Germany Day Six

We will not disclose the activities of the morning of day six to the public. I appreciate your cooperation.

Let's pick up at Osteria Stromboli for lunch. Did they speak English, or did they speak German? They spoke Italian. Obviously. This was going to be good food. We ordered wine and pizza using the under-appreciated art of menu-pointing.

We tried to do some shopping afterward, but everything was closed on Sundays. It's one big Chick-fil-A. The Casino Baden Baden didn’t work out either. It was fancier than anything we saw so far. You needed a suit jacket to enter, and that wasn’t happening today. The numerous flags outside the casino were more interesting anyway. I had to stop and represent. Grabbing a flag started a trend, and soon, others were recreating the photo below with their flag of choice.

We grabbed wine and walked around. The city is famous for Pinot Noir, but that hadn’t translated into anything we’d had so far. We couldn’t figure out what they called it. So, we used the menu to guess and check. Finally, I ordered something that translated to "country wine." No need to panic—it was Pinot Noir. The best spot was on top of the hill overlooking the vineyards. Once we got there, they had beers waiting for us. All we had to do was stand in line, order, and pay. So, it wasn’t exactly for us—it was a café!

Now, we needed some walking-around dessert. This bakery had macaroons. What even are those? Colorful Oreos? Pretty Patties? I ordered cheesecake and black currant. I read a while back that you can’t sell black currant flavor in America. It may have been illegal based on taste per square inch. My wife got a piece of chocolate mousse cake and a caramel macaroon.

We found the fanciest place willing to let me in and scored a table for dinner. It was right by a fountain with tranquil views. My wife ordered something called "Grandma's pasta." I wanted to embrace the European experience fully, so I ordered the cheeseburger—made with 100% Nebraskan beef. It’s that fancy imported beef. Not too shabby. For the second time today, I was reminded of home.

After a brief— but intense— conversation, we decided to grab more take-out desserts. The owners didn’t give off that Great British Baking Show vibe; they had more of a Gordon Ramsay attitude. We wanted those baked goods, but not at the expense of our self-esteem. We quickly paid and made our exit. I wasn’t there for customer service—I was there for sugar highs, pretty colors, and future regrets.

We raided the lobby fridge, hoping to find an American IPA. Let's make it a trifecta