I give up. No Libby's canned pumpkin anywhere. But I did try.
Some German friends of mine felt bad that I was missing Thanksgiving and offered to have a little feast with me tomorrow. I immediately offered to bring the quintessential pie before realizing my quest for this godforsaken pureed vegetable would make me a little nutso.
My first stop was the neighborhood grocery store where all the employees speak perfect English like little angels sent from above. However, when I asked for canned pumpkin, they presented me with a jar of pumpkin chunks, floating in some sort of liquid. I stared at it for a moment, wondering if I could possibly mash up the chunks into the necessary puree but decided to pass on it. Good thing. My German friend told me later that this is a pickled type of pumpkin. I made a very dramatic gagging noise and then proceeded to the next store.
I tracked down a young employee who unfortunately did not know the English word for pumpkin. (Can you blame her?) I then found myself playing charades, tracing the rotund shape in the air while just repeating over and over, "Well, it's a vegetable. It's orange....round..." Although she tried to grasp what I was saying, I realized that I was just a babbling idiot in the middle of a HIT grocery store.
My last hope was the mama of all department stores/food emporiums: KaDeWe. It is the largest department store in Europe, filled to the rafters with every household item imaginable. Upscale and pricey, I don't bother shopping anywhere except the 6th floor "food court." Beautiful and terrifying at the same time, I've only been there twice. It seems like such a tourist trap but from what I can decipher, there are lots of Germans there, too. The whole floor is packed with people as well as almost every type of food imaginable. There's the cheese counter, the delicatessen, the wine shops, the champagane corner, the cigar area, the sushi bar, the pasta counter, and then there are the shelves of hard to find groceries, typically American brands. Hence, my pilgrimage on my bike on a cold, rainy day.
I was sure they'd have my pumpkin. However, when I asked a woman to help me locate it, she just scowled at me and shooed me off. I began to wander around myself, hoping to be successful on my own.
I know I've mentioned that Germans are quite keen on their pastries so it shouldn't surprise you or I that instead of finding the damn pumpkin, I instead found rows and rows of beautifully encased cakes and tortes. I couldn't help but stare at their magnificence, drooling like some junkie who needs just one more slice! You see, as of yesterday afternoon, I was still on my no gluten/no dairy/no sugar cleanse and apparently was up for some self-torture. However, I managed to get through it. I looked. I admired. But then I just kept walking, oh so proud!
And then I walked straight into some sort of chocoland. It's hard to avoid really. I mean, I have never, ever seen so much chocolate in my life. I'm not just talking about the standard truffles and bars either. I'm talking chocolate ornaments, Santas, reindeer, lollipops, and anything else you can possibly imagine, wrapped up in red and gold paper. And there was no escape from it! Each time I turned a corner, another display of another brand would greet me. Rows and rows and shelves upon shelves of beautifully wrapped chocolates, ready to be slipped into someone's Christmas stocking. But even I, who doesn't think that the world will ever cultivate enough chocolate, was ready to shout, "Enough already!"
It didn't help that a coffee stand apparently run by Satan was nearby, it's deep, dark scent tickling my nose. I could only imagine dipping one of those tall, chocolate Santas into a rich cup of joe. I almost gave myself permission to do just that but feared that I'd end up acting like a crack addict who was given a handful of rocks and told, "Only one!" Right.
It was during this excursion, however, that I finally let go of my shame about my sweet tooth. Several friends cannot believe the extensiveness of it. They don't understand my strong desire for a bit of chocolate (or at least a mint for God's sake!) after dinner. They don't understand how truly difficult it is for me to strike sugar from my diet for an entire week. As I looked at the sea of chocolate around me, though, my brain began to scream, I am genetically predisposed to crave buttery, sugary goodness! It's not my fault! Diving into a piece of cake just means that I am one with my people.
But you know what's amazing? I left without tasting a single thing. (I also, unfortunately, left Libby-less. Apparently, this year's pumpkin crop really was a doozy). I thought perhaps my sweet tooth was waning, that is, until I found myself faced with a bowl of gummies six hours later. Oh, well. My body is made for it.
Now it's on to pie. Apple, that is.
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