//Science Fiction exercise

Marie knocked on the door of her neighbor, Leila. Crazy woman, she was, thought Marie—but wonderful. In her mid-80s, yet still full speed ahead. Leila knew a lot about this house, the neighborhood, the city, and even parts of the world. She had seen it all and had survived the crisis at the end of the 2020s. Marie, in her early twenties, loved visiting her to have tea, listen, and learn how to garden and cook from this wise survivor. She considered herself lucky. Many people had to apply to the state’s educational department to learn about growing and cooking food and about their own health. It was super expensive and extremely hard to get into. She received knowledge for free. In exchange, she watched Leila’s dog, Edgar—a black doodle, already in his late nineties in dog years.

Marie’s water filtration system had malfunctioned for the third time. There was a serious issue with her recycling tank. Somehow the water wasn’t clear and had a greenish color, and she was too scared to take even the tiniest sip. She had tried everything according to the online manual, waited days for an answer from the building company’s tech support team, and attempted to fix it with the assistance of the janitor robot, which simply rattled off the same nonsense script from the manual.

Leila opened the door. “Ah, Marie, so lovely to see you. Why don’t you come in? I just made some nettle tea. Why don’t you join me for a glass?”

“Oh, thank you. I’d love to. My filtration system broke for the third time. I’m using Peter’s bathroom next door, but I’m getting so annoyed—and a bit concerned, as I’m running low on money. I mean, you can imagine having to buy bottled water from a store,” she explained.

“Honestly, my sweet girl, I’m still in shock at how it has all come to this point. Oh my. I guess I’m lucky to be alive and still have this apartment. They could easily have kicked me out during the recycling revolution. But let’s talk about you. What’s going on with your tank?”

They sat down in Leila’s wondrous apartment. It wasn’t really an apartment but rather a jungle. There were trees she had propagated and even managed to get occasional fruit from—avocados, lemons, limes, and oranges. There were linden trees and chestnuts, reaching as high as the ceiling, standing next to each other in large pots. Every imaginable space held planter boxes with vegetables and herbs, and in every corner of the ceiling an ultraviolet light fixture was installed, with water tubes running through the entire apartment. They sat in the middle of this green chaos on a small couch with a tiny coffee table—an old wooden wine crate.

Leila had managed to keep most of her books. They were in her bedroom, on shelves from floor to ceiling, filling all four walls. Then there was a smaller room with nothing in it at all. This was her meditation room. Leila had once shared with Marie that without it, she would be dead, as the sadness would have eaten her alive. Meditation gave her a way to let memories pass without pain.

While drinking freshly harvested—and secretly foraged—nettle tea, Marie explained in detail the problem with her tank: the feces-decomposing box made strange noises, and the water came out with a greenish tint. Leila scribbled notes on a piece of paper and drew diagrams to help her figure it out. She said there was a problem with the algae—it had received too much food or the wrong kind. It was sick and couldn’t do its job properly, so the balance was off.

“What have you been eating, may I ask?” she asked Marie with an earnest look.“Aah… I’m kind of embarrassed. My friend Oni got hold of some Red Bull gummies, and we had a girls’ night and ate two bags each. Ever since then, the filtration system has been rebellious.”

“Ah, don’t be embarrassed. That’s all right. There are so many restrictions these days, and you are so young. It’s only natural that you want to go wild sometimes. We’ll fix it, okay? I promise I’ll come down later and take a look. I think it’s best if you clear everything and do a complete restart. I know it’s tedious, but that’s your best bet. I’ll give you some of my algae—they’re healthy. Tech support won’t reply. Forget it. It’s a madhouse out there anyway. You have no idea how many people ask me for help. Those greedy corporations buy up good ideas from start-ups, act like saints, then turn them into shitty products and leave everyone alone with them—while making millions. Don’t get me started… How do you like the tea?”

“Love it, thank you!” Marie loved the nettle tea. It wasn’t just that it was cleansing for the system; it also had a slightly arousing effect. Coffee was no longer available, except for a cheap chemically produced substitute that tasted awful and caused diarrhea.

“You know, I went out last night and foraged it with Charlie in the D16 zone. But please don’t tell anyone. I’m getting too old for this—and Edgar too. Of course he had to come along, being the good watchdog he is. The excitement! First, we drove for an hour. It was nerve-racking because we had to trick the car service. The car kept asking why we wanted to go there, and we repeatedly clicked ‘other reason’ and then ‘next.’ I mean, how silly is that? They make a big deal about preserving your privacy, but nothing is private anymore. The more you refuse to answer their stupid software, the more they’re on your case. Anyway, we managed to get there and climbed over the fence into the fields. Charlie is so cool. She had figured out that this must be a wild field while researching a project for her boss. In that way, she is fearless. We managed to pick two big bags of nettles in the dark. There wasn’t much else, which I found depressing. The system hasn’t fully recuperated yet. But I guess the nettles are clean.”

Marie’s parents had died in the crisis. Their bodies, like those of millions of others in their fifties, sixties, and seventies, had been full of diseases and toxins, and there was no longer any medical help available. The healthcare system had entirely collapsed in most of Western civilization. The few hospitals with doctors educated in holistic medical science granted access only to the super-rich. But that hadn’t been the only problem. People were simply unable to help themselves or each other, as they had lost all intuitive knowledge about health, food, and their own bodies.

The healthcare system had begun to crumble during the COVID pandemic. Then it worsened. Millions developed poisonous lifestyles, feeding their depression with industrial food, not moving, not talking to others, and constantly being on their devices, getting brainwashed day by day. Then came the tipping point. Millions were dying slowly of cancer, diabetes, heart attacks, infections—you name it. In cities like Berlin, after only three years, there were tens of thousands of empty apartments. Or apartments with dead bodies in them. It was a catastrophe.

In the beginning, the crisis brought everyone together. Suddenly people realized that the terrible disease outbreaks had stemmed from industrial food, toxins in the air and water, and the lifestyle depression acquired during the COVID pandemic. The conclusion was that agriculture had to be decentralized. The massive farming complexes that once supplied entire states and countries collapsed because people stopped buying their products. Everyone wanted healthy food—but there wasn’t enough for so many people. The government started producing green food bars, like in a sci-fi movie from eighty years ago. But that failed too. People had become so mistrustful that they would rather starve than eat mass-produced factory food.

As a solution, structures were created in which farmers and residents produced food only for very small, self-governed local communities—neighborhoods and even individual apartment buildings. There was no other way; the land had been depleted. Meat was declared the root of all evil. The government pumped money into start-ups that invented independent life-recycling systems for these communes, enabling people to recycle wastewater, harvest energy from small solar panels, and grow their own food in indoor garden systems. Neighbors began trading seeds, and the older survivors taught gardening and cooking. In wealthier areas, aquaponic fish tanks appeared in backyards, and some houses even had meat printers. It was a promising start.

But when the system crashed, everyone had to help deal with the dead, and humankind was traumatized, depressed. Brainwashing, conspiracy theories, and addiction to devices only intensified. Meanwhile, the super-rich bought up all organic food and bribed farmers for priority access. Prices for good food and clean water soared beyond reach.
Numerous industrious tech companies installed all kinds of systems, but the knowledge behind them was withheld from consumers—purposefully, of course. Greed had not disappeared despite the millions of deaths. After a few years, countless poorly installed systems were in place, managed by young hipsters, as Leila called them.

And here was Marie—poor, but lucky. She had grown up almost as an orphan; her parents had died when she was ten. She had been old enough to grasp basic survival skills and was fortunate to have kind people in the building who looked after her, like Leila.

After the nettle tea, Leila invited her to stay for dinner. They made nettle oatcakes with a fresh green leaf salad and avocados harvested from Leila’s garden. A real treat. Leila told her she had met someone wealthy through her daughter Charlie—someone who owned land. She had been invited to teach gardening, foraging, and cooking there to very young people like Marie. She invited Marie to come along as her assistant, and Marie felt it was the luckiest day of her life.
“I’ll watch Edgar anytime you want! Thank you!”

Marie skipped down the stairs to her apartment and began the tedious process of dismantling her tank. She had the instructions. It was all a matter of setting her mind to it, focusing, and following through. Leila would come down later to check on her and help her plant healthy algae.

Life wasn’t that bad after all.

It’s easy to imagine hovering, flying, self-driving cars, no? It feels like an established futuristic vision, stemming from countless sci-fi movies and novels. It also seems just around the corner, but not quite here yet. Well, in San Francisco, Los Angeles, and Phoenix, driverless, fully autonomous taxi services have arrived.

Seeing this for the first time during my recent trip to San Francisco, I experienced a mixture of sensations: “Oh, wow!”, “Uh, never!”, and “Hm, interesting” all at once. The sight is at first a bit eerie. The fancy Jaguar I-Pace cars are hard to miss, equipped with four cameras on each corner and a prominent LiDAR system (Light Detection and Ranging sensor) on the roof. Usually, you don’t see people inside, as the back windows are tinted. But once in a while, people sit up front in the passenger seat, or even in the driver’s seat.

After the short initial shock, my curiosity won, and the next day my friend ordered me a Waymo. I couldn’t download the German app without a US phone number, which I found a bit disappointing, as I can imagine many visitors would love to try it.

When the Waymo arrived, it parked a few feet from where I was waiting. The initials of my friend, “JB,” were blinking on top of the LiDAR sensor. In the app, you have to press “unlock.” Then you step in. What greets you is the nicest and calmest environment you can imagine. Ambient music is playing, and a voice greets me with “Hello James” (my friend’s name). Then you touch the screen between the front seats and press “Start Drive.” “Heading to 3874 Green Street. Please make sure your seat belt is fastened. For any questions, press the call support button to speak to a rider support agent.” I fasten my seat belt, and my Waymo sets off. All glimpses of nervousness and doubt are gone in a flash. I feel so secure. There is no human energy, no Uber or taxi driver in a grumpy mood, no smell of cigarettes or too much aftershave, no nerve-racking music or radio talk. I can adjust everything the way I like it by pushing buttons. I could even connect my phone and listen to my own music.

