Each time I resolve never to do it again and each time I fail miserably. My senses are triggered first by the fresh smell of bread, then as I sniff my way towards my prey, my tongue drops out of my jaws by their mere sight a good few meters away. And when I get really close I thrust my nose onto the glass and wish I cud fiercely lash out my tongue, pierce a hole in the glass, reach that frothy cake and lick just a bit off that sumptuous cream or neon-coloured rose. Obviously my lecherous behaviour generates curiosity of the friendly baker who by now is sure I will buy some of his delectable goodies. But alas, I cannot please all the bakers down the street in a day. So I leave it for another day and painfully gather all the willpower I have to walk away. But, only to stop at the next bakery in line!!.
This, my dear friends, is my plight in Germany. From Himbeer to Erdbeer, Kase to Joghurt, Frankfurter Kranz to Steigerwald,they seem to come in all shapes, sizes and places. Some are drenched in fruits, some layered with nuts and others with chocolates and cream. After months of ogling I have now resolved to chat up with these German bakers and convince at least one of them (which with my broken German seems like a distant dream) to hire me. So till my “cake- filled” days arrive all I can wish is “if only cakes would grow on trees!”
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