Wilhelm Busch had a childhood dream. He wanted to become a painter, then as now an unprofitable undertaking for many. For 25 years, from 1859 to 1884, he drew and wrote poems and picture stories until he had finally earned enough money for him to quit this “miserable drudgery” and was able to fully dedicate himself to his beloved art. The irony of fate: As a painter he was a good one among many good ones, but as a humorist he is unequalled to the present time.

We conspicuously often encounter the subjects of food and drink in his works, mostly with a catastrophic appeal: “Oh, how delightfully the mush cuddles around the head, body, hand and foot.” , “The rest is eagerly drunk and wavered happily on one leg.” , “It’s like this with tobacco and rum, first you are happy and then you fall down …"

Whether Max and Moritz, Pious Helene, Tobias Knopp, Fipps the Monkey or Eugen the Honeyeater – creature comforts always play too large are role to be just coincidence. Perhaps Wilhelm Busch had to draw with a growling stomach so often that he (if not in reality, then at least “on paper”) tried to eat his fill and treat himself to a little intoxication. Because, according to his insight: “For old boys red wine is one of the best gifts.”

Reporting of fruit omelettes may come from
A poet of the upper classes.

But we, without envy of those above
Praise with middle-class tongues
Pancakes and salad.

Delicate like our Liese
Baked and prepared,
It is implied here in words.

Three eggs, fresh and without blemish,
And milk and a spoonful of flour,
These she whisks up industriously together
Into an intimate union.

Then, if tears are also an evil,
She chops up and adds the onion
Into a broth with oil and salt,
That the salad soaks up.

And to make this moreover,
She has to peel potatoes,
This means using fingers deftly,
Pursing her lips and breathing,
Because only when it’s cut hot
Can the salad be supple.

After this it goes on cheerfully
With our pancakes.

After the fire is gently poked,
The pan is carefully polished out,
The diced bacon is tossed in,
So it fries and frolics a little,
Splash, over it comes with a hiss
The above-mentioned artful mix.

Now notably and strikingly showing
Little Liese’s quick-wittedness,
Because very soon as everyone knows,
Such a cake is quickly burned.

She pricks it, she pokes it,
She rattles, shakes and works it loose
And airs it until evidently
The bottom is evenly browned,
Which promptly and with skill
Now comes on top and upside down.

Patience, it takes only a bit,
Then the cake lies in the bowl.

Yet later on the ingestation,
As it speaks to the mouth and heart,
This defies all description,
And that why this poem is ended.

From: “Zu guter Letzt” (“In the End”, 1904), as quoted in Mit Wilhelm Busch in Küche und Keller (With Wilhelm Busch in Kitchen and Cellar), selected and prepared by Hans Stengel, Droste Verlag, Düsseldorf 1986.