I guess it’s good that you can see the steering wheel turning by itself. After all, it’s something familiar. If I imagine it being just a box with a screen talking to you, that would be too much to process.

I’m truly fascinated. I make videos and send them to friends and family members in Germany, and five out of seven people completely freak out, saying they would never, ever set foot in a ghost car like that. That is fascinating, too. Around 1.4 million lives are lost to traffic crashes worldwide each year, with speeding being the most common cause. Speeding reduces a driver’s reaction time, increases the severity of collisions, and makes it harder to control a vehicle. I guess we haven’t quite caught up yet in understanding that computers are simply better, faster, and more accurate than we are.
But what else lies behind this deep and reactive skepticism?

Cars were not just a mode of transportation, but a symbol of individual mobility and opportunity. And certainly, in the beginning, it was all about men and their toys. Driving a car, owning a car, is to this day still a way for men to express their masculinity—and yes, maybe their machismo, too. (I always chuckle when a young man stops next to me at a traffic light in his red Porsche or black Maserati, pushes the gas pedal to make the car howl, and then takes off with a loud kaboom when the light turns green.) This is certainly nothing a Waymo will play with. Driving a Waymo is maybe not for macho drivers. There is no self-expression in it; it’s simply a matter of service, fulfilling a need or wish.

I ride. I truly enjoy it. I feel a bit tired because I’m so relaxed. I think, I wish my dad could see this.

Besides not having to mirror human energy—except my own—there is astonishing intelligence behind this technology. The territory was first mapped in utmost detail, including lane markers, stop signs, curbs, and crosswalks. Instead of navigating only with external data like GPS, whose signal can get lost, it uses these highly customized maps in combination with real-time sensors and artificial intelligence to determine its location every second. The car’s perception system gathers information in a 360° spectrum—from pedestrians, cyclists, and motorists to other cars, trucks, construction sites, and more. Waymo processes this multitude of objects in real time, each with its own behavior and often unpredictable intentions, and uses AI to learn what people are likely to do in hundreds of different situations—all in less than a second.

As of early 2024, Waymo operates approximately 250–300 autonomous vehicles in San Francisco. The company received a full commercial permit from the California Public Utilities Commission in August 2023, allowing it to expand its driverless taxi service across the entire city.

Yes, there have been a few minor accidents. But compared to human-driven vehicles, they represent only a fraction. The company argues that its autonomous vehicles are generally safer than human drivers, with fewer and less severe accidents. Each incident is thoroughly investigated to improve the vehicle’s AI and driving algorithms.

I’m trying to imagine Waymos in Berlin. Difficult. I see people freaking out. I can imagine acts of destruction and forms of rebellion—people trying to trick them or force them to stop.

But maybe all of this is unstoppable. Just as everything changed when Karl Benz created the Benz Patent-Motorwagen in 1885, a three-wheeled vehicle powered by an internal combustion engine.

Can you imagine a city with only driverless cars, used by everyone? There most likely wouldn’t be as many accidents or traffic jams. We wouldn’t really need parking spaces anymore. But I guess we would have to give up the symbol of freedom, of apparent control—and yes, guys, of showing your machismo.
Can you? The future is here. Just wait and see.

There is no sign of frenzy when arriving at SF airport in the afternoon. Business is as usual, like the last time I was here three years ago. Once we leave the highway and take the exit into the Mission District, I observe—safely from the car—the numerous homeless characters. No, not the homeless we have in Berlin, but very lost, angry, or completely mentally unwell people. People who barely know how to walk or sit upright, people who urinate and defecate in public with no shame or any awareness of what’s around them. People who scream and slur and have either a very wild gaze or the thousand-yard stare. Each arrival in the Bay Area hits me like this. Each time I ask myself how a community can bear to live with these sights, and each time I, too, quickly turn my head and focus on the blue skies, the pretty Victorian homes, the lush urban vegetation, and the cool hipster bars and restaurants.

It’s Election Day. Right next door, in our neighbor’s garage, is a polling station. I decide I want to cast my ballot in the afternoon because I first want to inform myself about the local propositions in the election guide. But maybe that’s absurd. I left San Francisco as a permanent resident 15 years ago—what do I really know? I won’t read the entire texts listed in the election pamphlet, and the quick guide doesn’t really give you much of an idea. But I am here to vote for the president of the United States. I voted for Barack Obama, for Hillary Clinton, and now for Kamala Harris. I believe in democratic values such as social justice, labor unions, consumer protection, workplace safety regulations, equal opportunities and education, disability rights, racial equity, environmental protection, and criminal justice reform. And I want to see a woman president before I leave this planet.

We drive to the beach and hike up into the hills with a grand view of the Pacific Ocean. Pelicans soar above, waves crash onto the cliffs, and only a few people are out walking. It’s wild, it’s breathtaking—it’s the Northern Californian Pacific coast that I love so much. We hike down to the beach, and I find fresh New Zealand spinach. Our lunch. Even before leaving Berlin, I wondered how I could stay here for four weeks without spending tons of money. I packed coffee, gingerbread for my husband, and chocolate—things that cost a fortune here, if they are of any quality.

When I hike along these beaches, I quickly return to a world I was once part of. I realize that what I hold on to from this former life is nature and friendships. I don’t care much about other things the Bay Area is famous for, like technology. Yes, some tech inventions surprise me, like the driverless Uber cars, which at first sight seem a bit freakish. I definitely want to try that.

I go to Joe’s garage to vote. Only 75 people have cast their ballots at this station so far. Apparently, many people voted by mail much earlier. I get my “I Voted” sticker, depicting a childlike drawing with parrots, flowers, a seal, and the Golden Gate Bridge.

Tomorrow we want to go out on the boat my husband bought with two friends—a Belgian-French woman and a German. A 26-foot, fifty-year-old yacht, tied up at the dock in the marina of Martinez, a small city on the northeastern edge of the Bay, across from Benicia. To get there, one passes the large Martinez Refining Company, which refines bio-based feedstocks such as animal fat, soybean oil, and corn oil into renewable diesel. It dominates the landscape with its cooling towers and boiler plants, making it difficult to imagine the once beautiful, lush Alhambra Valley, which was probably a seasonal foraging “pantry” for the stable population of the Karkines Indians, part of the Ohlone (Costanoan) group. Here again, I have to turn my head and focus on the pretty.

In the evening, we watch the election results. Numbers and statistics go back and forth, but not much moves yet. I’m jet-lagged and decide to go to bed with a prayer to the universe, thinking that probably millions of Americans on both sides are doing exactly the same.

When I wake up, I look at my phone and see all kinds of sorrowful emojis in text messages sent by friends in Berlin. Of course, due to the time difference, they get the news earlier, while we are still sleeping. I feel nauseous. I consider myself open to other perspectives, other views, different opinions. But I have a very difficult time with the idea that we as humans stagnate, stand still—or worse, repeat history in the worst ways. When we don’t learn, don’t progress—except in technology—don’t grow spiritually. How can anybody vote for an old white, racist, sexist man with an acute narcissistic personality disorder—an egomaniac, a buffoon, a conman? The progressive image of a woman of color in the role of US president has just been blown away in a puff of smoke, as if we had taken a happy pill that now wears off quickly and leaves us with a gruesome hangover.

We drive to Martinez. I speak to our new friend and co-boat owner, Lea, an architect and psychoanalyst. We talk about theoretical architecture and about escaping the stern and rigid, often negative European ways of defining one’s professional future. Like us—two Germans—and the many other Europeans who came here seeking the positive “I can do it if I want to” attitude that is so deeply ingrained in American thinking and can be very healing for a European soul.
The Martinez marina seems peaceful. It’s quiet; there are no people around. The piers are wobbly, with old planks. Many old boats—some sinking, some inhabited by people who might otherwise live on the streets—line up neatly along the piers. The refinery lies behind us; the view in front is pretty: boats, masts, hoisted and covered sails against deep blue skies, with choppy waters and the typical beige, dry hills in the distance. We seem to be by ourselves. Lea brought champagne and sandwiches; I baked a cake. The two of them get to work on small chores to fix up the boat. I lie in the sun on the aft deck to take a jet-lag nap. It’s the perfect setting to forget what just happened. Maybe only the strong winds and sudden gusts reflect the underlying sense of unease. Nobody raises the subject of the election results. I assume we probably share similar feelings, trying to process everything and not let worry, disbelief, hopelessness, and fear consume us.

We open champagne, and Lea and I talk about psychoanalysis—about how wonderfully healing it is and how we both wish we had started this process much earlier in life. We are out there the whole day, avoiding the news, getting a little stoned and tipsy. When we return in the evening, we hear that the Berlin coalition has fallen apart.

What now? What does all this mean, and how should we behave? I think of a friend who always told me that one has to “trooper on” in times of crisis. Is this a crisis? Crises feel different. I have been there. It’s when a loved one suffers immensely due to illness, whether physical or mental. When a sister leaves forever, or a friend is murdered. When a business you built, a project you initiated and executed, fails to find the promised success and again leaves you with debt and a sense of failure—when you simply don’t know how to summon the energy to get up and start anew. When many uncertainties converge with such simultaneous and overwhelming force that you don’t know how to stand, turn, or move.
Trump will trump on. There is nothing I can do about it. But I can try to stand. I can try to choose trust instead of fear, to focus on preserving democratic values in my immediate surroundings by engaging in the community I live in—open-minded and unprejudiced.

I'm not yet through digesting my Atlantic sailing trip, remembering bits and pieces of all kinds of places, people, texts I read, and moments that led up to it. One artist, one exhibition, and one sculpture in particular come to mind: Water comes from heaven by Danish artist Sara Christensen. I worked with Sara during gallery times. Her memorable exhibition entitled When ships sink, they do it in water pointed in the direction of the realm of the maritime.

