UB40 was right!

I don’t even know how to begin this story. It’s really absurd but, in the end, has significance. I’ll write about the absurdity first and then get deep with importance and meaning later.

So, Roland and I recently deemed our apartment open for visitors. Yes, after one year – it’s ready! We invited our first dinner guests and, of course, I chose foolishly. Both couples include amazing chefs and they’re all real Foodies. This was intimidating so I went to the family gourmet, Jen, and got a menu. We decided I would recreate the amazing pork loin she made for Easter. I needed a roast, bones in, “Frenched and tied.” Do with that what you will.

I had no idea what a pork loin was called in German and consulted my dictionary.

Schwein. I knew that part. But loin? Turns out, it's "Karree."

In any case, I figured I could do this. Nouns are easy - you just point.

I went to the butcher at the supermarket and said, "Ich möchte, bitte, eine Schweinekarree...mit sechs Knochen...alles zusammen...nur ein grosses Stück..." and pointed to the piece I wanted. (That roughly translates into, “I want a pork loin…, …um, er…with six bones…um, er…all together…uh…just in one big piece.” That makes sense, doesn’t it?)

He chopped off the piece I wanted and I happily watched him take my meat to the rear to package it. I was very proud of myself and marched out with my roast, successfully ordered auf Deutsch, BUT found when I got home that I had actually gotten six pork chops, no bones. All wrong.

I felt like an ass but decided to call my mother-in-law, wondering if there was some secret Viennese password for a proper pork loin. Neither she nor my father-in-law had any idea but my father-in-law offered to go to the store with me to help me get it straight. A couple hours later, he said something quite similar to the butcher. I understood every word and wondered what was really so different about what I had said. I watched the guy chop and prepare my perfect roast. Okay, whatever. I felt like a fool but I got my meat, thanks to my father-in-law and his pork loin password.

I went home, prepared the roast and rubbed it down. I trimmed the asparagus, whipped up some yummy potatoes and put the roast in the oven at 7. Our guests were due to arrive at 7:30, so I looked in on it around 7:20, only to find that the meat thermometer had exploded and sprinkled shards of glass all over my beautiful, sizzling roast!

Roland wanted to wash it off...that's why he has me...but luckily, I could pull out the first order of meat and quickly rub it down and gravy it up. The evening was saved, even if I was serving my Foodie friends pork chops.

Somehow, I didn’t cry during all this. Roland cracked open a bottle of red for me, despite serving pork, and things got better – especially because we have wonderful friends.

So, here's where I get all meaningful. I think it's kind of a parable for my expat existence.

Lessons Learned

* I have to put a lot more thought into many of the things I do here and frequently make mistakes doing ordinary things.

* If I look at things objectively, I often learn big lessons from mistakes I make. Sometimes, they even benefit me later on.

* In the end, I am always surrounded by friends.

* Red wine helps anything.