I thought the bread was probably going stale, too, which was obnoxious. Next time I was going to buy the four-pack, not the six-pack, even if they were the same price. That way I'd be certain that they would not go bad, and I'd get more food in the mornings too because they were bigger when they came in four. That's why they were the same price, more servings but still the same amount of bread.
It was funny, too, because if I was in anyone else's kitchen or having breakfast with anyone else's food I'd've taken another one. Had two, not just one. But when you're poor you need to conserve, make the food last as long as possible. And anyway, I was trying to keep the weight down. Extra calories I did not need.
Not that I was destitute. For God's sake there was a wedge of brie on my shelf of the bridge, and a package of prosciutto. But I liked to stay frugal, as frugal as a person whose favorite foods are brie and lax can be. I hadn't splurged on the smoked salmon yet, at least, but it was only a matter of time.
Anyway, I liked to keep my money-spending down, at least in the food department. I spent more than enough out in the Aldstadt in discotheques and bars. I was quickly learning to prefer beer to everything else, because it was that much cheaper and allowed me to go out and have a drink without paling at the sight of my bank statement. But the nightlife culture here was something I'd never had the chance to really experience, be a part of and not a tourist observing, and I probably would never have the chance to do so again.
Also, I was saving for a new pair of boots.
But okay, back to the point: I didn't like to spend much on food. I actually lived pretty comfortably on only twenty euro a week. And that meant doing some things the way I was used to, the American way—such as calling a bowl of pasta with sauce a healthy and fully balanced meal despite the lack of anything other than carbs really—and some things the German way, which meant brötchen for breakfast. You would think, wouldn't you, that cereal would be cheaper. Go out, buy a box for three euro, some milk for one (staples were super cheap here) and bam! You're set for another week, maybe two if you don't like granola very much. But when you can get six rolls (which are what brötchen are, sort of, rolls) for thirty-five euro cent and butter, nutella and jam enough to last you at least a month for under five euro...then you're feeding yourself for a month on what you would spend every few weeks on cereal. Badabing. Plus brötchen are more delicious than cereal, and did I mention warm? A hot breakfast really does make all the difference.
That was really the reason I wanted more. Because it tasted so good, not because I was really that hungry. That's really the danger of living here: you eat not because you need to, but instead because everything tastes so good. I mean think of all the food—just the food—that Germans are famous for. Bread, sausage, nutella, pretzels, chocolate. And, of course, the beer. Then you add all the food you don't hear about: döner, spätzle, flammkuchen, brötchen, federweise, mohrenköpfe...and you're thirty pounds heavier struggling and fighting to control the muffin top drooping over your jeans because you don't have sixty euro to buy another pair. Yeah. You have to find a happy medium, where you exercise self control but still get to enjoy all the goodies. It was that space that I hoped I was inhabiting.
My morning routine, as it were, struggled to help me to start my day in this magical mittelpunkt. I woke up and then either groaned because I didn't need to be up yet—my curtains did absolutely nothing for keeping light out of the room—or groaned because I did. Then I got up, did whatever needed to be done in the bathroom, and went into the kitchen to start the coffee. Normally there would be already everything in the machine because Maya likes to do it all the morning before, which is lovely because she makes much better coffee than me. If it wasn't all set up, I'd set it up myself and make enough for three, even though most mornings it's a safe bet that Bridgitta didn't sleep at our place. Then I'd get out my plate, knife and spoon as well as a—singular—brötchen from my shelf in the pantry as well as the store-brand nutella kept there. I'd pop the roll in the toaster oven and get the butter and raspberry jam from the fridge. I'd pour myself some coffee into the McDonalds Mocha Rocka mug that had been lent to me when I'd moved into the apartment and stir in some of Maya's no-fat milk because they don't sell the cartons here small if you want normal milk and not condensed and she doesn't want it to go bad. At home I would put sugar in my coffee too but I had gotten used to it without. Besides, that way it was healthier. Sort of.
I'd sip my coffee at the table, getting up every so often to check the brötchen because after weeks I still hadn't figured out just how long it needed. Generally I'd pull it out once it got a little too brown, because that way I was certain it was all warm and soft on the inside; when it came out golden it would always still be unfinished and I'd have to put it back in again. The roll would be too hot to handle without help, so I'd hold it with a towel while I cut it in half back at the table, sip some more coffee, and then smear both halves with butter and then jam on one half and nutella on the other. Then I'd eat.
Sometimes I'd do this with Maya or Bridgitta or both, sometimes even with Sebe (Bridgitta's boyfriend) around and we'd all talk and eat together. If Maya and I were alone we'd speak German, if Bridgitta and/or Sebe was there we'd speak English. I'd open the window from the top, just to let in some fresh air even though it was October and only a crazy person would do such a thing in America. Sometimes I'd eat alone, with my sudoku book or my journal or just by coffee and bread, thinking about what needed to be done that day. Then I'd get up and wash my dishes and put everything back in its place. I was trying desperately to embrace the German obsession with ordnung, or order, though to look at my bedroom floor you wouldn't think so. But that was just because I hadn't been able to do laundry yet, okay? If there was one thing I could have picked to love the least about this place it would have been the laundry situation. Or the internet. It depended on the day.
After cleaning it all up I'd pour myself a second cup of coffee, mix in the milk, rewash the spoon (I always forgot to leave it out) and head to my room where I'd close the door and open the windows so that fresh air could permeate that space too. Then what I would do next varied: always some combination of yoga, getting dressed, tidying all the clothes I'd left lying about the night before and making my bed (which is so ridiculously easy here that I don't ever mind doing it, you only sleep with one giant blanket and a pillow so all you have to do is fold the blanket and you're done, no sheets or anything to worry about), brushing my teeth and listening to music. Sometimes I'd also shower and do my makeup, or write my fiance his daily email, or organize my desk again, or do some cardio work. If Bridgitta wasn't there I might have a third cup of coffee and wash my spoon a third time. Then I would do what I needed to do for the day, be it go food shopping or to the library or to the post office or write a paper or even just, if the weather was nice, take the bus and bahn into the city to wander and get to know it all better. It wasn't a rigid routine and I loved that about it. Nothing about my time was incredibly rigid, though I did make and stick to plans and I did have things of course I had to do. I kept a million lists on my ipod touch: To Do, To Buy, bus schedules, the best routes to Ikea and other places I needed to find, various numbers and contacts and names and office locations I still needed to keep handy. I was even tempted to go out and buy a small chalkboard so I could hang the lists on my wall and not avoid or procrastinate as I was sometimes wont to do. I'd eat lunch at some point, usually some bread with butter and prosciutto or whatever else I had around, and then in the evening I'd do something with the people I lived with or someone else, if they texted me or something during the day. Sometimes it was just dinner and sometimes it was dancing and sometimes it was a movie we all crammed onto my bed to watch. I'd close all the windows and lock the door before going to sleep, Maya would make the coffee, we'd all say goodnight and I'd check my email before going to bed. And the next morning it all started all over again.
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