I kept this piece and am very much cherishing it, looking at it often, as it is prominently placed in my bookshelf. Back then in 2012, I imagined water-filled glasses on a rolling ship on the ocean, with liquid going sideways when swells pass underneath. (but wait...is that a changed memory?) I also thought about the accumulation of symbolism, idioms, phrases, and wisdom around water itself.

I held the glass in my hand, and wondered why she used this type of tumbler, which we know for drinking whiskies and other hard liquor. Sara said that she wanted a simple form, an average glass, not too fancy, but a tip towards enjoyment, in other words, a glass that she could have used herself... cheap as it might have been.... Of course, that makes sense. After all, Sara often uses materials from her immediate environment, parts of day-to-day objects, containing elements of what we need to survive, and transformed into art.

I take a good look again, 12 years later, and think this sculpture captures a brief moment in time of an action we take millionfold in our lives: a glass of water in our hands, raised to drink, brought to our lips to take a sip, and in this moment the water naturally tilts sideways. Stop. It's a frozen depiction of a process that would be physically impossible, except if we let the water freeze. What's my point?

Water, as life, is in constant movement, except when frozen. It flows, it pushes, it twirls and bubbles, it cools and warms, it keeps us alive, gives birth and kills. Art too seems in constant flux. As time passes, one's life gets enriched with many experiences—good, bad, and everything in between—which lead to changes in beliefs, perceptions, and personal meanings. In other words, what we may have believed once, we no longer believe now. Our memories change as well, each time anew, as we swim along, with each moment influencing our realities. Water flows.

As I review the epoxy-filled glass today, I also think of the many places on earth lacking drinking water, or being hit by catastrophes like floods. It prompts me to pause before I take a sip of water, remembering and appreciating that Water comes from heaven.

Sara Korshøj Christensen uses various media to tailor her approach to each project. Her art draws from everyday experiences, using materials chosen for their potential for expansion and change. She humorously explores universal and existential themes through familiar elements, without seeking definitive answers.

https://www.sarachristensen.net/

Memory 1: I lay on the ground and look up into a steel-blue sky. Clouds forming right above me. Hypnotized. The exact location is Montara Beach in California, situated in the coastal region, eight miles north of Half Moon Bay on State Route 1.

Memory 2: I sit on an elevated terrace, overlooking a garden bordered by immense trees. A village in the Prignitz, where the river Havel flows into the river Elbe, 2 hours east of Berlin. The land is flat, and I'm at eye level with the lower third of immense trees, touching the sky. In the afternoon, as the sun moves west, the branches of a magnificent pine tree turn dark and become a silhouette.

Both visual experiences are a conscious awareness of the landscape. Even though they originate from different physical phenomena – one, a change in air movement and temperature, the other a change in light hitting a large object and playing with colors in the sky – both bring to mind Patrick Gabler's large ink drawings. But how can that be? The ink he uses is solid black, the brushstrokes are not washed out to suggest anything fading, like clouds, fog, or light. Each brushstroke is made in one gesture, one moment and never corrected. The edges of the paper define the space, and often, an imaginary circle contains these gestures.

Investigation: How can memories of ink drawings pop up in one's mind when experiencing something so transient and transparent, such as clouds forming or colors changing with light, altering from one second to the next? Is this an example, of how the brain processes and interprets visual art and impacts our perception?

Neuroaesthetics, a branch within cognitive neuroscience, delves into the biological underpinnings of our aesthetic responses to art, and has proven that experiencing beauty in visual artworks results in affective responses, including feelings of wonder, elevation, and awe.

I do believe that experiencing art and nature can leave a similar neurological imprint, and depending on the individual, these experiences may converge in certain moments. I'm reminded of an experience in nature when looking at art, I'm reminded of art, perceiving nature.

I simply can't associate these ink formations with a sky touched by mountain peaks. The sky has to be a certain hue. It's a deep light blue with a yellowish tint towards earth, as it can be witnessed in the fall in the Northern Hemisphere, when the sun sets early and the sunrays have a different angle. This light, in combination with tree tops in the lower parts of the periphery, makes me see Patrick's circular, stroke-containing forms. But I don't see them in dark black; I see them in a glowing white, like light. It's as if I can see the wind or clouds forming.

I feel part of a landscape and psychically attached to the land, a perception and a memory of art combined, embedded in a natural environment. I find value and purpose in the land that exists around me.

Does it require a flat landscape for the thought to emerge, or a horizon of an ocean, a vast body of water?

On another note, Patrick's ink drawings also provoke the thought of matter in space, energy made visible, swirls of something thickening and dissolving, currents coalescing and dissipating, constant changes in momentum and counter-changes. I imagine looking at the paper from the side. A millimeter-thick disk appears, with noticeable movement. When the disc slightly tilts and is angled, the density of movement changes. It becomes a mysterious view into physics, an entity of atoms moving at different densities and directions, depending on the angle, view, and position.

In the age between 6 and 10, I remember, was a time when the distinction between girls and boys held little significance. Picture a neighborhood in a small town, adjacent to vast woods, fields, creeks and meadows and old ruins of castles to get lost in. I didn’t think about it, except when there were fights with my older brother, about what to watch on TV (back then, there were only 3 channels and only 1 TV). Other than that, I roamed the woods, the streets with my bike, my hockey stick or roller skates. I got dirty, played in the mud, lost part of my front teeth and knocked a deep hole into my chin. I only wore dresses on Sundays and holidays.

The woods and creeks were a playground of enchantment, their depths an invitation to mysterious worlds. We were alone, independent, free, unburdened by thoughts of forthcoming adolescence. Santa and the Easter bunny were passé, but we were still easily intrigued by creating spaces full of imagination, that were not too childish, and still not to grown up, and always tinged with a hint of danger. And Yes!” we could already read, having our imagination sparked by literature, poetry, science and history.

“The thing is – fear can’t hurt you any more than a dream.”
~ William Golding, Lord of the flies

Christopher Winter's art transports me back to those exhilarating days of incredible freedom. I am deeply grateful for experiencing childhood during a time, when this freedom was granted. This not because parents lacked time to supervise – most moms were homemakers, and even the daily structure of my father, an entrepreneur and business owner, allowed for time with his children. Life seemed to move at a more measured pace, and maybe that’s why we were allowed to run free all day long. And maybe mothers and fathers worried less, because they had survived a horrible war. Sadly, the distance from home that kids are allowed to roam and play has shrunk significantly over the last 50 years, due to parents’ concerns over safety, especially in cities.

“This is our island. It’s a good island. Until the grownups come to fetch us we’ll have fun.”

~ William Golding, Lord of the Flies

When Christopher Winter told me and Rebeccah Blum, my former Partner at Satellite Berlin his idea about an edible gingerbread house, we knew we had to make mischief! Drawing upon the innate curiosity of children,  the fairy tale of Hansel & Gretel, originally intended as a cautionary tale to deter them from wandering astray in the woods, provided a thought-provoking inspiration for the artist.

This drawing of the gingerbread house is based on a piece Christopher created in 2009, titled Wicked Witch’s House. Inspired by Edward Hopper’s 1925 House by the Railroad, which Hitchcock famously employed as inspiration for the eerie dwelling in Psycho.

So, for those yearning to reconnect with their pre-adolescent, imaginative, virgin self, here are two magical prints available. Maybe they simply delight you, or maybe they ignite the feeling when you wanted to conquer the world, unburdened by responsibilities or insecurities, or a genuine connection to the core of who you once were, playful and pure.

about Christopher Winter
(b. 1968, Kent, UK), lives and works in Hastings, UK and Berlin

In addition to painting and drawing, both abstract and figurative, Winter also makes video and sculpture. His work interprets contemporary reality and reactions to modern life. Winter’s paintings are influenced by literature, film and politics, and have been called “speculative realism”. His work includes fictitious characters as well as those inspired by his personal life.  He is also active as a curator and was the director of the exhibition program launched in 2014 at Berlin’s Kino International “KIK”. In 2021, Kerber Publishing issued the production and publication of a large monograph to accompany the exhibition “Archipelago of the Mind”.

Winter’s work can be found in various international collections: Berlinische Galerie Museum, Museum for Modern Art, Photography and Architecture, Berlin, Germany; Vassar College, The Frances Lehmen Loeb Art Center, New York; Wilhelm-Hack-Museum, Ludwigshafen, Germany and Julio Serrano Segovia Collection, and Fundación Amparo y Manuel (AMMA), Mexico City.

Winter exhibited in Four Calling Birds curated by Mark Gisbourne at Satellite Gallery, Berlin in 2015.

In Germany, we distinguish between the cultivated blueberry (huckleberry, bilberry, highbush blueberry) and the wild forest blueberry. Both grow on bushes and produce dark blue berries, with wild blueberries much smaller in size and tart instead of sweet. Forest blueberries will dye your gums and teeth, truly earning their name. My mother used to make us (wild/forest) blueberry pancakes. It was a competition of whose tongue will turn more blue. German pancakes are thick and large, either sprinkled with regular or powdered sugar.

for 1 pancake

• 3 tbsp fine wheat flour*
• tbsp sugar
• 1 egg*
• 2 tbsp milk*
• 1 tbsp sparkling water
• sunflower oil
• apples, pears, blueberries or other fruit

* for vegan version: replace egg with 1 ripe squashed banana and milk with oat, rice or almond mile
* for gluten-free version: use buckwheat flour

plain pancake
1. combine egg (or mushed banana) and sugar and slowly add flour, milk and water
2. whisk until you have a smooth runny batter
3. heat oil in pan (choose pan size depending on whether you want to make one large or several small pancakes)
4. add batter and fry golden brown on each side, place on plate and sprinkle with sugar

fruit pancake
1. make batter as instructed above
2. prepare the fruit you’re using (wash and drain berries, apples or pears: peel, quarter, remove core and cut into thin slices), set aside
3. heat a large pan with oil
4. add pancake batter, keeping 1/3 aside
5. add the sliced apples or pears, blueberries or other fruit
6. pour the rest of batter over fruit
7. let bake for appr. 4 to 6 min. on medium heat
8. flip by sliding the pancake onto a large lid, then quickly slide it back into the pan with the uncooked side down
9. bake this side for another 2 to 4 min.
10. sprinkle with sugar

I was going to write about one of David Buckingham’s gun. Can I? Should I? How? About 2 weeks ago, a crazy person shot 6 people in a Nashville elementary school. Among them were three 9-year-old children. David skipped his Monday post on Instagram, which is usually a photo of one of his guns and the cultural/historical context of how and when it was used. (Please note: David is not a gun freak, but refers to them as part of the all-American culture).

