What time is it? It’s time for our Second Annual Hospital Food Review! This year, we’re reviewing the offerings of the Universitats Klinikum Eppendorf (UKE). As with last year’s review, we will sample three meals per day for four days. Points will be given for taste, options, presentation, and volume. Points will be taken away for inducing nausea or gas in either the reviewer or her just-born babe.

Overall Grade: B+
When Adjusted for Being a Hospital Rather Than a Fabulous Hotel: A++
What to order: that’s right, I said order. From a menu. A menu with three pages of options! The last hospital I reviewed had trays prepared with my name on them (Frau Rosenbaum – cracks me up every time!) This meant that noting that your pre-laid breakfast contained margarine rather than butter could be quickly followed by a ‘does this hospital gown and huge, wobbly belly make me look fat?’ moment; in contrast, being allowed to order butter plus cheese plus salami on my evening sandwich makes me sure that I am cutting quite an airy figure in my gown. (By airy, of course, I mean gassy.)
What to order after realizing that lunch is the only hot meal, and that all other meals are sandwiches: the meatloaf with onion gravy and a side of creamed vegetables, or the polenta with vegetable ragu. Both were surprisingly good, but then I’m a sucker for a sprig of parsley on top.
What other elements of the hospital experience contribute to overall enjoyment of the food: wood floors, large windows, super-duper adjustable bed, a remote control for the heat settings on the dryer of the toilet’s built-in bidet (awesome!), and every kind of physical therapist, lactation specialist, and general medical helper immediately available, well-trained, and cheerfully willing to grapple with any problem.
What other elements of the hospital experience deteriorate your enjoyment of those listed above: the combination of many years spent in the vaugely mid-Western U.S., a shared room (no matter how polite the roommate), and a wicked case of gas. By wicked, I mean probably tolerable given some privacy and/or a sphincter not controlled by 1950’s social niceties, but in practice so bad that it made me cry out in pain, which in turn brought a team of the helpers running to my aid.
Let’s change the subject to other items my guts have produced lately:

















Max Rosenbaum, born 8:27am February 28, 2013. 4,000 grams (8.8 pounds), 51 cm (20 inches), mostly head.

Oh my lord, you two, get cuter!










Suddenly, there are a lot of us.


A day later, and after having learned the ever-so-adorable sign for baby (miming a rocking motion with hands clasped together in the front,) Frida looks a bit more pleased about the turn of events:

Frida's excited about the little guy. Also, about our matching haircuts.



Before: more hair, but we’re missing something… MAX!




We didn’t name him Otto. He seems more like a Max. As with Frida Rosenbaum, there is no middle name. Just Max. It’s enough, we think.


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