The Former Army Brat's Guide to Hacking German Cooking

An Army brat in West Germany

Growing up on as an Army kid in West Germany in the 1980s was an incredible experience. I was lucky enough to spend about 8 years in Heidelberg and Stuttgart, living both on bases and in German neighborhoods. In that time I developed a deep love of German food, but never really had anyone to teach me how to cook it. As I've grown up, I've tried to learn how to recreate some of my favorite german meals on my own. Reading recipes, watching videos, taking trips back to Germany have given me just enough information to be dangerous. This is not a cookbok full of authentic german recipes. These are my hacked up approaches to trying to recreate what I loved as a kid. My favorite flavors, completely adapted to try and fit into regular home cooking. I hope you enjoy them.

The air in Garmisch-Partenkirchen always smelled of pine needles and crisp Alpine wind, but for me, the true scent of Bavaria was found just inside the heavy doors of The Föhrenhof. As a kid living in Germany, that cooking school wasn't just a landmark; it was the center of our universe whenever we vacationed. While other people came for the skiing or the hiking, my family came for the food. The menu was a roll call of everything right in the world. We’d sit there as a family, surrounded by the warmth of the dining room, diving into bowls of perfect Gulaschsuppe and Knödelsuppe. We worked our way through every classic: The Crispy: Schweinehaxen with crackling skin that shattered perfectly, and golden Schnitzels. The Savory: Hearty Schweineschnitte and Jägerschnitzel drenched in that earthy, hunter-style sauce. The Sweet: Ending every night with Apfelstrudel that tasted like it had been made by a thousand grandmothers. But the dish that truly haunts my dreams—the one that takes me back the instant I close my eyes—was the dinner omelette. It wasn’t a breakfast afterthought; it was a masterpiece. I always ordered the mushroom one. It arrived at the table fluffy and well over 2 inches tall, draped in an incredibly rich, dark gravy that was so savory and velvet-smooth it felt like a hug for my soul. To this day, I’ve never found another sauce that quite matches that Föhrenhof magic. When I returned as an adult, in 2001 it was still there, but by the time I visited in 2005, the legendary cooking school closed its doors, and the building transformed into a lovely, bavarian hotel. Walking back through those doors was a surreal experience. The architecture was familiar, the mountain air was the same, and the hospitality was still wonderful—but the "ghosts" of those heavy, gravy-laden plates felt like they were hiding in the corners. I sat at the breakfast table in the new Föhrenhof, and while the spread was great, it wasn't the Föhrenhof of my youth. It was a bittersweet realization that while the building remains a beautiful place to stay, the specific flavors of my childhood have become a cherished memory I carry with me. I've done my best to recreate that omlette, and have created a recipe for it.