Flagrant misuse of cream cheese is common practice in Germany. It’s also what I’d come to identify as a public health problem for American expatriates living in the country. Unfortunately, many may not even realize the seriousness of this epidemic.
Let me provide an ordinary example of this former real-life expatriate’s experience of being manipulated (rather unsuccessfully) while confronting the issue of cream cheese exploitation in Germany. Take your seemingly unassuming tuna salad sandwich at an unnamed local sandwich restaurant in Frankfurt. You’d expect the basics, right: lettuce, tomatoes, and cucumbers or onions (pickles do not have a prominent seat in most sandwiches). But wait—that’s only if you weren’t paying attention to how most sandwiches are built in Germany. Right before that minuscule mound of tuna and “the basics” come together to form a sandwich, the haughty sandwich artist will menacingly sneak a large scoop of cream cheese onto the piece of bread. And wham. Just like that. You’ve been duped by the German cream cheese man (or woman), the culprit behind every one of your food orders that’s swimming in cream cheese.
Lethargy had taken me off my game on the Friday I ordered a tuna salad sandwich that came with an obscene amount of cream cheese. I must have looked too quickly at the menu, probably overlooking what was even in the sandwich, and somehow forgot that cream cheese is too often exploited in Germany. By the way, I’m not a huge fan of mayonnaise, but tuna called my name that day so I had to answer, although I wasn’t prepared for mayo and cream cheese in the same sitting.
So after chalking part of my order up as a loss, I remained hopeful about my second request: a multi-grain bagel with cream cheese on the side. My only option was to move forward as a confident customer.
“Okay, so you want the cream cheese where?” she asked.
“I’d like it on the side. Not on the bagel,” I said.
“So you don’t want me to put the cream cheese on the bagel?” she said in disbelief.
“That’s right. Is there something you can put it in—so I can have it on the side?” And that’s when I got the funny look, like I had just asked that she take her shirt off so I can try it on.
“You can pay over there,” she said with a snicker. I slow-shuffled to my left while keeping a close eye on her and the bagel. Fortunate enough to make a cream cheese on the side request at the start, I wasn’t going to be bullied by this cream cheese peddler.
My order would soon pass and I would walk away with half my pride. Sitting there in a most unattractive state was a glob of cream cheese on my plate—on the side. Hallelujah. It should have been a moment for the history books, because I very well could've been the first man to have broken the mold and reached a new kind of expat life, one in which I would not be dictated by cream cheese but would be the dictator of how I wanted cream cheese to show up in my order.
In summary, rather than go on record and detail every scandalous cream cheese incident I faced, let me just say that it was a long and arduous struggle as an expatriate who had been exposed to the inner workings of cream cheese corruption in Germany. My fear, of course, is that there will come a day when German citizens will be seen wearing cream cheese on their faces. Sound strange? Perhaps. But I’m afraid there are no limits—no boundaries—to the Germans’ abuse and misuse of cream cheese. It's an epidemic of epic proportions, with American expatriates being the real victims.
However, I do have hope, because I know there’s at least something I can do to help the cause. And here it is, a promise made: the Germans will no longer be able to fool this American with their cream cheese shenanigans.
Let me provide an ordinary example of this former real-life expatriate’s experience of being manipulated (rather unsuccessfully) while confronting the issue of cream cheese exploitation in Germany. Take your seemingly unassuming tuna salad sandwich at an unnamed local sandwich restaurant in Frankfurt. You’d expect the basics, right: lettuce, tomatoes, and cucumbers or onions (pickles do not have a prominent seat in most sandwiches). But wait—that’s only if you weren’t paying attention to how most sandwiches are built in Germany. Right before that minuscule mound of tuna and “the basics” come together to form a sandwich, the haughty sandwich artist will menacingly sneak a large scoop of cream cheese onto the piece of bread. And wham. Just like that. You’ve been duped by the German cream cheese man (or woman), the culprit behind every one of your food orders that’s swimming in cream cheese.
Lethargy had taken me off my game on the Friday I ordered a tuna salad sandwich that came with an obscene amount of cream cheese. I must have looked too quickly at the menu, probably overlooking what was even in the sandwich, and somehow forgot that cream cheese is too often exploited in Germany. By the way, I’m not a huge fan of mayonnaise, but tuna called my name that day so I had to answer, although I wasn’t prepared for mayo and cream cheese in the same sitting.
So after chalking part of my order up as a loss, I remained hopeful about my second request: a multi-grain bagel with cream cheese on the side. My only option was to move forward as a confident customer.
“Okay, so you want the cream cheese where?” she asked.
“I’d like it on the side. Not on the bagel,” I said.
“So you don’t want me to put the cream cheese on the bagel?” she said in disbelief.
“That’s right. Is there something you can put it in—so I can have it on the side?” And that’s when I got the funny look, like I had just asked that she take her shirt off so I can try it on.
“You can pay over there,” she said with a snicker. I slow-shuffled to my left while keeping a close eye on her and the bagel. Fortunate enough to make a cream cheese on the side request at the start, I wasn’t going to be bullied by this cream cheese peddler.
My order would soon pass and I would walk away with half my pride. Sitting there in a most unattractive state was a glob of cream cheese on my plate—on the side. Hallelujah. It should have been a moment for the history books, because I very well could've been the first man to have broken the mold and reached a new kind of expat life, one in which I would not be dictated by cream cheese but would be the dictator of how I wanted cream cheese to show up in my order.
In summary, rather than go on record and detail every scandalous cream cheese incident I faced, let me just say that it was a long and arduous struggle as an expatriate who had been exposed to the inner workings of cream cheese corruption in Germany. My fear, of course, is that there will come a day when German citizens will be seen wearing cream cheese on their faces. Sound strange? Perhaps. But I’m afraid there are no limits—no boundaries—to the Germans’ abuse and misuse of cream cheese. It's an epidemic of epic proportions, with American expatriates being the real victims.
However, I do have hope, because I know there’s at least something I can do to help the cause. And here it is, a promise made: the Germans will no longer be able to fool this American with their cream cheese shenanigans.