I'll take the blank menu, thank you

No hospital stay is complete without commenting on the food, and my recent stay proved to be no exception: German hospital food is not merely bad; it is awful, awful, AWFUL!

I'll start with the least offensive of the offenders – breakfast. To be fair, there was nothing repulsive about the breakfasts I received. They were simply boring. The food on the first morning was OK: a wheat bun, a whole wheat bun, coffee, a tiny package of tea sausage (which is basically minced bologna with a strong liver flavor, "perfect" for spreading on a wheat bun), butter and jam.

At home, my breakfasts normally consist of a piece of fruit and a cup of coffee. Bread doesn't rank very high on my list of favorites, but I will eat it if there's no other choice. So I ate the whole wheat bun and had a few sips of coffee – no butter or jam for a man of my age with a spreading waistline. Also, I left the tea sausage untouched. I rarely eat pork, no matter how it is prepared. And I certainly do not enjoy paste-like, liver-flavored pork sausage that keeps reminding me of its taste throughout the day.

So that's a description of breakfast on my first day there. The breakfast served on the second day consisted of the following: a wheat bun, a whole wheat bun, coffee, a tiny package of tea sausage, butter and jam. Sounds familiar, huh? Well, the exact same story repeated itself for the next 11 days as well. I was left with the impression that the hospital dietician was either very lazy or highly risk-aversive.

Since lunch is the big and most varied meal in the German day, I will save that for last and first skip to a description of dinner. Once again, the most descriptive word that applies here is "boring." Evening after evening, the dinner platter consisted of a slice of whole wheat bread, a slice of 7-grain bread, a few slices of cheese, butter, and a mug of herbal tea. Oops. That's not 100% true. One evening, three slices of (pork) coldcuts appeared on the platter, and on two evenings, a small tomato was included. The tomato was identical in both cases: the size of a large plum, deep red, and as hard as an apple. But the greatest disappointment was the tomato's taste and texture: bland, tough skin, cardboard-like inside. So, every evening for 12 days, I found myself "looking forward" to a slice of whole wheat bread, a slice of 7-grain bread, a few slices of cheese, butter, and a mug of herbal tea. That dietician sure knew how to stick to a formula once he or she found it.

That leaves lunch. As I quickly discovered, the lunch dietician (probably the twin brother/sister of the breakfast/dinner dietician) had a fondness for pork, smelly fish, and fresh cut vegetables or cabbage soaked in highly acetic white vinegar that burns your nose. I usually have an adventurous palate, but some of what showed up on the plate was too much for even me.

First, the pork: A traditional part of Bavarian life is something called "Leberkäse," which translates as "liver cheese" even though it customarily contains neither liver nor cheese. It theoretically consists of corned beef, pork neck, pork fat, salt, pepper, various herbs and spices. The best description I have found of it so far is "a baked meat emulsion." The ingredients are all finely ground together so that you end up with a large dough-like bowl of meat-something. You then place the concoction in a loaf pan and bake it. The outcome is a (once-again) bologna-textured, breadloaf-shaped entree, which is sliced and served in portions about the size of a slice of bread. It can be eaten as the main course, as a side dish, or as fast-food sandwich in a bun of white bread.

It is loved here in Bayern, just not by me. Although it does not always contain any liver, it virtually always has a liver-like taste. My impression is that it tastes liked baked liver bologna. I generally like fresh fried liver, but not this stuff. I think it's the day-old liver taste that turns me off. If you suffer from indigestion, you will be burping it up the taste all day...and night.

Another highlight was obazda (creamed cheese mashed with paprika powder and onions, usually served with pretzels or eaten on brown bread), served as an extra to (what else) ... pork coldcuts. Actually, I like some versions of fresh obazda, but then there is obazda that tastes like it contains a large dollop of solidified, well-seasoned cold pork drippings, known as "Schmaltz." BTW, Schmaltz is often eaten spread on sliced whole-grain bread as a snack when you are enjoying a night in the pub with friends.

"Schweinebraten" (slow-roasted pork customarily topped with a brown gravy) was served one night. Admittedly, a good "Schweinebraten" that has been cooked until tender and succulent can be quite a treat. But this particular "Schweinebraten" tasted dry and stringy. I got the feeling that is was pre-cooked, pre-packaged and tossed in the microwave right before served.

Now to the fish. The first surprise here was smoked mackerel, served bare (no topping) and at room temperature. As soon as I removed the lid covering the plate, the odor ("aroma" is too nice a word) hit me in the face and filled the hospital room. This was only a couple of days after my surgery and my stomach had still not settled down completely. The strong smell of smoked fish in a cramped room was not the most pleasant of experiences. I skipped lunch completely that day.

On Fish Friday, we were served a German delicacy called "Matjes" (pronounced "mott-yezz"). Sometimes, Matjes is translated as "pickled herring," but this is more than a few millimeters off from the truth. Matjes is actually raw herring that has been cured (not cooked!) for months in very briny water to which a bit of vinegar and may sugar has been added. Every now and then, I do enjoy some properly prepared pickled herring, but matjes is way too big a challenge for me. Instead of tasting pickled, it often delivers a punch of soggy, salty, rotten fish. Even the strong raddish sauce that usually tops it cannot conceal what is hidden underneath. If this is not enough to discourage you, the yearly consumer reports of worms being discovered in barrels of curing matjes is enough to drive the nail in the coffin.

And this brings me to the last delicacy: fresh cut vegetables soaked in burn-your-eyes-strong white vinegar. On the surface, this does not sound so bad. But first imagine a small hospital room with three patients in it. There is virtually no opportunity to keep patient information or patient odors under wraps. The odor of vinegar immediately feels the air and seeps into anything that will absorb it: pajamas, bed sheets and blankets, pillows, bedroom shoes, bathrobes. This is also true for the patients themselves. After eating anything with strong vinegar, they usually begin to exude the odor of vinegar themselves. Plus, Germans like cabbage a lot, but cabbage often also causes a much pooh-poohed side effect: flatulence. So just imagine three patients in a room who have eaten cabbage in strong vinegar: Not only do they perspire it for the rest of the day, but, even worse, they fart it all night. It will now be a very long time before I enjoy vinegar again.

There's more to tell, but that's enough for now. Don't want to make you lose your lunch!