Rye Bread Dreams and Enema Soups: A Dive into 1912 Dining
Ah, the good old days of 1912, when men gathered in inns to enjoy a colder brew and hot banter—where the soup didn’t just warm your body, it had the potential to cause uncontrollable fits of laughter! It’s reminiscent of the gatherings we have now, only the pints are craft ales, the banter isn’t as surreal, and nobody’s discussing enema soup (thank goodness). But if Richard Schubert, the innkeeper of Schützenpark, were my barkeep, I’d be a regular too, especially with those “glasses of the coveted barley juice” making the rounds!
Soldiers’ Suffering—Or Just a Weight Loss Program?
Picture this: Gustav Hähner, the droshky owner, is peering out the window with an expression that’s somewhere between concern and breakfast burrito on a Monday morning. He’s watching soldiers braving the elements like they’re auditioning for some grim historical drama. And then, because every group needs a comic relief, enter Kurt Buchner, the stoic military inspector with the comebacks! “Soldiers have to endure this.” Oh come on, Kurt! Talk about being a buzzkill! Reminders that a rainy day doesn’t exactly scream ‘war hero’—unless that hero is doing a decent impression of a wet dog.
And let’s not get started on Max Mahnert’s hilariously morbid twist on military protocols! I mean, who knew the proper way to call for a timeout in a war was to summon a reluctant white flag while feasting on fried sausage? Honestly, I’d totally consider joining the army if it meant I could have a hot grog or three while waiting for the rain to pass! But alas, all I’m fighting is for a spot in the pub quiz.
Thirst Makes You Hungry—And a Bit Scheming
Now, if you ever wanted to witness the delicate balance between suspicion and camaraderie, you should have seen police sergeant Emil Gerlach and editor Rudolf Herrlein at the table! “I don’t want to find myself in your smear paper tomorrow,” Emil says cautiously, proving that even back in 1912, journalists had trust issues! But let’s be real, if I were running a paper, I’d be more concerned about attracting the attention of serious complaints rather than serious camaraderie over some pumpkin spice lattes or whatever it was they drank back then.
And can we talk about that menu line-up? “Cat ragout and rat steak are out.” I’m all for experimental dining, but I draw the line at anything that sounds remotely like a rejected Stephen King character. The innkeeper Richard Schubert had jokes that would put many modern comedians to shame! “E in – run – soup.” *Snort* Now that’s a punchline that packs a punch (or at least a warning)! But I have to say, the way he explained the enema soup made me inexplicably ravenous. Maybe not for soup in that manner, but definitely for a solid meal cooked by someone that doesn’t sound like they’re also running a black market hydration scheme!
The Suffering of Left-Handers—And Other Struggles
Then there’s Kurt Buchner again, bless his soul, battling the age-old struggle of the left-handed amidst a sea of right-hander propaganda! The poor chap was practically raised in a world that believed left-handedness was a mark of the devil—imagine his teachers whacking his hand like it was some kind of medieval discipline! “Why can’t you just be normal?” they probably shouted, while making him write with the equivalent of a giant twig.
Of course, after overcoming his personal trials, everyone’s back to eating sausages! Suddenly, it’s a historic culinary deep-dive like we’re at the Great British Bake Off but with less tent and infinitely more beer! Who knew sausages dated back over 2,700 years? Old Homer throwing down epic verses while stuffing goat stomachs with whatever they could find. What a life!
Wrap It Up with Some Culinary Revolution
So, to encapsulate this delightful romp through history, we can learn a couple of things: First, laughter and good company can make even the dreariest of days worthwhile. Secondly, anyone can create a culinary masterpiece as long as they can explain it in a way that makes you choke on your beer with laughter, and finally, don’t oppose a left-handed man at the sausage fest—you won’t win! So here’s to the blend of history, humor, and hearty meals that leave us feeling warm inside, even if it’s humorously named.
In sum, raise your glasses, be they barley or boundless joy, to the past where we found laughter in the steam of soup and camaraderie in the simple act of sharing a meal. And let’s hope we can keep a soup pot handy just in case the humor runs dry—no enema required!
