If you learn one German phrase, learn the following:
"Ein Brezel, bitte."
This statement, literally translated, means: "A pretzel, please." Elizabeth Bates, world-language expert (or, European-language expert, at any rate), learned this phrase while staying with me in October and was able to order her own, freshly baked pretzel from Ditsch, a glorious snack-stand that frequents the streets of Mainz and other German cities.
And these pretzels, 60 Euro-cents pro Stück, are underestimated in their salty and warm yumminess. They put those pretzels we used to get Friday at lunch in middle school to shame (no offense, of course, to the ConVal Food Service Program). You don't even need mustard. They're that good.
So it was no alarming or unsettling piece of advice when the doctor at the St. Hildegardis emergency room told me at approximately 3:50 in the morning yesterday that I should only eat bananas, some concoction made up of potatoes and water, and, of course, Brezeln for the next 24-hours to fight the nausea caused by my stomach infection. Aside from the potato-water (and the shot that I'm sure left a bruise, and those "stomach drops" I have to take three times a day), it didn't sound like a bad deal.
And that's just one more reason that you should learn that phrase. Brezeln can save you from hours of dehydrating torture (which, by the way, the doctor claimed to be caused from premature George Bush withdrawal...I'm not convinced).
Peace, love, and dial 118 for medical emergencies,
Amanda
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