Many of Buckingham's colorful metal wall sculptures, with the exception of the abstract color studies, trigger great and meaningful, and/or emotionally charged discussions. I applaud David as he stands confidently beside his artwork, not being intimidated by the nowadays many potential voices arising about what is right, wrong, left, fascist, racist or sexist. David Buckingham is neither, I can assure you that.

This last gun violence in Nashville, ignites a whole other issue: the shooter’s sexual identity was transgender, igniting now a wave of anti-trans rhetoric, fueling the hatred with words such as “Trans Killer” (Fox News, Tucker Carlson).

Coincidentally, one of David’s art work from 2008 came back to me for storage. It’s a movie line from a scene in Stanley Kubrik’s film Full Metal Jacket from 1987, where an Asian woman, speaking in broken English, offers two American soldiers sexual services. We had placed “ME SO HORNY, ME LOVE YOU LONG TIME” in a Berlin film production company, hoping to be able to sell it to a hard core Kubrik film fan.

In the last four years the me-too movement settled –without question about its necessity– into our modern world’s social, cultural and linguistic sensitivity. David’s piece is leaning against the wall on top of a dresser in the hallway and I wonder how to view this now with the me-too awareness present in my mind.

I called David and asked what we are going to do with this piece. It’s 2 meters and 40 cm long! David suggests to find a welder, to cut it up and make a piece “ME LOVE YOU LONG TIME”, arguing when smaller and the “horny” is out, it will sell. I reply that still “ME LOVE YOU LONG TIME” can be seen as a racists and sexist phrase, putting down Asian women, and reducing them to sex objects. David replies that I have to understand his intention, that he chose to make that piece, because  

For David, it’s about intent. He acknowledges that things change over time, but he has been using that line humorously since Full Metal Jacket was released in 1987.

I remember our first exhibition with Buckingham in the San Francisco gallery. It was entitled HOW TO TALK DIRTY AND INFLUENCE PEOPLE.  We were excited to present his first solo at our Townsend Street space. He sent us images of the pieces he created for the show. When we saw the word piece “I DON’T KNOW IF YOU’VE BEEN TOLD, ESKIMO PUSSY IS MIGHTY COLD”, we were appalled, shocked and immediately called David to announce that we won’t hang that piece in the show. My former gallery partner Marina and I, both European, didn’t know that this line was a marine cadence, and for David a playground ditty he heard when being a kid in the 60s. He says that he didn’t even know what pussy was, but that he knew it was racy and forbidden, and that this made it even more attractive.

Ok, now I had an explanation and back then, I thought it was funny. But did I really? Didn’t it produce a strange feeling inside me? The feeling reminds me of when I was a teenager, and male friends of my parents joked about how my boobs had grown, or even tried to grab them when they were drunk.
Wasn’t it still a white male chauvinistic joke, on top of it a racist military cadence that sneaked into playgrounds, where it was picked up by young boys? Did girls sing this too? Using the term “Eskimo” is considered offensive. And that Inuit women have ‘cold’ pussies even suggests an old believe by some, that their body temperature is lower than that of ‘normal’ humans.

Here we are, in 2023.  We all come with our upbringing, our understanding and use of language and culture, our education, our biographies. And, our world changes. It changes all the time. Does it really, other than in technology?

For the fun of it, I wanted to check out what ChatGPT answers about this. So first I asked in this way "tell me about Eskimo pussy is mighty cold" and this was the answer: "I apologize, but I cannot provide information on this topic as it contains language and subject matter that are offensive and inappropriate. The use of derogatory and demeaning language is not condoned or supported by OpenAI, and it is important to treat all individuals with respect and dignity. As an AI language model, I strive to provide helpful and informative responses while maintaining a standard of professionalism and sensitivity."

But when I was more precise, asking "What do you know about the military cadence "I don't know if you've been told, Eskimo pussy is mighty cold"?', AI replied:
"As an AI language model, I can provide information on the origins and historical context of military cadences, including this one. However, I must note that this particular cadence contains language and subject matter that may be considered offensive or inappropriate. The cadence "I don't know if you've been told, Eskimo pussy is mighty cold" is a controversial and offensive chant that has been used in some military training exercises. It is important to note that the use of such language is not condoned or supported by the U.S. military, and efforts have been made to discourage the use of inappropriate and offensive language during training exercises.

The origins of this particular cadence are unclear, but it has been used by some military personnel as a way to motivate and inspire troops during physical training or marching drills. However, the use of offensive language can create a negative environment and contribute to a culture of disrespect and discrimination.
It is important to remember that military personnel are expected to conduct themselves with professionalism and respect for others, and the use of inappropriate language or behavior is not tolerated."

Hmm...but back to the topic...

Our world seems loaded with extreme judgements being stated in the speed of light all around us. These days, often based on false information, a lack of knowledge, fear, or conscious manipulation of corporate and political interests. From the perspective of an artist, I can imagine that there is much at risk. As an artist you might be shunned, or even ostracized or boycotted by the art society, curators of a museum, collectors, journalists, or exhibition makers, if "talking to loud". Especially as a white male.


David was once a commercial editor, a training and practice of language skills by nature. It's about finding poignant, provocative, noisy and short punches, all well researched and understood in a larger cultural context. His movie and song lines are phrases that manifested themself into the American language and cultural memorabilia, recognizable in everyday conversation.
And yes, here racism and sexism is deeply anchored, as it is undeniable part of American history. And he plays with this, musing with and reflecting on the countries cultural language of the last century.

Before we judging a piece of art too quickly, let’s approach it first as an experience. What does it do to me, how does it make me feel? Uncomfortable? Why? What thoughts get triggered? Then, let’s learn about its origin of idea, history and context. Let’s re-learn discourse and practice critical thinking and let’s applaud artists who find the guts to point to all atrocities done.

LA artist David Buckingham finds old metal, cuts it into letters and shapes, assembles and welds it into wall sculptures. He searches for the material in vast Southern Californian desserts, buying off old refrigerators, tractors, car parts, from crack-damaged junk dealers. Well, that was 10 years ago, now he has to make deals with the Chinese metal mafia of Los Angeles. As long as the metal is colorful, best scratched or beaten. 

talking about American culture... I want to mention my favorite cookbook EVER: Glorious American Food from Christopher Idone, first published in 1985.

I remember the day when I found it. I had dropped off my daughter to her piano lessons in San Francisco’s sunset district.  It was a rainy day, so I had turned the usually long walk on the beach with my dog Loui into a short one and stop at Border’s book and music. Browsing the 5$ bargain table, the book caught my eye and fascinated me right away.

With more than 70 menus and 275 recipes categorized into the regions of the Untied States, Glorious American Food is fascinating tribute to the nation's diverse cuisine. One immediately gets the idea, of how culinary culture changes and reflecting the changes in life.

The author Christopher Idone was in search of “honest food”, remembering taste and smell and sites of Sunday dinners at his grandmothers. Imagining the vastness of the United States with all its different geological and biological settings, the adaption that European pioneers mastered was immense. They had to learn about new edibles and how to cultivate them and the seeds they brought from the old country. Different dirt, climate and maybe agricultural practices. This sets the stage for this wonderful book.

Is ‘American Food’ fusion food, with no single unique flavor ?

“….I realized too, that if indeed there exists a homogenized “American flavor”, it belongs on only one level: fast food. But, around the corner there is always a reminder: overstuffed sandwiches of pastrami and corned beef, pickled, cured, peppered and smoked on the premises; a toasted roll filled with half a lobster, boiled up on a one-burner stove and moistened with mayonnaise and a hint of celery; a burrito chock with beans and sauce, longingly simmering for hours; a trio of seamed dumplings selected on the street served up from a bamboo steamer. Eclectic, yes; foreign, no –– all these foods have become part of the lexicon of American food, part of our culture, adding pleasure to our lives. “

Christopher Idone

To this day, this book remains one of the few books, which  I pick up, browse and actually cook a whole menu after the recipes. The recipes are for dishes I find deeply inspiring and also romantic. I image good old times, before everything was wrapped in plastic, before prepackaged spice mixes, or the respect of seasons, that something great and fresh in winter, or in summer, with that wonderful anticipation. Waiting for the strawberries to ripen, instead of buying them all year around.

It talks about a hidden food culture, that has existed all along, without the Michelin star restaurants in New York City, Los Angeles, San Francisco, or Chicago. You can imagine how a Grapefruit and Champagne Sherbet tastes when the grapefruits are picked fresh from the tree in the Southwestern Hinterland, or a Posole Stew is served with fresh corn bread and fresh mango with salt and lime.

Of course, lot’s of meat, fish and dairy is used in these recipes.  But it inspires to go out there, wherever you are and explore the hinterlands, the true farm to table culture (as if this is a new thing!), and to cherish your region and season.

Cuore Smeraldino, (Smeraldic Heart) this little painting is called. I purchase it after we exhibited Matteo Bergamasco's paintings in San Francisco in 2007. I immediately loved his work, it’s the fantastical I’m drawn to.

His imagery popped into my mind, when I thought about what would create an interesting correlation to the Alchemist Experience Dinner I created as a graduation project for an Advanced Food + Design course. In the archive, I found this PR text by Bonelli Contemporary in Los Angeles for the exhibition GOLD! in 2008:

“The title of the exhibition Gold followed by an exclamation point (!) refers to the discovery of a treasure, an unexpected find made after an extended exploration. In particular gold is light, perfection, accomplishment and therefore often considered the image of the divine.  Gold is the culminating point of the alchemist process and it expresses the deep implications that this vortex represents.”


