The Cult of the Spargel Eaters
It’s not an understatement to say that British culture revolves around sheep; we like to eat them, look at them in fields, count them before we sleep, and insult whole sections of society for supposedly engaging in sexual relations with them. Sheep are also our indicator of the changing seasons from winter to spring. This is helpful in a country where bad weather is a constant and it’s perfectly possible to have rain, sleet, wind, snow, and eventually bright sunshine all in the space of an hour.
We need simple ways to tell when spring has arrived and sheep, specifically lambs, do that. If you see them in a field or on the front of a magazine, you can be sure that spring is coming and we can switch from thick winter coats to slightly less thick spring coats. Germany isn’t so enamoured with sheep, nor is the weather here so erratic. Nevertheless, the Germans have their own signal that spring is springing. As the weather begins to brighten, small makeshift stalls appear along numerous lay-bys and country lanes in preparation to sell Germany’s embodiment of spring, each one proudly announcing that Spargelzeit (Asparagus season) has begun.
I can’t speak for everyone, but as far as I can tell, Germans rarely count individual Spargel sticks in order to drift off to sleep, nor do they insult others by accusing them of using it in some kinky sexual fetish. However, like sheep in the UK, Germans do like to eat it and look at it. They also like to read about Spargel, discovering new and ingenious methods of cooking it. Thousands of cookbooks are dedicated to it, with imaginative titles like ‘Spargel’ or ‘Spargel’ or my personal favourite ‘Spargel’.
Asparagus is not just part of the culture, from March to June it is the culture or at least the only part worth mentioning. Restaurants create entire menus around it and supermarkets reserve large sections of their already overcrowded shop floors to accommodate the massive increase in demand. I’ve even heard of Germans who live in other countries coming back to Germany on holiday just to fill up on as much as they can eat or pack into their luggage. Some regions even elect their own Spargelkönigin (Asparagus Queens) for the duration of Spargelzeit. The British may be obsessed with sheep, but at least we don’t change our whole system of governance to accommodate them, although I’m sure some areas of the country would if they could, if you know what I mean…*cough*…Aberdeen.
Spargel is so popular and adored by so many, it feels churlish to admit I don’t really like it. It’s charming to see how much enjoyment people get from Spargelzeit, my wife among them. To reject it when offered would contravene my well cultivated sense of British politeness. My parents and grandparents instilled in me the concept of never rejecting food that is offered, the most impolite thing in their eyes was to complain about what people cooked. So, when I’m invited to someone’s home or my wife surprises me with Spargel, I smile, eat it and do what my ancestors have done for generations: repress all negative emotions for fear of being seen as impolite. It’s rather effective as long as you can avoid bleeding from the ears.
If I do crack, and finally admit that my feelings toward Asparagus are less than positive, the reaction of many people is disbelief. When I pluck up the courage to admit my personal failing, that I think Spargel tastes horrendous and I find the texture appalling, my admission is met with confused looks. Every time, and I mean every time, the person to whom I’ve shared my dark secret will simply tell me I’ve not been eating it correctly. What follows is a process of interrogation, or rather inquisition, over exactly how I’ve eaten Spargel in the past; Was it white or green? Did I have hollandaise sauce with it? Was it fresh? Am I sure I had hollandaise? What was the country of origin? Did I go to the right restaurant? Am I quite certain I had hollandaise? How long was it cooked? When did I accept Satan as my lord and master? The questioning is so mild mannered and friendly, it’s like being cross-examined by Columbo, if Columbo was working for the Asparagus Advisory Board and not the LAPD.
Once I’ve dealt with the questions, the recommendations begin. Germany has an endless supply of Spargel recipes, with only 173 of them including some form of hollandaise. Have it on a pizza, grind it up into a pesto, fry it, boil it, you name a cooking method and the Germans have already done it. When I decline all variations, someone will usually roll out the ‘wrap it in bacon’ response, which I’ve tried. It’s saying something that even when I opted for this method, I couldn’t even eat the bacon, perhaps because I felt a deep sense of betrayal that one of my favourite foodstuffs had sided with my nemesis.
There is some small comfort: I only need to make it to June and I can leave the terrible cloud of disliking Spargel behind me for another year. Still, after ten years of this, I’m beginning to wonder if there’s a way of getting the cult of the Spargel eaters off my back, a simple distraction that will keep people from assuming I’m some kind of deviant. Maybe next year I’ll just tell people I like sheep, I really, really, really like sheep. At least that way I might regain some self respect.
Proofreader: @ScandiTina
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