for me.

Win, because I loved to speak to this woman.
Win, because I will find a sexy pair of jeans for no money.

And Win because the people in my city again embraced me.

I know that many think it’s rude to directly refer to my curves, that surely are even more curvy than this woman’s curves. The truth is: It’s not rude at all. The contrary is true. People here simply name things, when there is nothing wrong with the subject. They don’t hide what everybody thinks behind false politeness. By doing this, I feel accepted, a sheep that belongs to the herd, not an alien, but accepted and actually loved.

You don’t want to know about the freaking pain I still carry inside of myself after a lifetime in a country that deals with normal subjects differently. They don’t deal with them differently because they are mean. They do it, because they are afraid. They are afraid of everything that is different. And they are afraid to hurt people. Paradoxon.

Nee, jullie zijn niet rude, lieve mensen. Jullie zijn gewoon normaal.

For one baking tray you need:

For the pastry
Yeast (check instruction on package for amount)
50 gr. Sugar
250 ml. Milk
480 gr. Flour
1 Pack of Vanilla Sugar
A pinch of Salt
50 gr. of Butter

Fresh Fruit cover
1,5 kg rhubarb, or apples, or plums …

For the finish crumble cover
3 big spoons of Sugar
250 gr. Flour
175 gr. Sugar
175 gr. Butter

Heat 100 ml milk and 50 gr. butter carefully at small flame until butter melts a bit and the milk is a little warm. Turn off fire, put milk-butter-mix into a big bowl, add 1 big spoon of sugar, mix with hands and then let it alone for 15 minutes at room temperature.

Then add the flour, rest of sugar, vanilla sugar, butter and milk, mix with hands till it’s a nice pastry. Cover it and let it alone for 30 minutes at room temperature. Kneat it again for a minute and roll it on the baking tray equally (works fine with your hands too).

Wash and peel rhubarb and cut it into 2 cm pieces. Sugar the rhubarb and arrange it on the pastry until its fully and generously covered. (Alternatively peel and cut apples, but don’t sugar them. And if you use plums, you don’t need to peel them but cut in little moons and sugar them depending on how sweet they are. The fun about German cake is, that its not too sweet and definitely way less sweet than Dutch pastry – so please dont exaggerate with the sugar)

For the crumble mix 250 g flour, 175 g soft butter and the sugar in a bowl. Mix all with your hands until crumble develop. Arrange them on the fruit cover.

Put baking tray into the pre-heated oven at 200 °C and bake for 35 minutes. Cool cake before eating it.

I am happy in my hood. Happily living among 188 nationalities and crazy people, I dont care, I am fine. But I am not going very much d’accordo with the ambushing species I already wrote about. I have one living in my backyard, Arschloch Nummer 1 aka klootensackbuurman. And I have one in the front. I call him „die dumme Kackwurst“

They both almost look the same.

Die dumme Kackwurst, in is early 4oies, believe it or not, has two women, both in their early twenties. They are at home the entire day, clean the windows and curtains on a weekly basis and watch a lot of TV. Sometimes they leave the house. Then die dumme Kackwurst waits outside in his car and they step in. After a short while they come back with bags from the supermarket. For the rest the women stay at home. Another hobby of theirs is vacuum cleaning. Sometimes die dumme Kackwurst walks the street up and down, preferably at night, peeking into his own living room.

And sometimes he does things with his car. He then opens the hood, does things with his motor, then goes into the car, turns it on and makes „Bruuuuuuuuum brummmmmmmmmmmmmm brummmmmmmmmmmmmm“. Each time he does it, I get pissed and close my window. Sometimes the dumme Kackwurst even does this RIGHT in front of my window.

Today, due to circumstances that already broke my balls so my nerves werent the strongest, he did his brummmmmmmmmmmm brummmmmmmmmmmm shit again. That was around 21:00 u. I jumped from my couch and closed the window. In woede.

When the guy from the glasherstel came, I immediately confessed everything. He laughed and told me, I dont need to feel guilty. He just left, the angel.

And this is how my window looks now and probably until friday (when I am lucky) otherwise until next week.

Die dumme Kackwurst very well knows that my window is broken because of his shitness. Curious about his face next time I encounter him on the street.

Again to relax yourself: Classical Hatha Yoga stretching routines. All hip openers, giving you a super nice feeling.

Wut versetzt Berge – I carried this 190X90 cm monster from Praxis Oost to vlakbij Oosterpark

Really ugly, yes, but CLOSED.

The piece of amazing shit smoked two cigarettes with a break of only 10 minutes in between while I was busy doing this. I think his stupid wife walks around now. I saw a small shadow running around all of a sudden. If she seriously thinks, her neighbour is crazy, then I am asking myself with what she thinks that, because apparantly there cannot be any brain substance in her head.

Now lets hope it wont make no noise when it gets stormy.