I have been keeping a regular journal for the past 50 years; ever since I left to attend university in West Germany in the summer of 1971. These journals (now numbering several dozen volumes) contain everything from the very mundane – weather, routine events of the day and other miscellaneous notes, jottings and doodles – to the fairly remarkable and my reactions to important historic and cultural events. Most of all, they serve to help me put my past life into its proper perspective and to provide context for the evolution of my thoughts and beliefs over the course of time.
Every once in awhile I like to revisit an earlier volume in order to reflect on the events of a particular day years ago to ascertain if I would react the same way today. And if not, why? These explorations can be edifying when viewed under different circumstances and with the advantage of hindsight. Sometimes they might dredge up something long buried in the deep recesses of my memory but thankfully not completely forgotten. To wit:
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Dateline: Basel, Switzerland / Schweizer Bahnhof
February 16, 1972
I left Freiburg early this morning having taken the tram from my flat to the Hauptbahnhof [central train station]. I stopped at the A&O [the neighborhood market] on the way to pick up travel provisions for my backpack – an assortment of sausages such as Landjäger and hard salami, some hard cheeses and a couple boxes of Camenbert, a few Brötchen [rolls], and a large bag of Studentenfutter [a version of trail mix]. This is what sustains me on my train travels.
Today I am headed south, first to Neuchâtel to visit with Steve Dodd whom I have not seen since he visited Freiburg in November for our “American Thanksgiving Feast.” And I have not been back to Neuchâtel since earlier last fall when Jeff [Berry] and I went down for that totally insane wine festival. After a couple days there I will continue on to Montreux where I hope to meet up with Rick [Bethea] and Martha [Hill] for a railway trip through the Alps via the Chemin du fer Montreux Oberland Bernois to Luzern.
I took the train south to Basel’s Badischer Bahnhof located just over the West German-Swiss frontier. After clearing border formalities and exchanging some Marks for Swiss Francs, it was a pleasant walk through town and across the Rhine to the Schweizer Bahnhof [Basel’s central train station]. This is the routine I follow whenever I travel south from Freiburg.
I have over a two hour wait for my train to Neuchâtel; enough time to enjoy one of my favorite diversions whenever my travels bring me to the Schweizer Bahnhof. There is a pleasant little luncheonette located just off the main waiting hall which serves some of the best Kartoffelsalat [potato salad] I have ever tasted. I first sampled it as a side dish with grilled sausages, yet on subsequent transit visits I often ordered just a plate of potato salad. Sometimes two plates as I have done today. It really is that good and a meal in itself.
I grew up with my mother’s potato salad and for much of my life it has been the gold standard by which I rate all others. There was nothing special about it – chunks of boiled potato mixed with mayonnaise, French’s mustard, chopped pickles and salt and pepper to taste – but it was my mother’s and I could not get enough of it. Living in the environs of Milwaukee I had been introduced to German-style potato salad with its vinegar and stone-ground mustard dressing. It is often served warm and it is an ideal accent to many standard German dishes. I have enjoyed it time and time again since arriving here in Europe. What makes it special are the crumbles of bacon added to it. Sagenhaft [amazing]!!
But there is something different about this particular Swiss-style potato salad that makes it almost irresistible. One of the “secrets” perhaps is that the potatoes are boiled in a mix of beef and chicken broth rather than water. Thinly chopped onions, white-wine vinegar, salt and pepper are then added to the boiling broth and then the pot is left to cool as the potatoes marinate. Once cooled, the potatoes are sliced into thin medallions over which the warm broth and a mixture of oil and vinegar are poured. Some fine chopped parsley on the top and it is ready to serve with a tall glass of Warteck beer. A marvel in its simplicity.
There is something comforting knowing that this treat awaits me any time my travels bring me to Basel. I just wish I could box it up and take it with me on the train.
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I swear I can still taste it today five decades later.
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