“First of all, let’s clear out the cold, damp air from our throats,” called Richard Schubert, the jovial innkeeper of the bustling “Schützenpark,” as he placed large glasses of golden barley beer on the tables filled with eager patrons. “If you find it’s still too chilly, I’ll generously offer you a grain to warm you up, on the house.” The five regulars seated at the table immediately perked up, feigning dramatic shivers until their frothy glasses were set before them. They cheered the innkeeper, downed their drinks in one bold gulp, and sighed in satisfaction, savoring the refreshing taste with a delightful “Ahhh.”
The group gathered almost daily at their beloved inn on Alaunstrasse, positioned at the corner of Bischofsweg overlooking the lively Alaunplatz. This particular Friday, nestled in the last days of November 1912, was no different. Gustav Hähner, the local droshky driver, gazed out the window, his attention drawn to a military unit conducting drills under the damp, drizzly sky. “It makes me shiver to see those poor souls marching in this dismal, cold weather,” he remarked with a hint of pity.
“Spare your sympathy, dear cockerel,” retorted Kurt Buchner, the military construction inspector, with a chuckle. “Soldiers are trained to endure such conditions. In wartime, the fighting doesn’t cease because a few raindrops fall.”
“Why not, I ask?” senior fireman Max Mahnert chimed in with a teasing grin. “In the field, surely the adjutant of the commanding general would raise a white flag, signaling a halt for his troops until the rain clears. They’d seek shelter, enjoy a hot grog brimming with schnapps, dine on a freshly fried sausage, and indulge in a cigarette for dessert. Then, it’d be time to ‘listen to the mattress’ until the downpour stops.” The table erupted in laughter. Max was well-known for his vivid storytelling, even while recounting serious incidents like fires or emergency rescues. Just then, the innkeeper returned, bringing another round of beer paired with a small bowl of compote.
“What are you scribbling away at?” police sergeant Emil Gerlach questioned suspiciously, directing his gaze toward Rudolf Herrlein, the editor of the Dresdner Nachrichten, seated beside him. “I’d hate to see my name splashed across your smear paper tomorrow.”
“Don’t fret, Emil. I merely find Max’s colorful descriptions of life on the war front amusing. It’s something that must be preserved for posterity.” Gustav Hähner interjected, raising his glass. “And we can’t let the new round of drinks be forgotten before the beer turns stale and the schnapps warms up!”
“What delicacies are in your kitchen today?” the editor called over to Richard Schubert, the innkeeper with a jovial air.
“Cat ragout and rat steak are off the menu. If you’re in the mood for those rarities, you’ll need to head over to the ‘Warrior’s Home.’ They’re serving chopped gendarme bags as a specialty today,” Richard quipped.
“As for what’s cooking in my kitchen right now,” he continued, smiling cheekily, “is enema soup and…”. Before he could finish, a wave of laughter erupted around the table, catching the innkeeper off guard at first.
“E in – run – soup!” Max erupted, almost choking on his beer, his face reddening as he struggled for breath. His neighbor, Rudolf, quickly jumped to his aid, wrapping his arms around him to ease the fit. Once he recovered, Max chuckled again, “No, no, enema soup—I can’t take it any longer! Are we meant to drop our pants, and will you come with a funnel to pour the pea soup into us?” As he spoke, Richard began to grasp the double entendre behind his dish’s name and soon joined in the laughter that surrounded him.
“Oh dear Max, just to clarify, the soup is not poured down your throat but rather traditionally consumed through your mouth. It’s a delightful beef broth simmered with nourishing roots, enriched with a mixture of eggs, flour, salt, and nutmeg gently stirred in until it sets. Finally, we sprinkle in parsley or chives. What my Martha creates in the kitchen is truly delectable—a perfect dish for this weather. So, who here would like an enema?” the innkeeper asked, grinning widely. Everyone promptly raised their right hands in playful agreement.
Not everyone found amusement in the banter, particularly Kurt Büchner, who was left-handed. Throughout his childhood, both his parents and teachers diligently attempted to correct this trait. They ingrained in him that the left hand was associated with evil and misfortune, while the right hand was deemed virtuous. School teachers often chastised him as he struggled with the oppressive rod whenever they caught him using his left hand. However, as he matured, Kurt embraced his left-handedness, unbothered by the judgments at the regulars’ table.