That makes sense!

Alchemy, commonly referred to the ancient natural sciences, is also mentioned in all kinds of new age spiritual schools and psychology. C.G. Jung, a Swiss psychiatrist and psychoanalyst, believed in a dual nature of alchemy: chemistry/natural philosophy and mystical components as well. He referred to the stages of the alchemy (making gold, or turning common metals into noble ones) as a guide for individuation, and as a metaphor to the transcendent nature of our psyche.

The painting Cuore Smeraldino is from a series, Bergamasco called an Etherial Portal, in which he aimed to convey the possibility of personal change, allowing new and freed perception to access new reality layers.  Multicolored portals or doors become symbols of a dimensional gateway, a threshold beyond with new spaces and worlds appearing.


Our culture these days promotes a kind of quickly attained individualism. It seems fake and contrived, as if people can shop for outrageous creative ideas. Is our Self more and more formed by aspects on the outside: well designed for social media platforms, with believes and realities, one can orientate themselves after? I find it fascinating watching people so confidently stating all kinds of bs ...

What does that have to do with Matteo's work? Because, art (all forms) is the place where ideas can be turned upside down, taken down the rabbit hole, examined, explored, transformed into mesmerizing visuals and stories, prompt a critical scientific investigation, and point to a collective reality that makes sense.

Artists need to keep the ability to dive deep into inner realms of creativity, thought and imagination, without fearing to appear 'off', 'strange', 'not to be taken seriously'? I believe anybody is an artist, who lives or practices exactly that. Creative and imaginary thinking remains to be a substantial building block to our human psyche, making us true individuals. We live this when being 3, 4, or 5 years old, discovering our world in multiple realities.

Matteo’s work reminds me of intelligent and fantastic science fiction. Hyper spaces, where I look at sound. And my little Smeraldic heart looks like a fantastic depiction of an alchemy process, or a wonderful, naively painted version of what might go on inside the neuron fusion tanks and tubes at Cern.

During the Advanced Food + Design course with Marije Vogelzang, we looked at all kind of aspects of how food can be used as an artistic medium. Because it’s ephemeral, its often bound to an experience one can have, rather the something to view or listen to over a longer period of time.

As my graduation project, I created an experience dinner, called Life Celebration Dinner. It tool some time and thought to come up with this idea. At first, I wanted to figure out how to internalizes a dream by eating it. This still roams my mind and might follow soon. Then I attended a glass molding workshop and created vessels made from vegetables. The sugar turnip turned out looking like a heart. The next thought was, that I let people drink out of it, and that let to the association of an elixir. From there on – a no-brainer– it was alchemy.

Not knowing much about it, I was surprised to learn, that C.G. Jung had used alchemy as a metaphoric tool to illuminate the processes our psyche goes through to becoming an individual. I choose the Jungian approach, as I’m much more interested and knowledgeable in psychology and less in chemistry.

In alchemy, four colors are assigned to the four stages leading to transformation: Black for the first phase Nigredo. White for Albedo. Yellow for Citrinitas. Red for Rubedo. When you have gone through all four phases, you achieved the Opus Magnum, your individuation, you true and authentic self.

Nigredo, the first phase, is the purification phase. It’s about cleaning body and mind of toxins and negativity, preparing to receive the new, positive and life prolonging ele­ments.

Black? That surprised me. I imagine purification with washing, water, no color, clear, flushing etc. But in alchemy it is about absorption. One has to look into darkness to find light. This was an easy bridge to food: activated charcoal, which absorbs and binds toxins in your gut and is a powerful detoxifier. Rice! also an absorbent for bacteria, toxins, etc.

When reading about the second phase, Albedo, terms like Tinctura alba - an elixir of immortality or Leukosis, the whitening, bringing light and clarity, are mentioned.
Further: Ablutio –– the washing away of impurities, follows the purifying step to Nigredo. And Tinctura alba –– creating an elixir of immortality. Leukosis –– the whitening, bringing light and clarity.
A Tinctura Alba, an elixir is mixed by all participants and shared as a life invigoration cocktail.

The third phase, the Citrinitas, was dropped at some point in natural science alchemy, but Jung refers to it as an important phase. After all: it frees the soul from the white state of psychological reflection and insight, and is considered to be the dawning of the “solar light” inherent in one’s being.

I create a Panacea – a dish to cure any disease, with fermented, healthy and fresh foods, packed with vitamins and nutrients. It’s not immediately clear what guests are eating, the food is abstracted. This spikes the taste sense and refines awareness.

The last phase, Rubedo, leads to the Opus Magnum.  In Rubedo one achieves wholeness by attempting a psycho-spiritual element to create a coherent sense of self before one re-enter to the world. The substances redden your tongue and the process rages as a red dragon against yourself. You attain true and spiritual individuation.

Sex and Art and Sex and food, I find both difficult topics to tackle. Our modern brains have been much exposed to imagery that is either very graphic, defined by stereotypical ideas and/or is sexist. (i.e., I still see too many bakery trucks driving around with a half naked woman and full lips biting into a baguette). One can debate about this back and fro, but it's hard to deny, that we are influenced all the time by imagery.

I once started writing on a concept for an exhibition about Sex and Art, but never followed through, realizing that it would require an intensive amount of research, as well as the expertise from a well-educated art historian. Because I  wasn’t going to put on a boob, penis or vulva show. Alas, it’s 10 years later. I’m looking at the drawings of British artist Jo Bondy, which I purchased at Jane England’s gallery in London.

Jo Bondy is known for her assemblage sculptures, sculptural box-works, drawings and ceramics that primarily explored gender, sex and eroticism. I was intrigued by her drawings, not her sculptures. I did find them erotic and surreal.

Teenagers may seem confused on one side of the world, freely and naively playing with ‘choosing a sexual identity’, while on other side of the planet, women still get stoned, raped, beaten, imprisoned for showing an inch more body part than they are allowed to. Women in many parts of the world have sexually freed themselves, claiming confidently ownership to their female body, their sexuality, their desires and boundaries.

Why am I writing this? Because I wonder, if Jo Bondy made these drawings today, would they look differently? Would there be pubic hair visible? Would there be less decorative elements, such as the suggestion of leaves, flowers or hearts? Would there be different symbolism for female sexuality per se, other than apples?

In today's visually overstimulating environment, I find pleasure in abstracted or surreal elements merely suggesting sexuality. Looking at these three drawings by Jo Bondy, I’m allowed to let my mind wonder about the possible meanings, the symbolism, the form of the female genital. Bondy never really exposed the details, but instead created an abstract surrounding, an erotic and surreal scene.

I applaud to Jo Bondy for allowing me this freedom in interpretation. In contrast to today’s bombardment of media imagery in the area of female sexuality, viewing these delicate drawings connect me with personal and intimate experiences.

Bondy might be considered as one of the very few British women Pop artists, but she was never mentioned in art historical narratives during the movement. Her work investigated women's sexuality and roles in society. Read more on Jane England's website...

It was actually this project by dutch artist Marthe van de Grift, that led me to review Bondy's drawings. Next to the delicate works on paper, this is much more radical and allows for a wide range of personal interpretation.

I got to know Marthe during the advanced food and design course. Marthe is pregnant and fascinated witnessing how the female body, mind and soul changes during pregnancy. She created an experience, imagining an infant's perspective when breastfeeding. A chocolate breast filled with pudding to drink and eat from, hung on the wall, for somebody to indulge in. The breast is to be sucked on and eaten without the use of hands, to amplify a more dependent state.

Our group watched this video, and emotional reactions exploded amongst all of us. We see a guy licking a female breast. His tongue is carefully caressing the nipple. Within seconds we see the taste buds being activated as the sweetness of the chocolate gets noticed. Now the mouth opens to a sucking motion. But in between the tongue keeps licking the nipple. As a mother who breastfed, this was the confusing part. A baby may use the tongue searching for the nipple and then latches on and stays on the breast. Besides seeing an adult licking the chocolate boob, the use of the tongue makes it sexual too.

We knew that Marthe is pregnant and that this was her topic. Still, on and off, while watching, I thought this is like porn. At the same time I found it very erotic. And it made me feel like a voyeur witnessing something very private. All changed once the first drop of milk poured out of the breast. I started feeling uncomfortable, and suddenly the sexual notion of it all transformed into something very biological. When the breast fell apart and all the pudding plopped out, it was a brutal, almost as if I got punished for watching this very private scene. 

In our group, we all had similar reactions and were fascinated, how a single object, the chocolate boob, connected to the single activity of sucking on it, can stir up such a multitude of emotion in us viewers. It depicts a profound human experience, whether we were breastfed or not.

'Breastfeeding' by Marthe van de Grift shows the narrow path our minds can walk on. We tend to switch between the gentle, soft, and natural versus the sexual, pornographic and brutal ways we view female sexuality. Like Bondy, it leaves room for own interpretations and emotional reactions. I find enormous freedom in that.
I thank Marthe that I can share her work in this newsletter.

marthevandegrift.com

You can watch the full video here.

I learned about Müller’s art during an art consulting gig in Frankfurt in 2019. I was fascinated by the power of his works, how vibrating and mesmerizing.  This particular drawing triggered imaginary expansion of a perceived movement.

When you glance at the lively assembly of ink blue lines, do you also see forming rivers, rays or air streams, and feel your imagination sparked?
Where does it begin?
Where does it end?
Does it get wider, narrower, or does it fade out into a void of white, or a void of dark ink blue?

The lines are suggesting a change in direction, lending the drawing objectivity, plasticity and maybe something figurative.

Looking at this visual of a moment in time, it creates an impulse to follow a train of thought completely free, not bound to any preconceptions, except the very own. In this act of viewing, we may feel invited to explore, discover and acknowledge the creative mind, which exists in each and every one of us. Like an underground river, that is constantly flowing, but barely heard and not seen, we just forget it’s there.

