Just when you think that mid-European restaurants can't get any worse (see Shannon's description of Rhapsody), you stumble on to Richter's Chalet. Shannon told us it was bad (I think she actually told us that she once found a hair in her salad which implies unhygienic, but not really bad) but we just didn't listen. So Leo and I went there last night for dinner.

Richter's is at a busy intersection in Dearborn. It is chalet-shaped, even though it is in a strip of businesses. The entrance to the restaurant reminds me of high school German class with all of the travel posters and German schlock on the walls.� We were seated at a vinyl booth table outfitted with paper placemats that dare the reader to "find 48 things wrong with this farm scene".� Among the 48 errors, there was a rooster that had a cooked fried chicken drumstick for a leg (eew) and a dog with an elephant's trunk for a tail (double eew).� It looked like it was illustrated by the same person who illustrates Highlights for Children.

Both of the waitresses were very, very old.� It bothers me to see old people, especially women carry heavy things.� She gave us menus, and "appetizers" which were two ritz crackers with a glop of orange goo on top.� The orange goo turned out to be some sort of cheese-horseradish mixture.� At about this point, Leo and I noticed that the music system kept playing the same song.� That song began "liebchen, meine liebchen...".� The singer sounded like Wayne Newton with a mouthful of dental equipment after inhaling a lot of nitrous.� It kept going and going and it was very slow.�

�...Leeeeeiiiiiiibcheeeeeen, meine� leeeeeiiiiiiibcheeeeeen...

I had a hankering for sauerbraten so I ordered that, Leo got the jaeger schnitzel and a side of potato pancakes.� Then food arrived a little later.� Leo's looked ok, in a 1950's diner sort of way.� Mine was covered with semi-transparent gelatinous gravy.� The meat had a gray-green color and a slight metallic sheen.� Even though I had sworn not to touch the potato pancakes (pre-marital weight loss) I ate one out of starvation.� Accompanying these entrees were some potato dumplings (can't get enough starches here!).� The dumplings were good, but each contained a crouton in the middle.� The first one I ate, I thought it was in there by mistake.� I'm pretty sure that potato dumplings do not traditionally contain croutons, but what do I know?

�...Leeeeeiiiiiiibcheeeeeen, meine� leeeeeiiiiiiibcheeeeeen...

We speculated that the song was some sort of mind control device.� I felt a great wave of allegiance to the Fatherland and all old people in general.� Towards the end of the meal, I developed a facial tick that must have been caused by the song.

�...Leeeeeiiiiiiibcheeeeeen, meine� leeeeeiiiiiiibcheeeeeen...

After refusing dessert and telling the waitress that, no we didn't need any boxes (she looked like I had punched her in the stomach, she was so hurt), we asked for the check.� She brought the check and a ziploc bag containing a prayer and a "prayer stone".� She told me that is was made by a "real pastor" and that she wanted me to have it.� I took it, at that point my eye was on the door and I was almost done.

�...Leeeeeiiiiiiibcheeeeeen, meine� leeeeeiiiiiiibcheeeeeen...

Once we got in the car, I examined my new "prayer stone".� It didn't really hit me when the waitress said that someone made the stone, I had assumed that the package had been assembled by someone.� It turns out that the "stone" was actually made of some sort of dough (probably with a crouton in the middle).

Leo and I rounded out the evening by making some Spanish food for tonight's sangria party.� He made some manchego frico, and got surprisingly good at it.� He also got a little protective of his masterpieces, when I asked if he had any "mistakes" that I could eat, he responded "we can't afford to sacrifice any to the gaping maw of the cholderby".� Ah, the romance.

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