One of the first challenges of moving to a foreign country is figuring out the food. Where do you get it? Why are all the cuts of meat completely different from the last place you lived? Why do you have to weigh all your fruits and veggies and bag everything yourself? Not to mention the sheer mass of vocabulary needed to navigate the market or grocery store aisles. In France there were at least 5 different kinds of cream, so even if you knew the word crème you were still screwed.
Here things are in German, so I am pretty much screwed all the time, especially if there’s no picture on the label to help clue me in. Shopping is a big fun mystery game, and when everything gets opened back home I’m never quite sure if I’m going to be a winner (gourmet sweet mustard!) or a loser (sugar with added gelatin. Wah waaaaahhh).
But with each trip I’m learning. Husband, on the other hand, still has a ways to go when it comes to food vocabulary. That’s perhaps why I heard the Babe making distress calls the other night while Husband was dutifully trying to feed her some yogurt that she usually loves.
“Does she want her own spoon?” I called from the kitchen.
“Maybe? I don’t know what’s wrong!”
“Huh, what flavor is it?”
“Uh, sauerrahm. I don’t think she likes it.”
That’s right when I came around the corner to see the poor Babe gagging and pawing at her tongue while Husband sat helpless with a spoon full of white stuff. White stuff that was not, despite the deceiving dairy qualities and similar packaging, yogurt, but SOUR CREAM.
Husband had been spoon feeding our child straight sour cream for at least 5 minutes. And being the true champ that she is, my girl actually took down the first few bites without complaint, all the while looking at Husband like “this tastes like shit, but I’ll do it for you dad.” At least it was organic?
* * *
sauerrahm (zower ruhm): sour cream
As in, “The Babe probably has a few more sauerrahm dinners in store while mom’s at the hospital and dad’s in charge of meals.”
Unlikely Diplomat 
Omg my husband (the Austrian) and I are laughing! Hang in there!
Mein Gott, das armes kind!
(Which, if college German still serves, means my God, the poor kid.)