GINGER: Time to usher in a new season of food

Summer is coming! I’m a cool weather gal, so the season only holds a mild attraction for me. That attraction mostly centers on food.

To me, the warm weather months are all about festival and fair food. I love it all, from the lemon shake-ups to the deep fried Snickers bars.

But the main attraction, the piece de resistance, is the breaded pork tenderloin! Served up on a bun, with lettuce, tomatoes, pickles and questionable mayonnaise, it is hard to beat.

Hubby prefers mustard on his, but I have yet to regret using the mayo that has been sitting in 95-degree heat for hours on end.

At the moment I am in Berlin, Germany, eating regularly at my favorite restaurant, Nante Eck. Their pork goulash with bread dumplings is to die for, and definitely makes my stretchy pants a worthwhile investment. But my favorite German food is Weiner Schnitzel.

It is the food of gods, I’m sure of it. When we gather at that great banqueting table in Heaven, Weiner Schnitzel with fried potatoes will undoubtedly be served in abundance.

 It is made of veal, pounded flat, breaded and fried. You could also order Schweineschnitzel which is made of pork. Jagerschnitzel is “hunter style” and is covered in gravy and mushrooms.

Is your mouth watering yet?

Many times on my travels to Germany I have commented on the similarity between Weiner Schnitzel and the Hoosier’s breaded pork tenderloin.

If the Germans would just serve it on a bun with some lettuce, tomato, gherkins, and mayo, it would practically be the same thing.

After a bit of research, I found out that the tenderloin was introduced to Indiana in 1908 by a German man named Nick Freinstein. He put his native Wiener Schnitzel on a bun, and sold it from a cart. Eventually, he changed the veal to more readily available pork. Thank goodness for Nick Freinstein’s entrepreneurial endeavors.

I don’t think Indiana would be the same state if we’d never met a pork tenderloin sandwich.

I also learned that Nick turned his cart into a full blown restaurant called Nick’s Kitchen.

And, are you ready for this? I’m practically giddy with the knowledge.

Nick’s Restaurant is still open, and they still use his original tenderloin recipe, which, of course, was German!

As soon as I get home, I am making tracks for Huntington.

Last night, we tried a different Berlin restaurant.

This one was a little more kid-friendly than Nante Eck, even boasting a toy corner for children to occupy themselves.  

Hubby and I both ordered the Weiner Schnitzel, and he asked for a side of mustard.

The waitress spoke English, but she did not recognize the word mustard. He said it again. And again. I described it. Our four-year-old daughter practically shouted, “MUSTARD!”

I was searching through my German/English menu decoder, when I heard hubby break the word up into long, slow syllables, “Muuuust Arrrrd.”

   “Did you seriously just do that?” I asked.

Fortunately, our waitress was in good humor. She smiled and said, “Allow me to ask my colleagues.”

So, she knew the word colleagues, but not the word mustard. Go figure.

Finally, I found it in my menu decoder. She came back to inform us that her colleagues were unfamiliar with the word muuuustarrrrd. I pointed to my book, “Senf!”

 “Ah, yes, senf!” She was enthusiastic. Soon, two ramekins of mustard appeared on our table.

I reminded hubby that it will soon be festival season in Indiana, and he can have all the senf covered pork tenderloins his heart desires.

Of course, if he preferred my condiment of choice, life would be much simpler.

I’m sure our German waitress would have recognized the sound, “Maaaaayoooooonaaaaaaise!”

Ginger is an author, speaker, and mother of five. Her award-winning column appears weekly across Indiana and Kentucky. Contact her at ginger@gingertruitt.com or visit www.gingertruitt.com.