This is the train stop we use to get out of and back into Heddernheim, a suburb of Frankfurt where Klaus, Stephanie, and Katharina live. For €6.40 (about $8.00), I can buy a ticket that is good all day for as many stops as I want to make while traveling through the various communities of Frankfurt. With the difficulty in finding parking, paying for it, and the delays encountered during commute hours, it is a great deal and even greater convenience to ride the trains through this densely packed city. Those rumors of German efficiency are definitely true regarding train and bus service. We never wait more than seven or eight minutes for a train and maybe up to 15 minutes for a bus, but more often than not, we only wait about two minutes before the German mass transit system shows its punctual face and whisks us off to our destination.

We skipped the food cart at Hauptwache today, opting to go to a local Metzgerei (butcher) on Bergerstrasse. I’ve been enjoying pork-belly sandwiches for days now, but today I’m trying something new: grünkohl mit wurst (green cabbage with sausage). The cabbage is dark because it’s not the light green cabbage we are familiar with in America; it is a dark green cabbage and is more like something between spinach and chard. Cooked with juniper berries and who knows what else, it made for an interesting breakfast. While this is not my typical morning fare, I am using every opportunity to try all that I can before the end of our time in Germany.

From Bergerstrasse, we are quickly on Saalburgstrasse, the street Jutta lives on. We are also starting to sense the first hint of spring might be on the way, though the trees are still bare. It’s supposed to be a warm 12 Celsius today (53 Fahrenheit); from the look of the sky, we could be persuaded that the weatherman might be right. I don’t remember what we were doing at Jutta’s apartment today; seems like we’ve been stopping here every other day, though.

Every day, Jutta looks a little bit better, and also, on these visits, she seems to be walking better and better. So good, in fact, she thinks she doesn’t always need her walking braces; we are not impressed. But we are thoroughly happy with how good she looks and her great attitude in getting through this mobility setback. All of us involved in Jutta’s life, including her, believe she’s doing very well, in large part because of how thrilled she is that we are here visiting with her every day. For the next hours, until shortly before her dinner break, we spent the better part of the morning and afternoon chatting.

Part of the pleasure of being back in Frankfurt is that I’m now old enough to have put away food phobias and am far more interested in trying new old things such as I hope to find here at “Zum Lahmen Esel” which translates to ‘The Lame Ass.’

Frankfurt is well known for its drink of choice, apfelwein (apple wine). Every German restaurant we go to the first thing ordered is a glass of apfelwein for Caroline, an old favorite. She’s already had enough of them that she’s started wondering out loud if she’s turning into a lush. I reassure her that she’ll have to drink three or four of these a night if that’s her aspiration. After one, she smiles enough that her cheeks start to hurt; I guess one a day is enough.

Tonight, I’m here for a food challenge, though I’ll only dip my toe into these difficult waters. While I order schnitzel with green sauce and fried potatoes, Caroline goes for “heaven and earth.” This is the translated name for blutwurst (blood sausage) with roasted onions and mashed potatoes, with the idea that I will be trying this formerly unappealing dish that I would have never touched when I was in my 20s or early 30s. Turns out that this stuff is pretty good, but I only tried a tiny bite. Time to man up and get a chunk of blood sausage; nearly certain that with a mouth full, I’ll realize the yuck factor and determine that this stuff is not for me. I remain surprised that I do somehow enjoy this meal. While we don’t split our dishes 50/50, I’m sure I’ll try this again to see if other preparations are, dare I say, as yummy as this one at the Lame Ass was.