#rye bread
The taste of the rye bread brings back this memory; it comes into focus sharper than the tips of the caraway seeds that dot the crust. The counter is long and glass and behind it are coiled links of sausages: liverwurst and blutwurst and knackwurst. The coils are a rainbow of flesh tones, each in contrast to the wilted tufts of green lettuce garnishing each coil. Resting between each coil are signs to mark the names and prices of each. The signs are hand-printed in black magic marker. I remember the umlauts and knowing even as a child that the dual dots are insufficient evidence of authenticity; on their own they might be little more than a gimmick. But those dots are on so many signs and so many wrappers and on so many magazine covers, hovering proudly over otherwise familiar vowels. There is a weird smell here that I cannot place and now remember as little more than an impression. Read the rest of this entry »
