- While I was visiting Berlin in 1996 after conducting my thesis research, I stayed with Andrew. How did I know the architect Andrew and then manage to meet up with him in Berlin? Well, that’s a long story: he was the American ex of a Czech ex of a Swedish ex. I guess that story wasn’t really so long after all. But how we actually met again in Berlin was funny: after arriving in the former Western exclave, I headed to the community resource center and asked about clubs in the city. I told them I liked techno and wanted to dance, and they directed me to a techno/sex club. There I was, fresh off the Polish farm, seeing things deemed illegal in most American states right before my eyes. In public. It’s easy to get mesmerized in such situations. You’re stunned, you’re turned on, and you don’t want to just leave after paying a hefty cover fee. I was standing in the corner, minding my own business, when Andrew passed by. He remembered me from a couple of months ago when we had met in Prague, and he invited me to stay with him while I was in the city for the next few days. I left the hostel in the morning, making my way by foot across the city. We got along very well, which is surprising even to this day. You see, I don’t tend to like other Americans, especially those I meet overseas. I’m an arrogant snob like that. Plus I have incredibly high standards, barring hanging out at techno/sex clubs. One morning before Andrew left for work, I was browsing through a cookbook in his kitchen, and I saw a recipe for yoghurt. I couldn’t believe that people could actually make such a thing from scratch. So I determined that I would start making my own yoghurt as soon as I returned to America. I eventually bought a yoghurt maker—an incubator of sorts—and made yoghurt over the course of the next several years. But making yoghurt is not nearly as fun as eating yoghurt. And having to add your own flavors instead of just peeling back the foil top of a store-bought yoghurt cup became a hassle. We finally got rid of the machine, and I’m certain the people who saw it in the Goodwill store had no idea what this contraption was used for.
- Today I ate skyr for the second time. The first time was a few nights ago. It was deemed “Icelandic style yoghurt,” but technically it’s a soft cheese. It’s too sour for my tastes. Give me the Greek-style yoghurt any day, which tastes just like soft ice cream.
- I’ve tried many different kinds of yoghurt dishes: drinking yoghurts, tzatziki, and raita, among others. But I prefer regular yoghurt. (Actually my favorite is the soy yoghurt.)
- Writing about yoghurt is boring. I can only imagine how boring it is to read about it. Even with the techno/sex club thrown in.