Weinstube Klingel - Carta

"Saturday evening in Schwaben.. I know people who were there and have become nervous when only the word Stuttgart or Ländle falls. I don't understand why. I like crabs. Not always, but more and more. If my schoolgirl hadn't pulled there for technical reasons, I would never have gone. My beer also remained within limits: WAS? After SCHWABEN? You don't understand! And there's a KEHRWOCHE! Your landlord throws you out in the first month! Can't you go to Hamburg or Berlin? But after the first weeks of a stranger, my friend seemed to live in it. It's not that bad here. Actually, it's really nice. And the food. A potato salad.. Why aren't there a "sparkling wine choir"? The potato salad does not taste here. It's so expensive here. You call the beer garden? And I went to the landing and saw. And almost a little jealous. These beer gardens! This landscape! These prices! And this food! The potato salad no longer tasted fast here; the citizens of the mouth pockets lay in the cold counter and the pouch sprouts no longer came to my record. In the meantime, I am more common in this clean country and liked, in which even the underwood looks somehow well maintained and the most common toilets in the gastro area (also in the worst sprinklers are so clean that you could serve almost someone in the open heart. Diet is not a topic for these visits. Full of anticipation I gurke south and think about what I eat during the ride. Main thing Swabian. Sure, we fell in. But my friend knows well. And so the last visit came after we had fed very well in another restaurant: tomorrow we go to the Weinstube Klingel. Swabian home kitchen. Everybody. But it's not good. I'm so angry. I have more post here in Schnöselsdorf than I need and can pay/will. And chic is the Weinstube Klingel in fact not. Many Düsseldorfers would roll up the footnails at the store. This place has existed since ancient times. And since ancient times nothing has been changed here. Here is nix casual, vintage or chabby chic. No trace of designers green or graphic yellow. This is a German restaurant from the previous century. Pock. And it smelled like the previous century. Like old times. When the children were not raised with milk cuts and fruit plums. When no one laughed at the consequences of the right or left yogurt. As a flavor enhancer and convenience, it has not yet been found in the dude. It smells like grandma. If Grandma cooked delicious lunch on Sunday. We didn't serve grandma, but the presumed boss was very friendly, but that doesn't seem exceptional to me in the Ländle; only Düsseldorfers always notice this immediately. The view of the menu came to despair. Schwäbische Hausmannskost in all variants known to me at least. But also, very unusual, the recommendation of our guest chef from Nepal tastes like in Kathmandu . Down. So much Nepalese would have attracted us all, the Swabian cuisine made the race. My companions chose duck lobes with lumps and blue herbs (here... the homemade pork roasts with salt potatoes and also these herbs; before Gaisburger Marsch, who told me nothing at all. I ordered the land type kneader; Lentils with latex, sideworms and smoked meat. Invasion of Gaisburg Marsche. To the information for non-sweet: it was a strong beef soup with vegetables, potatoes and late zle, the whole with a very light butter note and, apart from that, one of the most delicious soups I ever got into the stomach. Homemade? I doubt soup cake and I don't know a second. And now you doubt the attempt to find among the millions of recipes that heal on the Internet that can cook the things next weekend. The main dishes were served after a relatively long waiting period, but the store was full of breaks. Besides, good thing wants a while, at home cooking anyway. We're tired of seeing the plates. But that was not at the plates that had nothing to do with the table culture of a Haute Cuisine. The duck lay on a glass plate in the form of a fish, my lenses stormed in a scratched soup plate, and the fringes coughed one of these ugly ikea plates with green edge painting. There was no fun together, there was nothing to garnish, there was nothing nice except food. The huge food. My friend capitulated in front of the two thick, perfectly fried ducks in a refined Christmas sauce along with two species-head dumplings and a huge red cabbage. The man at the table almost failed at the impeccable frit with the huge stake supplements. And I told myself, while the record was simply not emptied, like a mantra constantly before: food! You can't get this at home; nowhere! and sneak the monster part of the divine latency, fantastic lenses, bacon and two big bock sausages into me. Various large apple choirs and sour sprouts had to cure us the throats to be able to swallow at all. I was glad I didn't order a beer. The originally proposed table talk came to the temporary fountain and roasts. Pfffhhh. Has anyone ever died of a stomach rupture? Hrmph. Can you get esophagus muscles from swallowing? I have to lie down right now. Finally. Get out. I can't. I'll die. We dragged ourselves to smoking. I was too miserable to embellish myself in the garbage with a handmade gift. A Halloween pumpkin shocked me on the can. We moved to the numbers. Almost 52 tucks were the toe as a whole. With huge drinks. We just moved to the next bar because we didn't get home anymore. I'm bleeding about an hour at the first beer. We deaf while in the background of the musical analyst stage, which would have forced us to escape immediately under normal circumstances. We don't even have that on the chain. But the food remained, despite all the negative circumstances, in it: when we were able to speak again, we fell the verdict. That was brilliant. We'll go back next time. With more space in the stomach. All. Cult, the Weinstube Klingel. There are some things I like to clone in swamps and import here. For example, beer gardens. For example, the Weinstube Klingel. Only not the week of worship and the peculiar idiom. You can keep them."