Dear Germanofiles,
Spargel is a form of asparagus. Ordinarily green, this asparagus has been subject to a kind of horticultural abomination: instead of letting the plant grow German farmers heap soil on the growing plants, burying them. The result is a thicker, juicier, and whiter plant. White because the asparagus hasn’t been subject to sun and hasn’t developed the green chloroplasts that you associate with photosynthesis.
Spargel is highly seasonal. During the month of May you overindulge in the vegetable by every means possible until you’re sick of the sight of it. Every restaurant has a Spargelmenu while Spargel is in season. You buy Spargel all over the place, from supermarkets to side-of-the-road kiosks. Best is to eat it like corn, straight from the field: Spargel does not keep.
When you get it home, you have to use a Germanic instrument, the Spargel peeler, to remove the tough outer layers of skin and cook it the same way you’d cook green asparagus. Classically Spargel is served with boiled potatoes, air-cured Schinken or ham, and a sauce Hollandaise. Personally I prefer a small sliver of butter.
Germans get quite creative with the glut of the stuff and I’ve eaten it (mostly in the last two weeks) in a soup, a risotto, pasta, an aspic, as a salad, with a schnitzel, and fried into an omelette. It pairs nicely with a freezer-cold Gruner Veltliner. I’ve seen but not been daring enough to try the stuff in desserts.
The texture is more delicate and the flavour is more subtle, sometimes mildly nutty. This is definitely one of the more wonderful things that Germans have brought into the world and I suggest that you plan to visit in the next couple of weeks or in late April/early May next year so you can also indulge.
Yours, as ever,
Germanofile
P.S. For those 22% of us who at risk of the foetid aromas of everyday asparagus eating, Spargel is a wonderful invention — it reduces the odor emanating from your urine by a significant quantity, to levels where it is barely perceptible.