German artist Thomas Müller creates stunning work with pencil ink, ballpoint pen, crayon and paint on paper, sometimes a shard of glass that serves as a ruler. He has widely exhibited and is represented by galleries Florian Sundheimer in Munich, WErner klein in Cologne, Michael Sturm in Stuttgart, Patrick Heide Contemporary Art in London, Bernard Vidal - Nathalie Bertoux art contemporain in Paris, Kristof de Clercq in Gent, and Galleria Torbandena in Trieste. His work in included in numerous institutional collections, including Centre Pompidou, Hamburger Kunsthalle; Staatliche Museen zu Berlin; Kunstmuseum Bonn; Staatsgalerie Stuttgart; and Museum of Fine Arts, Budapest.

Müller’s piece is a true inspiration to be reminded, that creativity and flow are inseparable.

When I tell people, that I study food design, they often automatically assume, that I learn how to do food plating, meaning making things pretty looking on the plate. And then I get excited and explain, “no, no, no, it’s about using food as an artistic medium to convey one’s creative ideas... food connects people with people, connects us humans with our very existence, as we all need to eat, and therefore all need to grow or hunt or harvest or shop, or steal or beg for food. We have a body full of most intelligent senses, and I want to start creating experiences for all of them.

It started with Inés Lauber at Satellite Berlin. We had developed the module VITAL FORCES, a think tank exploring food culture of the past, present and future in connection to the arts and sciences. The topic took a hold of me and urged me to want to learn more. So here I am, calling myself a culinary explorer and investigator, and re-discovering my own creativity.

I hope this enlightened you a bit?
Here some images of recent projects...

Work in progress: Proteins, a visual exploration of structures and colors of proteins we eat (above), and protein strands as seen under a microscope (below)

Meeting and spending time with John Giorno was one of the highlights during my time as a gallerist, and remains a gift I deeply cherish.  Besides John being a great artist and beat poet, he was a man full of stories directly connected to the many things I heard and read about when I was a teenager and young adult.  As a teen I was an 80s hippie. As I aspired to become an artist, my cultural interests were rooted in ideas of the 60s, 70s and 80s.

In 2012, my friend and cultural journalist Gaby Hartel connected me with John and proposed that I host a performance and exhibition in my gallery in Berlin. I met John in his loft in NYC. He welcomed me with his grand smile and sparkling eyes in his apartment, showed me his studio and also the basement, William Burrough’s bunker. We liked each other and agreed to a performance and an exhibition.

In Berlin, I was living with my daughter and our dog Loui adjacent to the gallery, a 180 square meter large old Berlin apartment with 4,50-meter-high ceiling, directly in the heart of Berlin-Schöneberg.  When John came, he stayed in the guestroom for several days. John was an avid Buddhist and meditated in between working on the drawings for the exhibition, having some coffee or tea with us in the morning and visiting friends.  The exhibition was entitled YOU HAVE GOT TO BURN TO SHINE and consisted of 33 water color works on paper, all square and framed in a white, simple frame. That’s what he wanted and it was beautiful.

The performance was a special gift, the exhibition a success. It was only natural to me, that after meeting John, I wanted to keep an artwork as a memory to this wonderful man and the time shared. As I often did, I gave my clients the right away, but kept an eye on I RESIGN MYSELF TO BEING HERE and decided to purchase it.

I had moved back and forth, between San Francisco and Berlin, twice in my life. The cities are very different from each other, in vibes, in architecture, in culture, in nature, in life style. These differences are part of a variety in lifestyle and surroundings I seek, but it’s only now, that I understand this being a part of me. I used to compare, make one worse than the other, probably to not miss it too much. I switched them around, hunting after the place where the grass is always greener. What I had imagined San Francisco to be, turned into something else over the years, making me feel uprooted and like a constant visitor. I wanted to be back in Berlin, left and visited San Francisco and New York regularly. The social and cultural attachments in all places were significant, and for a time, I got to a point of feeling fragmented. I had to learn to train my thoughts, changing the constant comparisons of what’s missing, into appreciating both worlds and the abundance this lifestyle entails.

Once you learn to listen to your thoughts, you also notice the self-degrading chatter.

Meeting John had sparked the impulse to really go into depths of practicing things like ‘accepting the moment’, ‘being in the moment’, ‘accepting what is’…We so easily say it, but it’s difficult to be it. John emanated such a calm and loving presence, sincerely listening and paying attention to anybody, no matter who.

I RESIGN MYSELF TO BEING HERE became an assisting tool to change my habitual thinking. The artwork is my visual mantra. I look at it consciously, when I feel I want to chase the greener grass, ignoring the one I’m standing on. It’s a reminder to count my blessings, to prioritize the important things in life, like love, respect for oneself and others, to appreciate. It's a reminder to be OK with confronting a challenge, a difficult time, because we know, all moments pass and new ones will come. 

John Giorno was one of the most loving, kind-hearted and accepting person I have met in my life.

Somebody once told me “Food and grief are closely intertwined in many cultures.” Really? Hmm … I remember when struck with heavy grief, food was the last thing I thought about. Even when my siblings and I had to think about the funeral food for our parents, it was more about the space, where best to hold the funeral dinner. I also remember the sense of appetite being distorted. I didn’t think about it, neither did I feel hunger. Only as I sat down and ate something, I noticed that I was hungry. However, the need to cook for people who grief seems to be pervasive, as a helpful thing to do.

Either way, it’s the time of the year to celebrate the dead and ancestry. Celebrations of remembrance and honoring seem to differ throughout the world: from gloomy walks to the cemetery and painful moments kneeing on hard benches in cold catholic churches in small towns in Germany, to the bright and colorful festivities of Mexico’s Dia de los Muertos.

I wonder about the various food made served during rituals. Often, it is special food prepared for the occasion, served in dedicated vessels or leaves from a plant, or food used to represent something else.

The Japanese Obon festival is directly related to the Chinese Ghost festival, a tradition Taoists and Buddhists celebrate in numerous East Asian countries. Ghosts and spirits, including those of deceased ancestors come out from other realms to visit and sometimes need guidance to not get lost, when traveling between the worlds.

For example, during Obon, cucumbers and eggplants are transformed into vehicles for the ancestors to travel or ride back ride and forth. Simply by sticking wooden chopsticks in as legs, the cucumber becomes a spirit horse Shōryō-uma and the eggplant Shōryō-ushi a spirit cow.

As a big Hayao Miyazaki fan, I’m reminded of the film Spirited Away, with the many always eating, never restless and unsatisfied ghosts, tormented by an insatiable hunger, constantly needed to be fed with tons and tons of foods.

Pitru Paksha, a Hindu version, honors their ancestors through special food offerings, which must include dishes of sweet rice with milk,  sweet porridge, rice, dal, spring bean and pumpkin, all served in silver or copper vessels and placed on banana leaves.

When creating something dedicated to the memory of a person, someone you love and miss, it makes sense to choose sugar as an overall choice for taste. In Sardina, Su Mortu Mortu, is the celebration of the dead commenced on October 31st, our Halloween. Sweet baked goods are made and when setting the table, an extra table set is placed for the deceased, with the exception of forks and knives. I guess here is some suspicion left.

My mother liked this canned meet stew called Ragout fin (French ragoût fin, "fine ragout"). It's a ragout served as an appetizer of classic German, especially Berlin cuisine, made of white meat and offal in a white sauce. Prepared from veal, sweetbreads, calf's brain, tongue, back marrow and chicken breast, depending on recipe sometimes fish, it is all cooked in light vinegar water or steamed in butter and cut into small cubes.Second ingredient is a white sauce made of light roux, broth, white wine, anchovies, lemon juice, cream and steamed mushrooms, alloyed with egg yolk. Cubes and sauce are mixed, heated in a bain-marie and then baked in cups, scallop shells or vol-au-vents (puff pastry molds) with breadcrumbs, cheese and butter. Ragout fin is subsequently seasoned to taste with worcestershire sauce and lemon juice.

I mean, check out all the animal products in one single dish. (it reminds me again of Koanashi) ...no wonder, Berlin is the vegan capital of the world!!!

When my father was younger, he loved pea and lentil soups, kale with potatoes and sausages, and his self-raised smoked trout. When aged, he loved potato latkes with a sweet turnip molasses (Rübenkraut) and Viennese Sacher Torte.
I don’t remember my grandparent’s favorite food. But I do remember what my grandmother like to make (Quark cheese cake with sweet  mandarines from a can), I think my grandpa loved to eat sausages with mustard.
Food trends change, a bit like fashion. The dishes I remember from childhood seem to me a kind of “forgotten food”. But without cooking and eating dishes like Ragout fin, I guess I still honor my mother by remembering this. After all, times and circumstances our ancestors lived in, are also reflected in the food they ate and prepared.

I share a recipe from my cookbook modern german food from a berlin kitchen, available as an Ebook here, remembering that this salad was served in lots of restaurants when I was a child.

Typically served in traditional German restaurants, this salad can consist of a variety of grated raw root vegetables, like beets, carrots or celery root, served with sauerkraut or grated cabbage, canned corn, small pickled cucumbers or pearl onions, green butter lettuce in spring, summer and fall or potato salad in winter. You can add grated apple for sweetness and nuts for protein in any combination you like. Typically these salads are served along meat dishes, like steak or schnitzel.

You can be very creative here, allowing whatever the seasons have to offer guide you or whatever the weather calls for. As I rarely use canned vegetables, this recipe is made with fresh, raw vegetables with nuts and pickled pearl onions. Feel free to create your own recipe.

