Let them eat cake

No class on Tuesdays. I slept very late, did a little work and then set out in pouring rain to meet a couple of exchange-student friends in town for afternoon tea. Being my kind of girls, they were also happy to have an excuse to eat sweet. We went to a confectionery shop promising "Freiburger Spezialitäten".

Inside it was warm and cramped. There were lace curtains at the windows, wood on the floor, and two stories of small tables well full of (mostly middle-aged and older) patrons. At the counter were shelves and shelves of elegant, and hugely varied, and very complicated, cakes and chocolates. Altogether it felt rather fussy. It was as if everyone involved were trying to rationalise their bestial lust for gluctose, by colluding to make the enjoyment of chocolate a very complex business. Maybe if you construct an elaborate ritual around the eating of sugar you strengthen the psychological barrier against overindulging.

Anyway, we picked out our eats, and found a table upstairs, and passed a happy half-hour or so. Fulfilling a months-old promise to myself, I had a slice of Black Forest cake: layered cream and chocolate, rather fluffier in texture than I expected, and yummy and rich. Mmmmm. It was with difficulty that I brought myself to go back out into the rain.

My dinner later consisted almost entirely of vegetables.

I was mildly disconcerted to hear the pair of elderly women next to us in the café addressing each other as "du". I've gotten used to using the informal German second-person with people my own age, but the formal -- at uni and in offices and shops -- whenever I speak to adults. I suppose it's surprising to remember that grown-ups can have friends, too.