The Art of Getting Wet

If one day I have to write my autobiography, the title “The Art of Getting Wet” would be quite appropriate. I might be crap at many things, but when it comes to getting soaked when normal people would have stayed dry, I am unbeatable. I started the day by going cycling, having trusted the weather forecast predicting “light rains.” The rain might have indeed been light at the moment I departed, but already half an hour later it turned into what one call a “rain” without qualifiers. My assumingly waterproof outfit held out for a while, but then gave up totally at one point. When, after two and a half hours of cycling and desperate attempts of finding an open Heuriger, I ended up in a small restaurant in Ehrenhausen, I embarrassingly felt as if my pants were filled with water, which I suppose was not very far from the truth. And then my jacket, which I hung on my chair during the lunch, has almost caused a flooding, forcing the visibly annoyed waitress to use a mop.

Back at the hotel, I hung all my wet stuff on a dryer, and after a shower and a short nap, changed into dry clothes, took an umbrella and went out for a hike. As you can imagine, the umbrella did not help much, and by the time I entered the Buschenschank Schulter, the membranes on my hiking shoes were again producing bubbles with each step, and the jeans were of a darker color and much heavier than they were supposed to be.

I wish I had paid my visit to Schulter at a different time. Its location on the hill should provide really nice views, and the garden looked really sweet, but this being Sunday evening, only locals could be expected to come, and most of them must have been scared off by the rain anyway. As a result, I was almost alone in the room, which did not feel very comfortable (before the first Viertel was over anyway).

Schulter has a well-presented and, considering the low price, impressive Brettljause. The Geselchtes and the fatless ham were really good, as were the Schmalz and the Liptauer spreads. The Schweinsbraten put me off a bit by the amount of fat and the presence of the lumps of cartilage, and the liver spread was too “pure,” so I would not have been able to manage it even in the normal circumstances.

The circumstances were not normal, however, all because of the three Schnitzel slices the Ehrenhausen’s restaurant served me earlier. Unfortunately I realized how un-hungry I was too late, and my dealing with the Schulter’s Brettljause was more of a struggle than a pleasant dinner. That is by no means the Buschenschank’s fault, and if you stay in Leibnitz, pay it a visit: it is one of the closest to the town anyway.

By the way, when I paid for the food, even the banknotes were wet.