Stomachs on legs are proud to present

In terms of healthy eating I give myself a six or seven. I stop a few inches shy of bitter herbal tinctures and drinking wine on auspicious biodynamic dates. We buy very little pre-prepared food. Luckily there are no burger bars or hotdog stands around here, and despite living in cake-proud Germany, I eat cake rarely enough that when I do, I blog about it.

But sometimes, I eat trash. Not fancy truffles or gourmet artisan ice cream.... I'm talking cold, hard trash.

I'm talking about the kind of supermarket foods that exploit the weak and devilish recesses of your soul.

In NZ I had an unhealthy, secretive, co-dependent relationship with Earnest Adams ginger kisses, and Cyclops organic yoghurt with coffee jelly.

Here in Germany, I've recently developed a Dickmann's addiction (the coconut-sprinkled version is pictured above & below). When I first stepped onto German soil, my boss actually gave me a packet of Dickmann's as a welcome gift, but they didn't make too much of an impression on me. Looking back it seems auspicious (or suspicious).
A few years have passed in the mean time, and somehow, within the last few weeks - god knows how or why - I became addicted to Dickmann's. It's a mystery. I'm starting to think they put crack cocaine in those things.

The worst thing is that Dickmann's have a dubious public record - back in the day the proto-Dickmanns were called 'Neger Küsse' (Negro kisses). Dick means 'fat', and a more recent slogan on TV used to go "Man, they are fat, man" (Mann, sind die dick, mann)

I'm told that these nefarious treats are commonly eaten inside white bread rolls at swimming pools. After swimming, kids usually get either hot chips, or they take a Dickmanns and whack the two sides of a bun around it, squashing it into gooey smithereens.

A packet of six costs about one euro and ten cents. They are creepily melty and soft - like sweetened stiff egg whites. With a thin dark chocolate shell, and a thin wafer on the bottom. Rather like a next level mallowpuff or english teacake, without all the biscuit nonsense, and with a much gooier centre.

I'm afraid that I currently have a daily obsession going on. And I've found that a succession of recent kiwi visitors felt the same. Which makes me feel all the more justified in my habit. ....I think it's called 'enabling'.

But I can definitely stop. I just need one more, y'hear?

Just...one...morrrrre....



Below is a photo of my other supermarket craving, this time from the Biomarkt (organic supermarket). If I'm hungry I can't seem to resist buying a kreta-strudel and scoffing it down before someone tries to steal it from me. (It's crispy pastry with a tangy mix of feta and roasted peppers inside).
At least this particular weakness doesn't have quite the same white trash overtones as Dickmann's. It's like the bogan and bourgeois parts of me are duking it out on the daily.



What's your supermarket nemesis?