INGREDIENTS
serves 4

• 1 to 2 medium red beet
• ½ large, or 1 medium size celery root
• 3 to 4 carrots
• 200 g red or green cabbage
• 50 g pickled pearl onions or
• cornichons
• 40 g walnuts or sunflower seeds
• a few sprigs of chives

dressing

• 5 tbsp oil
• 2 tbsp white wine vinegar
• ½ t sugar
• salt and pepper

°°°°°°°°
INSTRUCTIONS

1. wash and peel all root vegetables
2. grate root vegetables and set each aside in separate bowls, so you will have 3 different salads, plus the cabbage slaw
3. grate or finely slice cabbage
4. add ½ tbsp salt to cabbage and knead it for least 5 minutes until it produces a milky liquid, also set aside
5. mince chives
6. prepare dressing in jar, mix well
7. pour a bit of dressing over each of the grated root vegetables in their individual bowls and mix
8. chop walnuts roughly and roast quickly them or sunflower seeds in a frying pan

arrange on platters anyway you like and serve with a few pearl onions, or cornichons and scatter the chopped walnuts or sunflower seeds on top.

To go on a two or three mast sail boat onto the ocean, is a dream I carry within me since a child, from when I played pirate, building imaginary ships in the woods. I carried it into young adulthood and now it feels like a natural part of me. I have not gone yet. I had signed up for a turn to the Caribbean in 2020, but the pandemic interfered.

Recently when meeting a friend at a bar in Berlin, I had a glass of  special red wine from the Languedoc region in France, brought by the Tres Hombres brigantine via Denmark to the Netherlands, then by post to Berlin. It was the third time, that I heard about this sailing ship Tres Hombres, named after three friends who started a clean shipping movement in 2007. This engine-less brigantine transports organic cargo, like rum, cocoa, coffee, honey & canned fish, between South, Central and North America and Europe, promoting alternative sail-powered cargo shipping worldwide.

Again, a reminder that this archetypal dream is still within me, but that it is also inspired by Justin Quinn’s drawing of Melville’s Moby Dick, Chapter 86. It hangs in my bedroom. It is the first piece of art I see in the morning when I get up, and the last drawing I glance at in the evening, before closing my eyes.

In Chapter 86, Ishmael tries to describe the tail of the sperm whale, but finds that his words are deficient. The descriptions of the anatomical specifications and shape end up in metaphorical comparisons in art and literature. But he does get specific, defining five great motions of the tail:

1. used as a fin for movement
2. used in battle
3. in sweeping
4. lobtailing
5. in peaking flukes

Justin Quinn was one of the artists we kept in our artist roster, when taking over Michael Martin’s Gallery in San Francisco, together with Marina Cain. Intrigued by these most delicate drawings, in which the letter E is used an artistic element, a primary starting point, we quickly learned about Justin’s deeper quest pursuing the transcription of Melville’s epic Moby Dick. He uses the letter E as a surrogate for all letters in the alphabet, presenting a universal, yet unreadable language, and by this exploring the distance between reading and seeing.Here we find a transformation of a classic text into strings of letterforms, differentiated by specific chapters. In the drawing Chapter 86- or 12,713-times E the labyrinthine and spiraling compositions easily remind of the movement of water, getting swirled, spiraled and pushed by the enormous strength of the whale’s tails.

from Chapter 86, Herman Melville, Moby Dick.

Besides seeing the moving water though,  I find the fainter strings of letters so beautiful. To me they suggest the fleeting moment, that time is in constant flux, and that all things, at some point, disappear to make space for the new. If I imagine a timely sequence to the pronounced and fainting forms of Es in the drawing, is it 30 seconds? a minute? two or three?

I went whale watching several times. Of course, it’s a whole different perspective from what Ishmael observed up from the mast. And then there is today's sonic landscape, certainly so different from the time Melville wrote Moby Dick (1851). Back then, I imagine the sounds of  sails fluttering in the wind, of waves hitting the wooden sides and bow of the ship, maybe some talking, mumbling, yelling or singing by sailors, maybe them scrubbing the boat… but certainly no loud engines of several whale watching boats meeting at the hotspots with screaming tourists going ‘Ah’ and 'Oh’ and a biologist, whose voice reverberates over the water, explaining what a whale might be doing and why.

The older sonic landscape seems inherent in Justin’s drawing. It calms me. Maybe that’s why I intuitively hung it in my bedroom.

1991.  My girlfriend Anja and I decided that we want to see Venice. We booked an overnight train and a hotel, all without internet. Back then, one had travel guides in form of a book. With such, I prepared myself to discover various aspects of Venetian culture and history. Yes, food was already a sincere interest of mine, and in this travel guide, I read with excitement about the history of a Venetian dish called sarde in saor, along with a recipe.
Sarde in saor was a method of preserving sardines in order to keep food on board lasting as long as possible. Sardines, fried in oil and deglazed with vinegar, together with onions prepared the same way, were layered in terracotta containers. It is said, that as time passed, the recipe was refined and raisins were added to help with digestion and to sweeten mouth and breath of its eaters. Modern recipes call for pine nuts, which I think turn this sailor food into very elegantly tasting dish.

Because sarde in saor was eaten often long time after the moment it was prepared, the savored taste and aroma is of a preserved product. Today, when preparing sardines in saor, one supposed to let the dish settle for at least one day.  

After the trip in Venice, I made this dish during hot Berlin summers. I got the sardines at the Turkish market in Kreuzberg. We would get a bottle of nice Chardonnay, a fresh baguette and head out for a picnic at the lake.
What a precious culinary memory! If you are somewhere in the world, where warm weather kisses a gorgeous waterfront, be it lake, beach, or marina, there is nothing nicer and tastier then savoring sarde in saor with some friends.  

INGREDIENTS

• 750 g white onions
• 200 ml white wine vinegar
• 2 bay leaves
• 1 tbsp sugar
• 50 g pine nuts
• 50 g raisins
• 3 to 4 tbsp olive oil
• pepper + salt
• sunflower oil
• 2 tbsp flour

°°°°°°°°
INSTRUCTIONS

1. finely cut the onions into rings, salt them and gently fry them for about 30 mins in olive oil until golden
   
2. soak the raisins in warm water for 10 mins, then squeeze them to remove water.
   
3. quickly roast pine nuts. Set aside.
   
4. add a spoonful of sugar and drizzle with half a glass of white wine vinegar. Set aside.
   
5. wash, dray and flour sardines and fry them in a frying pan in oil, deglaze with vinegar.
   
6. use a deep rectangular glass or terracotta dish and layer some of the sardines, onions, pine nuts, raisins. Add a bit of salt to each layer of sardines and onions. Finish the top layer with onions.
   
7. let settle for at least 24 hours in a cool, dry place. Enjoy with some Chardonnay or your favorite white wine.
   
   

October 2014. I was in London for a studio visit with the wonderful artist Lilian Lijn. We went together to the opening of “JOHN DUNBAR: Remember When Today Was Tomorrow” at Jane England’s Gallery. I didn’t know much about John Dunbar, but was immediately intrigued by his free-flowing creativity manifested in multiple artistic disciplines and that he acted in various professions, as an artist, a film maker and a galerist.

He is best known as co-founder of Indica, the avant-garde London gallery in the 1960s, defining the art and music counter-culture, togehter with Paul McCartney, John Lennon and Yoko Ono, Mark Boyle, Liliane Lijn, Takis and others.

The exhibition featured Dunbar’s legendary notebooks, displayed for the first time, accompanied by other works and films he created during the last 50 years.
There was the match. It now hangs on the wall behind my desk and provides me with a daily simple message to “strike an idea”.  I don’t think a light bulb, carrying a similar meaning, would have had the same effect on me. I find ‘striking a match’ much more active. There is the sound that goes along with it. An almost archaic swissshhh and sizzle, deeply connected to fire. The speed by which the flame is ignited, reminds me of the speedy moment in which a thought is produced.

To strike a match is most likely a conscious and careful act to create a controlled fire, like a fire in a furnace, in the wild, in the fire place, or to lighten a gas stove, a candle, a cigarette, or a firework. We all know that a fire, without supervision, can be very destructive. Connecting this to the association of producing a thought, let’s me think about a 'controlled' idea. Thoughts seem pervasive and from all the millions of thoughts we have, probably most are uncontrolled. A single idea however, that’s first ignited, thought through, defined, and carefully executed, can bring upon a similar satisfaction to our creative self, as a warming fire can do to the body.
I love that Dunbar scored the paper to depict the flame. It makes it interesting to look at and creates a surreal element. Any drawn, painted, sculpted or photographed single object easily calls for a search of symbolism. What does it mean? In our contemporary visual world however, overloaded with of millions of visuals of single objects used as symbols for marketing products, events, services, religious or cultural meanings, the very private meaning easily gets lost, overlooked, or may seem frivolous, or tacky, not worth thinking about.
It’s the delicacy with which Dunbar drew the match. It sits upright, perfectly placed on the lower 3/4 page, with the just right amount of scorched paper for the flame in a gentle amber color. But wait, maybe the scorching is not the flame, but the smoke that appears when you blow out the match?
'Another small fire' provides me with a gratitude for our creative thinking. And the title reassures me, that not all ideas have to be big and grand and successful. Some remain private and can carry on forward, igniting an ongoing process of forming an idea.

I love (wild) herbs. I grow them on the balcony and forage them in wild gardens, parks and fields. Through a re-discovery of their usage in German cuisine, I have discovered many stories, some true, some false, some fiction or saga. Among them is the story, that Johann Wolfgang von Goethe was fond of the Frankfurt Green Sauce, a pesto like sauce that is made from spring until fall with at least seven herbs in the state of Hesse (and beyond). The story goes that his mother, nicknamed Aja, was the inventor of this delicacy and a master at preparing the recipe, and that Goethe repeatedly asked her to cook it for him and then even had it brought to Weimar by stagecoach. However, according to scholars, Goethe never mentioned any of this in his writings or correspondences. It is assumed, that the sauce came to the area from France through the Huguenots, who settled in the region at the end of the 17th century.
So here we are 400 years later with Google spitting out more than 1.460.000 results for the search of 'Frankfurt Green Sauce'. Fascinating to me is, how eating culture and history is often told through good stories. These of course are tied to the availability of resources, which have come to us by agricultural or technological advancement, or disappeared through natural or man-made, ecological catastrophes. The longer and the more colorful the stories are told – adorned with an array of repackaged products to be sold to locals, newcomers or tourists – the more it is believed that this story must be true.

