In Search of Germany’s Greatest Pickles by Bike

The very first thing you discover is the scent. Sharp, oaky, vinegary. It smacks you earlier than you’ve even absolutely awake. But once you’ve spent the evening curled up inside a big picket pickle barrel lodge in Brandenburg, Germany, maybe that’s to be anticipated.

The Spreewald—a UNESCO biosphere reserve an hour south of Berlin—incorporates some 970 miles of waterways that tread by dense black alder forest and meadows like a cracked sheet of ice. It is named “The Garden of Berlin” due to its fertile grounds. It’s a stronghold of Sorbian tradition, considered one of Europe’s smallest and least-known indigenous minorities. It can be the undisputed pickle capital of Germany and, arguably, the world.

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Around 40,000 metric tons of cucumbers are grown and processed right here annually, and the well-known Spreewald gherkins carry a European Protected Geographical Indication, akin to Champagne in France or Parma ham in Italy. It is the lifeblood of the area. Unfortunately, the trade is now struggling.

To see how the Spreewald is coping, I launched into a Tour de Pickle throughout the area on the Gurkenradweg (“pickle cycling trail” as a result of, in fact there’s a German phrase for it) in the hunt for not solely one of the best pickle however the way forward for the Spreewälder Gurken.

Origins of the Spreewald pickle

Pickling cucumbers have been round for over 4,000 years. Ancient Mesopotamians have been soaking the vegetable in acidic brines. Pickles have been a part of Cleopatra’s magnificence routine. Aristotle praised their therapeutic talents. And Julius Caesar fed them to his troopers for further energy.

In the Spreewald, although, the story begins with the Sorbs, a Slavic minority who introduced cucumbers over from the Carpathians within the seventh century and located that the swampy land was excellent for cultivation.

In the city of Lübben, a quiet village with a primrose citadel, intersecting canals, and cucumber fields, Gisela Christl is named the “Godmother of the Gherkin.” She’s been lecturing in regards to the vegetable’s thousand-year historical past within the area for many years and is without doubt one of the few-thousand remaining Sorbian audio system.

While the Sorbs might have began the pickling custom within the Spreewald, the area’s status as a pickling powerhouse got here later. Dutch settlers arrived within the 14th century and commenced mass cultivation, utilizing the canals to ship pickles to Berlin and so far as Warsaw. Then within the nineteenth century, Theodor Fontaine immortalized the Spreewald gherkin in his travelogue Wanderungen durch die Mark Brandenburg, cementing its cult standing within the capital. Even below the GDR, when the state-owned Spreewaldkonserve Golßen managed manufacturing, the pickle remained a prized commodity, and its status has well-outlasted the Berlin Wall.

Christl demonstrates the way to make the quintessential Spreewald pickle, by peeling, slicing, and seasoning the cucumber with “a lot of fresh dill, tarragon, thyme, lemon basil, peppercorns, horseradish slices, allspice, a bay leaf, and an onion.” She tosses it along with vinegar, sugar, and salt and says to let it sit in a single day.

She provides me a pattern. The snap is clear and agency, and the brine is deeply savory and faintly mineral. They’re far more bitter than your commonplace bread-and-butter iteration you’d get at a grocery store, but it surely’s enlivened with a heavy hand of herbs, particularly dill.

Christl grabs her accordion and croons a Sorbian toast with a shot of punchy natural liqueur. I hop on my bike with a now-briny backpack and observe the signposts seven miles to Lübbenau, the capital of the Spreewald.

Making the proper pickle

There is arguably no city on the earth as pickle-obsessed as Lübbenau. You’ve acquired a pickle practice, pickle boat excursions, a pickle museum, eating places with pickle tasting menus, and that’s earlier than entering into the pickle beers, pickle schnapps, and pickle graffiti. There’s additionally the well-known “Pickle Mile,” the place farmers arrange stands alongside the river and promote their do-it-yourself gherkins for a mere 50 cents.

It’s not even midday, and I’ve arrived at Spreewald Rabe (situated on the outskirts of Lübbenau), the place 100 pickle-starved clients are gawking at eight-foot tall fermentation barrels and centuries-old cucumber washers. Spreewald Rabe is known throughout Germany for its well-known brines, and Heidemarie Belaschk is the fourth-generation on the helm. She has been working right here practically 50 years and has seen all of it—with tales about pickling below communism, the autumn of the Berlin Wall, adapting to West German taste-buds, and coping with as we speak’s extra adventurous eaters.

I begin with a easy query. What makes the proper Spreewald pickle? She chuckles, “That’s impossible to answer.”

