Hermann the German
by Rachel Ragg
I have a horrible feeling that I am about to commit murder.
I have a house guest for half term. Hermann only arrived five minutes ago, and he is already dominating my life.
He is sitting on my worktop covered loosely with a tea-towel.
Hermann, lest you wonder, is a German sourdough friendship cake. The idea is that you add to him, then give bits of him to your friends and eat the remainder.
As my daughter has lots of friends and likes cake, I agreed to let Hermann into our kitchen. He comes with instructions, which are always scary.
‘If I stop bubbling then I am afraid I am dead,’ the instructions declare gloomily.
Oh no. I have my family squawking for food. I have my guinea pigs bellowing for veggies. Now I have to remember to feed Hermann as well. I really do not want the death of a sourdough cake on my conscience.
But then I remember the last German house-guest I had. He used the mixing bowl for his cereal. A mega-pack of Shreddies lasted two days.
Compared to that, the cup of flour, sugar and milk that Hermann requires is a doddle. Long live Hermann!