Lasagna

Can't help but offer this quick little story amidst the many on my Germanic adventure:

We exited the half-carnival, half-Christmaskindlmart during our first night in Berlin. We're crossing the street. A woman in front of us is escorting her two daughters across, holding their hands. One of the girls looks rejectedly at the cone in her hand. It wasn't for ice cream though, as we soon figured out.

The woman turns to us and spits out a sentence or two quickly in her native tongue. I look dumbfounded, I'm sure. "English?" She pauses a moment.

"Would you like these? My daughter says they are no good."

Not exactly the best selling pitch, but I'm usually game for anything. The woman hands over the small cardboard cone to us. The contents are hidden under a couple foldings.

"What is it?" I ask.

She struggles, the woman, to come up with the right word. "L... lasagna."

"REALLY?" I squeal, more in disbelief than excitement.

She nods enthusiastically. Can one resist lasagna in this sort of packaging?

Turns out it's roasted chestnuts. They were quite tasty.