Pretzels!

 

Pretzels have been a mainstay in our family for as long as I can recall. Not just the crunchy Rold Golds you get at the gas station which subsequently cause all sorts of unnecessary messes, but baked pretzels; doughy constructs that enamor consumers with their illustrious shape, texture, and flavor. But, the process of over-saturating the pretzel in sweeteners, something which chains like Auntie Anne’s readily embrace, has always been lost on me. I like my pretzels salty, well not too salty to the point where they would be deemed inedible, and the ubiquitous Laugenbrezel, found in many bakeries across Germany and beyond, fulfills that role perfectly. For some reason, these pretzel bakers have somehow discovered a perfect equilibrium between the soft, spongy dough, and the satisfying crunch of the crust that encases it. 

It is that equilibrium which my father seeks every time he bakes pretzels in our own kitchen. It’s a tumultuous process, judging by the intermittent bursts of German profanity, but the end result is always a treat. So much so that, even as I write this, my father slaves away in the kitchen, preparing a slew of these twisty treats for an assortment of hungry students an colleagues, one of which, he has told me, always asks when he planning to make more.