My landlord, Roman, loves the good life. Since he takes charge of the bottle recycling at our place, he can't help notice that we do, too.
That led us to chat, in English, about beer. Nowadays, I told him, I could scarcely manage three Weißbier at a time. That amounts to about 1500 ml, which isn't even two of those giant Krug you see at Oktoberfest. A mere sip for a true Bavarian.
"That's because Weißbier isn't covered by the Reinheitsgebot," he began. The Bavarian beer purity law—the 1516 Reinheitsgebot, or Cleanliness Order—forbade local beer to contain anything more than water, malt, barley and hops. Weißbier, made with unmalted wheat, doesn't actually qualify as beer. Brewers can put a modest number of chemicals inside. "It has many conservatives," Romulus continued, "Like with California wine, the next day the conservatives make my head explode."
Scholars call this linguistic interference. In German, a preservative is Konservierungsstoff—literally, "conserving stuff". No biggie.
"Yes, last week we went out to dinner, and the wine was full of preservatives," I replied. "We felt very sore the next day."
Perhaps I should have considered this sentence more closely. In German, most people use the borrowed word Kondom, for a condom. But that's slang. The ever-wise Papa Scott tells us that his teenage son learned the high-falutin' term Präservativ in his sixth-grade sex-education class.
(One wonders what they teach in a German ninth-grade sex-education class. Cunnilingus technique?)
Roman looked at me quizzically. Then he smiled. "You gay guys and your parties!" he said. He thought for a moment, and added "That's a very good idea, you know." We bid each other a schönen Tag.
Picture: Wikimedia Commons. Links to source