After the hearty soup, everyone ordered sausage accompanied by potato salad. Gustav turned to the group, posing a thought-provoking question about the historical origins of sausages. Almost every face wore a look of confusion, except for Rudolf Herrlein, who couldn’t hide a quick grin.
“That’s a great question, dear Gustav! A colleague of mine has been working on an article about this very topic that will soon be published. Interestingly, sausages are mentioned in the ancient text, the Odyssey, authored by Homer. That places their origins over 2,700 years ago! The text describes goat stomachs filled with fat and blood, which were then cooked—essentially the ancestors of our modern bratwurst.”
“Well, would I enjoy those without some quality meat? I’m not so sure,” Emil Gerlach grumbled, taking a long, thoughtful sip from his beer glass.
Meanwhile, Rudolf continued his fascinating discourse, elaborating that the ancient Greeks offered such fried sausages as appetizers paired with eggs and oysters. For the affluent, roast pigs stuffed with sausages were presented as extravagant main courses at lavish symposia. During the Middle Ages, massive sausages paraded through city streets during festive occasions, filled with a mélange of meats and luxury spices reserved for royal courts.
As the group digested this overflowing wealth of knowledge, the evening wore on, and more rounds of drinks were savored in the convivial atmosphere of the “Schützenpark,” marking a memorable Friday in late November.
Author’s notes
1 Until 1918, Alaunplatz served as a drill and parade ground for the soldiers of the Saxon army from the Albertstadt barracks above.
2 Saxon village newspaper and Elbgaupresse from December 12, 1912
3 Dresden News from December 16, 1912
4 In ancient times, the name for a banquet that opened with ritual ablutions in honor of the god Dionysus, showcasing artistic performances and witty conversations.
Under the heading “100 Years Ago,” we publish anecdotes from the lives, actions, and thoughts of great-grandmothers and great-grandfathers in random order. To do this, the Dresden writer and journalist Heinz Kulb browses the newspaper archives in the Saxon State and University Library. This text is of a literary nature, blending researched facts with fictional elements.
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For nourishment during long journeys and battles. It’s incredible to think that the humble sausage has such a rich history—one that’s survived through centuries of culinary evolution!” Rudolf explained, animatedly.
“Ah, but can you imagine Homer himself, reciting his epic poems while getting his hands greasy with goat intestines? That’s a mental image I didn’t sign up for!” Kurt replied, laughing as he took a swig of his beer. “What a way to inspire poets—dining on the very fare they would write about!”
As the conversation meandered, the laughter surged and ebbed like the tides. The camaraderie grew stronger with each round of beer, the stories becoming increasingly animated, stretching through the annals of their collective memory. Time seemed to pause as they reminisced about past adventures, misfortunes, and, inevitably, sausage escapades.
“Let’s be honest!” Max chimed in as he finished a mouthful. “No one could have ever truly run a military campaign without proper sustenance. Give me a plate of sausages and I’d gladly lead the charge!”
“Especially if they’re grilled to perfection!” Richard added, wiping his hands on a cloth as he arrived with the next course. “The secret to a great sausage is in the details—whether it’s the herbs, the meat, or just the sheer love put into crafting it!”
“And let’s not forget the beer!” called Emil, raising his glass high. “A true battle companion in the face of adversity!”
Laughter erupted again, and their voices harmonized with the low hum of the inn. Outside, the rain continued its relentless drumming, but inside the “Schützenpark,” warmth and fellowship enveloped them like a thick blanket. In that moment, everything else—the dark clouds looming outside, the world at large—faded into insignificance.
As a fresh platter of sausages and potato salad landed on their table, everyone grabbed their forks, eager for another share of the heartfelt meal that marked their connections to each other—and to history. With the sun dipping lower in the sky, conversations started to wind down, the jokes became more sonorous, and the bonds between these five men grew stronger with each shared chuckle, each sip of beer, and each story relived.
“Here’s to good friends, even better food, and the unpredictability of life!” Rudolf proclaimed, lifting his glass high.
“To good friends!” echoed the others, their voices united in an unyielding toast.
And as the night progressed, it was clear: the inn was more than a mere establishment for weary travelers. It had become a sanctuary for laughter, friendship, and the ongoing human spirit—a place where no one cared whether you were left-handed or right, just as long as you had a good story and a hearty appetite.
