A Forest Not-So-Black

Max opened the kitchen door at the top of the stairs. Mrs. Muller, Grand-papa Weible, and Max’s brother, Franz, waited patiently at the dining room table.

In an instant, Max knew why his father had made such an exclamation.

"Oh no!" groaned Max.

"Oh what?" asked Mrs. Muller.

Bowls of cottage cheese and sauerkraut sat at one end of the table. A large platter of wurrst sat at the other. Just then, Mr. Muller joined Max at the top of the stairs.

"We ate knackwursts all day long," explained Max.

"That's where all the knackwursts went!" exclaimed Mrs. Muller.

"I forgot all about it," said Mr. Muller.

"That's okay. I can whip something up," said Mrs. Muller.

She opened the refrigerator and looked inside. She emerged with a bowl of bread dumplings, lightly salted, with a golden crust from a good pan-frying.

"We just had damfnudeln yesterday."

"It will not hurt you to eat left-overs," replied Mrs. Muller.

"Plus, these are weibwurst, not knackwurst. They're totally different," added Franz.

"I think we've had enough wurst of any kind," said Max.

While Franz and Max argued about what kind of wurst they were (or weren't) eating, Mrs. Muller reheated the dumplings in the microwave. When supper was ready, everyone claimed their seat at the table. Grand-papa Weible led everyone in prayer.

Afterward, the conversation continued.

"Weibwurst is nothing like knackwurst," repeated Franz.

"I'm not in the mood for wurst of any kind," said Max.

Mr. Muller loaded Max's plate with sauerkraut and damfnudeln. Max tried to take a bite of dampfnudeln. It was tough and chewy.Max looked up at his father, who had bitten into his own dumpling. Mrs. Muller left the dumplings in the microwave too long.

Mr. Muller sat his damfnudeln on his plate and quietly plucked two weibwurst from the serving platter. Max motioned toward the platter. Mr. Muller placed a weibwurst on Max's plate, too.

"Is something wrong?" asked Mrs. Muller.

“Nothing’s wrong,” replied Max.

"Just a moment ago, you said you weren't in the mood for wurst of any kind and now you’re asking for a plateful.”

Just then, Grand-papa Weible snatched a dumpliing from Max's plate and pounded it on the table.

"It's your damfnudeln. They're as hard as rocks."

"Oh my!” exclaimed Mrs. Muller, “Let me fetch something else from the refrigerator,"

"That's okay, we can make do, right Max?" said Mr. Muller.

He passed a jar of traditional weibwurst mustard to Max. Max nodded as he put a dollop of the sweet mustard next to the links of boiled sausage. He drew his knife across the pale white casing for which weibwurst (white wurst) was named.

Unlike other wursts, weibwurst casing was only used to hold the mean while it cooked. Max dug into the veal and pork stuffings as they exploded out the top of the wurst.

"Ja! Das ist gut!" he exclaimed.

He continued eating his weibwurst and sauerkraut, washing it down with a cup of cold milk.

“Ja, das ist der allerbeste,” said Grand-papa.

Indeed, her cooking was the very best. For moments more, the only sound at the dining room was the clink and clatter of silverware on the dishes. It was also a great compliment that they ate quietly and quickly.

“Can I have some more?"

"You might want to save some room for this," said Mrs. Muller.

She quickly got up and pulled a covered cake pan from the refrigerator. As she opened the lid, it appeared to Max that his mother had been practicing that move all day.

"Ta-da!" she said.

She presented the tray in front of her family. It was a large, round Schwarzwaldkirschtorte - a Black Forest Cherry Cake. Thick, white icing and rich, red cherries covered the top.

Mrs. Muller had even created fancy designs. It was only a very rare occasion that Mrs. Muller ever served anything like hard dumplings. Max was used to food cooked just like this.

Mrs. Muller carefully sliced the Black Forest Cake and served it to everyone. Max looked over at his brother’s cake. Franz's piece was much larger. Max really wasn’t upset, though. He had spent the entire day eating, whether it was at the lake or at the dining room table.

He pressed his fork down into the moist, black cake. It squished up through the fork tines. Max gave his fork a half-twist and popped it into his mouth.

"Why do they call it Black Forest Cake?"

"It probably originated in the Black Forest," answered Mrs. Muller.

"Then why do they call it the Black Forest if it is green?"

“Because there’s already a Green Forest,” replied Franz in a snotty tone.

“But all forests are green,” argued Max.

"It's just a name. Do you really think only Kings live around Konigsee?"

"Maybe at one time kings lived there."

"That still doesn't mean all the trees in the Schwarzwald have to be black to make it a black forest."

"You're both right," said Mrs. Muller.

"How can that be? I was just there. The trees were green."

Grand-papa cleared his throat as he wiped his mouth with his napkin. Whenever he did that, it meant he had a story to tell and nobody better interrupt it. He placed his napkin on his plate as he scooted his chair back from the table.

"There is nothing quite like walking in the Black Forest on a moonless night. When I was your age, Max, My father and I used to hike in the woods early in the morning, well before sunrise.”

“Why so early?” interrupted

Max. Grand-papa cleared his throat again. It always made Max nervous when Grand-papa did that. Max should’ve known better.

“Grand-child, when do you eat breakfast?“

“In the morning,“ he answered.

“First thing in the morning. That’s when deer or wild boars eat, too. I remember it being so black in those woods I could hardly see my hand in front of my face," answered Grand-papa Weible

“How do you catch anything if you cannot see anything?” asked Max.

“That is a very good question indeed,” grumbled Grand-papa Weible. He grabbed the armrests of his chair and gave it a scoot towards the table. It screeched across the wooden floor. He cleared his throat again as he grabbed his napkiin and tucked it into his shirt.

“Josefina,” he said to his daughter, “stab me a pair of weibwurst.”

Grand-papa Weible cut into his weibwurst and began eating without another word. The rest of the family continued enjoying their Black Forest Cake.

As they sat there, Max began to think. He had been in the forest late at night. When the A5 was nearly empty, Mr. Muller's Porsche cut through the darkness with two beams of light. If he was out in the woods, he might not be able to see his hand in front of his face.

He had also seen pictures of the Grunewald. Unlike the Schwarzwald, the 'green forest' was bright and airy. Trees, tall and lean, like the larch, the oak, and the maple, filled Grunewald. Their leafy branches stretched upward, but no single tree crowded out the sunlight, like the pines of the Schwarzwald.

“Grand-papa, what is the Grunewald like?”

“The Grunewald is like the Grunewald. It is nothing compared to the Schwarzwald.”

Just then, the doors on the Cuckoo Clock opened and out came the Cuckoo. He hooted seven times to signal out the hour. It was seven o’clock sharp.

Mrs. Muller cleared the table and the Muller boys excused themselves.

“Papa, I think it’s time for bed,” she said.

“I guess it is,” he grumbled.

Mrs. Muller held her papa’s wrist, guding him safely to his bedroom down the hall. Meanwhile, Mr. Muller returned downstairs to work on his Porsche. Franz joined him. Max went to his room and worked on his homework.