Well, I don’t know. Is it Die Lunch, Der Lunch or Das Lunch? How can you tell the sex, sorry – gender – of lunch anyways? Or the gender of any inanimate object.

I thought the French were bad enough having two genders for their words, but the Germans have to go one better. Come to think of it, that’s very Thai, where three sexes seems to be the norm.

I suppose I should know the word for lunch, having visited various German-speaking parts of the world, but the only time I seemed to be in hotels was for das Frühstück, or breakfast. So maybe lunch is “das” too. Although, to be honest, I’ve never liked the sound of getting my früh stück at 7am, or any time of the day for that matter.

I do recall making a faux pas one lunchtime in a restaurant near Zürich, Switzerland. I sat at the one empty table, only to find everyone shouting “Stammtisch, Stammtisch” rather exuberantly in my direction. I don’t think they’d mistaken me for a Herr Stammtisch, so I had to assume it was the name of the local mafia chief, or maybe Head of Police. Needless to say, I moved.

It turns out it’s a table specifically reserved for locals; and local, I was not.

So why am I twittering about German?

Well, yesterday, under almost cloudless skies, I decided to head up to what I call the north shore. It’s an hour plus, and is as far as you can go without falling into the Bay of Bangkok, from where you could swim to Koh Samui. I mentioned some time ago, June I think, that I’d gone there to visit a German guy who runs a restaurant, Zum Grünen Baum, but I’d found the place closed and shuttered. Well, I’d correctly surmised the family had gone to Germany.

The restaurant specializes in “Deutsche Speisen und Wurstwaren” plus “Deutsches Brot aus der eigene Bäckerei” and I definitely needed some of that for das Lunch. Whatever it is. Dieter was at home, lunch was being prepared, bread had been baked, so I was one happy Hündchen.

Before I landed on their doorstep, I’d tried to find an adjoining bay. It’s at the end of the road on the left on the map below. Seemed easy enough. But the road became narrower and narrower, until I reached a very heavy and locked gate. Ms. Chuckles strikes again. Luckily there was a place to “Make a U-turn if possible.” So I’m guessing some lucky sod, or sodess, has the whole beach to him- or herself.

Anyways, this is the restaurant, and there’s loads of outdoor seating to enjoy the view…

In situations like this I don’t usually bother with a menu, but always ask “What do you recommend?” And freshly caught flounder seemed to fit the bill. It was big. I didn’t need the potatoes, but the salad was very welcome…

I enquired about the liquid in the bowl and established that it was melted butter, so I guess you could say that clarified things.

No one understands your stupid puns, you know. (ed)

Their home/restaurant doesn’t have a beach at this time of the year, and as you can see, the local fishermen bring their boats to protect them from the winds and storms, of which we have had plenty recently. But later in the year, the sea does recede and there is a beach of sorts.

But the main beach, which I think is just about my all-time favorite, is just around the corner, at the end of a road which isn’t even on the map, so you can imagine how tiny that is. Well, you can see how tiny that is…

Anyways, after a couple of hours of chatting and eating, I headed back, along with my loaf of freshly-baked bread. I have to confess, I’m not a huge fan of German bread. I find it rather chewy and heavy, but anything is a pleasant change from Tesco’s bland “plastic” bread. And as it happens, I managed to find some brie a couple of days ago, so tomorrow’s lunch will be a combination.

I do hope the French cheese doesn’t mind being paired with German bread, but hey, we all get along now, so maybe I’ll call them “European sandwiches.” And if the German bread does decide to attack my stomach; well, I can always pacify it with some Vichy water!