I complain about my German Weight Gain almost as much as I complain about the weather. Reading that sentence, I can’t help but suspect I am probably a rather miserable person to be around; it’s possible that when I’m not banging on about vitamin deficiences and dry hands, I’m whinging about the infamous 9kg (did I tell you I’ve put on 9kg since moving here?)
It’s likely I deserve and enjoyed the gaining of, each and every one of those kilos because Germany discovered something about me very early on and cruelly exploited it. I can’t say no to a biscuit. Fact.
And what line the shelves at any decent German supermarket (quite apart from an alarming array of chocolate and cake) a study in affordable, tasty treats? Biscuits. Really, rather cheap biscuits. In all incarnations. Wafer biscuits, chocolate biscuits, butter biscuits, butter biscuits covered in chocolate and stuck together to form a butter biscuit and chocolate sandwich. Bags and bags of softly powdered lebkuchen. Towers of thin, lightly spiced ginger biscuits. Cylinders of plate-sized doppelkeks. And I have, at some point, in vast quantities, wedged each and every type of biscuit down my increasingly quivering gullet.
I used to have some measure of self control. I’d only buy a box of Woolworths Select Choc Chip Cookies (a real beast in the biscuit family, full of choc chips) every couple of weeks. Here, I plough through a bag of Gut and Guenstig Waffel Mischung with concerning ease. At 99c, who wouldn’t?
I blame the weather.