This post first appeared on this blog in 2012. It has been updated where necessary.
Bleary-eyed and running on fumes, my husband and I landed on my aunt Sigrun’s doorstep in Germany almost a year ago to the day, only she wasn’t there.
But her husband, Eckard was and he had a pot of my aunt’s Spargelcremesuppe (cream of white asparagus soup) ready for us.
What he wasn’t ready for, however, was our appetite for what may just have been the best soup we’d ever tasted, especially after travelling thousands of miles and 14 hours. It was rich and smooth, creamy and bright. It took everything in me not to pick up the bowl set before me and pour its contents down my gullet. I struggled to pace myself instead and savour every spoonful.
“Mehr?” Eckard asked us, somewhat reluctantly, in Ger-glish, the pidgin we speak to each other.