In  my research I discovered that there is a Frankfurt Green Sauce monument! The artist Olga Schulz, commissioned by Regionalpark RheinMain SouthWest, built seven small buildings on concrete foundations, modeled after greenhouses and placed in a row. Each of these greenhouses have transparent polycarbonate surfaces in different shades of green, representing the seven different herbs: borage, chervil, cress, parsley, burnet, sorrel and chives.

So last, but not least I share with you my recipe. I learned that I'm not allowed to call it 'Frankfurt Green Sauce', which is a certified and geographical bound protected name... another humorous prove, of how culinary obsessions can manifest itself.

Note:
! it is important to achieve a balance of herbs; use even amounts, but use tarragon sparingly as it is very strong and can overwhelm the other flavors.
! do not use a food processor to blend the sauce: it will break the fibers and the sauce will separate into water and fiber


makes about 300 g

• about 300 g of at least seven or more of the following herbs, minced: borage, burnet saxifrage, chervil, chives, dill, parsley, sorrel, tarragon and watercress.
• juice of ½  to 1 lemon
• 1 tsp mustard
• 3 to 4 tbsp yogurt, quark or sour cream*
• salt and pepper
• vegan version
• use 4 to 5 tbsp of olive oil or a plant based alternative

1. wash and clean all herbs thoroughly and remove thick stems
   
2. strain and dry well
3. mince all herbs very fine with a large knife or mezzaluna chopper on wooden board
4. add to bowl
5. mix in sour cream, yogurt or quark, mustard, lemon, pepper and salt
6. taste and correct seasoning with salt, pepper, lemon and mustard until it’s well balanced, (mustard and lemon should be nuanced and not overpowering)
7. refrigerate for at least 1 hour before serving

Recently I had 3 students, all men from New York. All of them love food and I could tell right away that they like meat. After giving a brief sum-up of my culinary biography and a short perspective on what makes modern German food German and modern, we decided to cook a seasonal summer stew with meat balls. Vegetables being the most important ingredients in my teaching and cooking, we browsed the Winterfeldtmarket for what’s in season, picking the most fresh and regional produce possible.

June/July is a time of abundance.  Whereas in April and May vendors sell mostly fresh produce from Italy, France, Spain and Turkey, we now have all the local produce too: green string beans, yellow wax string beans, salad cucumbers and frying cucumber (yes, did you know? we fry big fat cucumbers and they are delicious!), tomatoes from Brandenburg, fava beans, peas, and devour the last white asparagus, and of course the carrots, beets, fennel, celeriac, potatoes, scallions, onions...

“I suggest boar or deer meat for our meat balls”, I said.
“Oh no, no deer, please”, was the quick reply by one student.
“Is it because of Bambi?” I asked.
“Yeah, I have to confess and no can’t do it.”

I have come across people with "the Bambi effect*" several times, leaving me amazed how Hollywood managed to brainwash our culinary preferences. A good friend of mine couldn’t eat duck for years because he carried Donald Duck in his heart. In the beginning I laughed, but realized quickly how serious this was. Once our brain carves such a strong neurological pathway, especially when connected to one of our senses, any chef can try all kind of miracles, but will remain unsuccessful breaking the pattern, unless we are tricked.
 
(*The Bambi effect is a term used primarily by hunters, mocking people with irrational emotional objections to the killing of "adorable, cute" animals, regardless of whether they eat animal meat otherwise or in consideration of environmental and economic realities. "Bambi" is an animated film by Walt Disney's from 1942, in which hunters kill the mother of the deer Bambi. The actual act of killing is off-screen, but the scene brutally and realistically portrays our bloody relationship with nature's animals.)

So, boar we agreed on. But what’s my point?

So many of us, it seems, have conflicts about eating meat. I hear people (me included) say: 'Yes, I eat meat, but very seldom, and only if its sustainably raised, organic meat from local farms or hunters.'  I go through paranoid periods of ecoside, and I think I have to stop eating animal products entirely. As an omnivore loving food in general, these doubts remain. And how often have you thought, ‘oh no, not again, I can’t have this discussion again.’?  (I have to confess, that I did call some hard-core preaching vegans fundamentalists before, and that's really not cool...sorry!)

Here is my point. Don't you think, staying engaged in the discussion is our responsibility? Realizing that there is no easy answer, shouldn't we keep on thinking, talking and learning about what’s on our plate and where it comes from, even if it’s wearisome?

Louise O. Fresco writes in Hamburgers in Paradise, a book I highly recommend:
In a stubborn form of cognitive dissonance, many people are concerned and express their outrage at the production methods of meat and dairy products, but at the same time they close their minds to the causes and take advantage of the low prices that result from those production methods. The willed blindness of consumers in rich countries makes it possible for the majority of the population to profit from the abundance of cheap animal products while not knowing the unpleasant details. We end up with a difficult balancing act, cherishing the romantic image the small farmer looking after farm animals as if they were beloved pets, as opposed to the horrors of the battery cages ad abattoirs used by the very same farmer. Both images are a distortion. (...)*

Bambi, after 80 years, is not forgotten and now a symbol of distortion, of how complicated food consumption in our modern world can be.
Let's stay engaged.

* HAMBURGERS IN PARADISE, Louise O. Fresco, Princeton University Press, 2021

INGREDIENTS
filet of cod
bunch of beets with leaves
salt and pepper
olive oil
2-3 cloves of garlic
 
carrot green pesto
makes about 200 g
1 bunch organic carrot greens (usually the greens from 6 to 8 carrots)
150 g sunflower or pumpkin seeds
230 ml sunflower or olive oil
juice of1 lemon
salt and pepper
1 ice cube


INSTRUCTIONS
 
carrot green pesto
Are you among those still tossing out their carrot greens or feeding them to pets, not knowing how yummy and nutritious they are? A pesto made of carrot greens has a tart, fresh flavor and can be eaten just like any other pesto. Carrot greens contain many nutrients like vitamins A and C, calcium and iron. This pesto is especially delicious with pumpkin or sunflower seeds. Use organic greens only.
 
1. remove greens from carrots, and leaves from stems
2. thoroughly wash greens, remove any brown leaves and cut leaves with scissors
into smaller bits, so they don’t wind themselves around the blade of the food processor
3. add all ingredients including the ice cube (which will keep the color bright green)
and blend until smooth
4. transfer to jar or bowl, add a dash of olive oil on top, preventing the surface from
turning brown
5. keep cool until serving
 
Baked beet leaves
 
Beet leaves are delicious and can be eaten as well as the stem. Of course, as with the carrot greens, you only want organic or pesticide free leaves.
 

1. cut of the leaves and stems from beets
2. wash thoroughly and cut of stem and keep.
3. on a baking tray spread out the leaves, add salt and pepper and olive oil, and massage the leaves
4. bake at 120°C with the fan on, until crisp
   

 
Carrot-beet vegetable medley
 

1. peel or wash carrots
2. peel beets
3. cut onions into thin rings or small cubes
4. cut beet stalks/stems in any way you like
5. sauté onions in olive or quality vegetable oil, season with salt
6. add all vegetables and season with pepper and salt
7. sauté until tender and keep covered aside

 
Fried Cod

1. wash fish and dry with paper towel
2. peel and cut 2-3 cloves of garlic
3. heat oil or butter in saucepan
4. brown fish on each side, add pepper, salt and garlic

 
Assemble all on plate.
Bon appetite.

A few days after the lecture at the German-American Heritage Museum, I created an served an experience dinner at the residency of the German Ambassador, Dr. Emily Haber. Was very honored!  A 8 course menu as a journey through modern culinary Germany, with an explorative course in spices and herbs in the past, present and future. I was not sure how this will be perceived, but everybody loved it and all food was eaten and enjoyed.

My passion about using food and art as cultural connectors for conversation and bringing together people from various sectors of our society remains and actually is in its necessity confirmed.

I was invited by the Consulate General of Germany in DC to hold a lecture about Modern German Food, based on the cookbook. It was held at the German-American Heritage Museum. Again, I was impressed of how many people are interested in the topic of food culture. I do see myself as a cultural explorer, rather than a chef. We made some yummy tastings, even though here they look a bit weird, as the juice ran all over the  napkins.

Ingredients for 12 4 oz jars

- 1 kg fruit
- 1 sweet potato
- 3-4 cloves garlic
- 1 chili pepper *
- 1 large onion (red or white)
- 1 tsp cinnamon
- 1 tsp turmeric
- 1 tsp coriander seeds
- 4-5 juniper berries
- 1 tsp pepper
- 1/2 tsp ground cloves
- 1/2 tsp anise seeds
- 1 tbsp ground ginger (or minced fresh)
- 1 star anise
- 1 tsp salt
- 1 tbsp vinegar
- some vegetable oil
- 4 tbsp of sugar

* you determine the spiciness by removing/leaving the seeds.

In my experimental garden, I do have to make some room once in a while. I remove some weeds in between the plants.  But other than that, we just watch what happens.  While weeding, I accidentally pulled some mini carrots, green and red orache, some borage and was able to harvest cauliflower and kohlrabi.  I picked some currants too.

Sautéed the veggies, including the kohlrabi leaves and topped them on a salad of orache leaves. Amazing lunch.

It was cucumber day! We made a cold cucumber herbal soup, because it was so hot in Berlin. A delicious red beet leave salad, with the leaves we got for free from Lazlo at the Winterfeldtmakret. (People never want the greens, but if they are organic and in good shape and fresh, they are most delicious!)

Yes, sautéed zucchini flowers!
Yes, Frankfurt green sauce!
Yes, carrot green pesto!

A great restart of the experience market tour + cooking class + lunch!