We went, as usual, to the Bavarian House Inn in lovely Frankenmuth, Michigan. For those unfamiliar with Frankenmuth, it was settled by Germans way back in a previous century, and they never lost the old German swagger. Most restaurants in Frankenmuth are attended by lederhosen-clad wait staffery. The facade of the main streets is supposed to recollect a Disney version of a quaint Bavarian village.
When we sat down for dinner (I will digress here to explain that it is a buffet-style Thanksgiving feast, and my dad's side of my family has been coming here for years since it's centrally-located in Michigan) the waiter took our drink orders. I asked for a hefeweizen, and he looked at me strangely. So I slowly repeated, "He-fe-vite-zen". Again, the blank stare. The booze list only included wine, but I had ordered beer here in years past. Finally I tried, "Wheat beer? Hofbrauhaus?" That did it. With a look of relief, he asked, "Light or dark?". My eyes narrowed, and I dryly replied, "Light." He apologetically admitted that he didn't really know much German. I threw up on his shoes in tacit protest of his ignorance. A few minutes later, a bottle appeared in front of me with a label that read, "Hefeweizen". However, there was no yeast settled on the bottom of the beer ("mit hefe" = with yeast), and the glass was better suited to a Pilsener of inferior quality. Somehow, I made do. It's hard out there for a snob, y'all.
The major attractions at Frankenmuth are as follows:
1)the faux-Bavarian atmosphere,
2)Chicken dinners! (see the 500 billboards before you arrive at Frankenmuth. When I was a kid, if we ever drove within 25 miles of Frankenmuth, we would be pulled in by the chicken dinner tractor beam. Honestly? I've had better.)
3)Bronner's. Theres a gigantic store called Bronner's just outside of town that is "Christmastime 365 days a year!". I'm talking 10 acres of Christmas. Hey, now!
Thanks, Germany!
So, I'm having a bit of blogger guilt over the shameful neglect of the past week. I'll keep up the posting a little better for the next week or so, but then expect it to die altogether for a month as the Great Cross-Country Move takes place. I'll email all 4-5 of you when I'm back up and running.
Does throwing up on someone's shoes really count as 'tacit protest'? Let's see... according to Chambers Online: "tacit adj 1 silent; unspoken. 2 understood but not actually stated; implied." Silent - no. Unspoken - yes. Not actually stated - I suppose that's true. Implied - I guess so. Alright, looks like that one's allowed.
ReplyDeleteStill, I'd be more inclined to go for the classic stern look to convey tacit protest.
I'd say that I let him off easy.
ReplyDeleteDon't put on lederhosen and then act puzzled when someone asks for THE MOST BASIC GERMAN THING.
My apologies on the behalf of the Prindle household to all of the Germans (and Germanophiles) reading some of this particular post. Clearly, Frankenmuth is All-American Disney thinks they went to Germany smack dab in the middle of scarlet red Michigan.
ReplyDeleteThe peanut gallery says, "Michigan isn't a red state. Michigan is a blue state". The peanut lover (of the gallery, the butter, and the cute little baby upstairs), replies that Michigan is a purple state when all of the votes are compiled in Lansing, but from Google Earth it is a red, red state with a blue splotch of ink on the thenar eminance (I think that's right, med school was a long time ago).
oh - and what kind of picture is that to pick for your blog? What is that guy doing?
ReplyDelete