“You can prepare a cucumber with vinegar, sugar, and spices. Or, there’s the sour pickle, which is washed, salted, and then fermented—no vinegar, no sugar, nothing,” she says. “But what makes the pickles here special is the freshness—fresh dill, basil, lemon basil, and fennel. It’s the be-all, end-all of a good gherkin.”

Beyond the award-winning classics, Belaschk has additionally perfected pepper pickles, garlic pickles, bread-and-butter pickles, curry pickles, chili-spiced pickles, and mustard pickles. Her private favourite is the “DDR Gherkin”—Rabe’s previous GDR recipe, sharper and extra bitter than as we speak’s commonplace.

The greatest problem, although, is much less about innovating and extra about staying related. Where there have been as soon as dozens of small mom-and-pop producers, solely seven licensed pickle producers stay within the Spreewald. “In the past, the pickle was a winter staple. Nowadays, you get fresh cucumbers and vegetables year round. We’re still struggling with that.”

But she’s not too nervous but. She simply hopes extra individuals sooner or later observe her nightly routine: “I don’t eat chocolate or chips while watching TV, but I grab gherkins.”

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The final cucumber farmers

“If you’re having trouble sleeping at night, the cucumbers are growing,” says Gregor Knösels, a farmer and head of the family-run Knösels Vegetables in Kasel-Golzig. Knösels is without doubt one of the largest producers within the Spreewald, farming on some 40 hectares of pumpkins, zucchini, beetroot, carrots, and, in fact, cucumbers—a few of which attain an astounding 10 kilos. “More cucumber is more cucumber,” he jokes.

Knösels is a part of a handful of farmers whose households relocated from West Germany to assist re-establish the area’s agricultural trade and identification after reunification. Today, his farm is considered one of solely eight farms producing Spreewald-certified cucumbers.

“The entire microclimate is perfect for growing,” says Knösels. “The soil is rich in humus, and the water is high in iron oxides—especially great for growing cucumbers.”

But for the way lengthy will this final? Germany’s cucumber trade is at the moment struggling. Prices proceed to rise. Climate change is affecting the Spreewald’s mineral-rich waters. And German consuming habits have modified. “In the past, a dinner in Germany meant bread, cheese, and a cucumber or pickle were always on the table. That’s becoming less and less common.”

“Will we still be able to produce Spreewald cucumbers in 20 years,” asks Knösels. He’s uncertain. “It seems likely the Spreewald pickle may become a delicacy that sits on gourmet shelves rather than every kitchen table.

Protecting the pickle

From Lübbenau, I take in the spectacular setting, winding through marshy flatlands, past cucumber farms, wooden pickle stands, centuries-old windmills, verdant thatched houses with stone snakes on the roofs—a Sorbian symbol for good luck.

“We need to support the sustainable development of the villages and small towns here in the region,” says Melanie Kossatz, managing director of the Spreewald Association, a local-nonprofit devoted to preserving the tradition and traditions of the Spreewald. “With the Spreewald pickle carrying a protected designation, we want people to know they’re not only getting an exceptional product but they’re supporting an entire region.”

Tourism can be more and more a part of that equation. The Spreewald attracts round three million guests a 12 months, and lots of of them are drawn particularly by the lure of the pickle. There are additionally initiatives just like the Gurkenradweg, the kayaking excursions, the Pickle Mile, the tasting menus, the barrel motels. Every jar purchased. Every farm tour. Every bicycle owner, hiker, or kayaker feeds again into the farmers and producers retaining the custom alive. For a area with solely eight licensed cucumber growers remaining, guests are additionally stakeholders.

I cease in Lehde to refuel with a beer and a few gherkins, watch gondolas float throughout the canals, after which push by river-lined forests towards Leipe. I cart my bike over canals in Burg and marvel at a citadel tower devoted to the primary German chancellor, Otto von Bismarck, earlier than persevering with towards the city of Cottbus, the easternmost outpost of the Spreewald.

With every pedal throughout these miles, I discover myself fascinated about Gisela and her accordion. Gregor’s cucumber fields. Heidemarie and her DDR gherkins. The farmers lined up on the Pickle Mile. I bear in mind, furthermore, their pleasure. The Spreewald’s tacky souvenirs and the bicycle-riding-gherkin signposts could appear kitsch, however the Spreewald pickle symbolizes one thing unexpectedly actual, a area that’s held onto its identification by occupation, division, and reunification. And it intends to maintain holding on.

“The name Spreewald has always meant something,” says Knösels. “So whatever happens, we will still be here.”

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