Hey there, fellow expats! Some of you may be experiencing your first November in Luxembourg, and I’m sure you’re ready for this month to end so you can start enjoying the delicious treats of the Christmas markets. Not so fast!
For me and many people, November means just one thing: Snèikenlekenschluppkachglasur!
Is Snèikenlekenschluppkachglasur a soup? A dessert? A sort of liquidy organic face exfoliator that doubles as bathtub sealant and also happens to be edible?
I don’t know, but what I do know is that when Snèikenlekenschluppkachglasur season comes around, I’m ready for it, even if I’ve never understood if it’s meant to taste good or be good for me — or, if it’s an initiation ritual that must be annually reenacted to ward off evil spirits.
What is the history of this culinary treasure made with what might be rancid fish broth and lumpy flour but may contain ginger and tiny balls that I assume are some kind of minced meat yet could very well be overcooked beans or old berries?
I’m not sure! I first had the chance to try Snèikenlekenschluppkachglasur about five years ago when my neighbor, a widow I refer to as Madame Skin because of her habit of doing nude yoga while standing in front of her living room window, brought me some. Now she comes by every year around the same time.
We speak what I call Luxglish or Englebourgish, so at first it was hard for me to understand what she wanted when she showed up with a bucket of sludge. She said, “I have for you Snèikenlekenschluppkachglasur. You make like so.” She set down the bucket and cupped her hands. I followed her instructions, and the next thing I knew, she had filled my hands.
She didn’t explicitly tell me to consume it, but I’m clever enough to bridge the cultural and linguistic divide. I lifted the Snèikenlekenschluppkachglasur to my lips, sipped on that tepid goodness, and said, “oh, that’s interesting!”
Madame Skin approved of my reaction and left. I watched her continue to all the other homes. Most of the residents pretended like they weren’t at home or closed the door in her face. They were probably busy cooking up their own batch of Snèikenlekenschluppkachglasur.
I tell everyone I know about the Snèikenlekenschluppkachglasur November tradition. My expat friends say they’ve never heard of it, but that’s probably because they haven’t yet earned the trust of locals. All the Luxembourgers to whom I’ve confessed my love of the stuff insist they don’t know what it is, either. I always wink and say, “The first rule of Snèikenlekenschluppkachglasur club is …” They get it.
Have I excited your curiosity and hopefully your taste buds? Just be patient and friendly to your older neighbors, and one November you’ll be lucky enough to have your own Madame Skin come by to pour some Snèikenlekenschluppkachglasur into your cupped hands, too!
Natalia Cabel lives in Capellen
