Pretzel Story

The story has it that in the Alps, which is the great mountain range stretching through Europe, somewhere on the border of two countries: France and Italy, there was a monastery.

One of the monks living in the monastery liked children. He loved telling them the stories from the Bible. The kids liked the man very much and called him father, but they were not so eager to learn the Bible.

One day, when he was praying for guidance, he smelled fresh bread being baked in the kitchen. His chamber was almost at the end of the corridor, not far away from the savory room.

Once a week, he chatted with a local boy, who delivered flour for the bread. He was a nice boy, who offered his services to help his family. He was rather quiet and liked listening to the stories from the Bible. The monk was happy to have one enthusiastic listener.

It was Friday, the day when the boy did his delivery. Not wanting to miss him, he rushed to the kitchen. The boy was already there and munching on some sweet roll. “Shall we finish Noah’s story?” the monk asked. The boy nodded as his mouth was full.

“Noah built an ark, which was a big boat with enough room for his family and animals. Some people laughed at him as the land was dry and there was no need for a boat. Soon the boat was ready and loaded with supplies and animals; some big and some small. Noah and his family were the last to enter the ark. Then the sudden rain came and the boat floated on the water for many days and nights. The only human beings and animals that survived were those who had been on the boat.”

The story was so interesting that the boy almost forgot about the time. He saw the sun moved on the other side of the building and realized how late it was. He rushed back to the mill to deliver the rest of the flour. “We’ll finish it next time,” yelled the monk after the hasting boy.

The monk was left alone in the kitchen. As he turned to leave it, he saw some leftovers of the dough stretched on the table. They were spread in such way reminding him of the child’s arms folded in a prayer.

The baker came back with more wood for the fire. The father asked, “Could you be so kind and bake the leftovers the way they are.” The baker shook his head in agreement.

The following day, the monk said to the kids, “I have a little reward for you for learning the Bible,” and he showed them the bread, which he called pretzel meaning little reward in Latin. From now on the kids had no problem learning the Bible.

But the story of pretzel wouldn’t be so sweet, if it ended just here.

The pretzels became so popular with kids that the monks introduced them to travelers, who passed through the mountains and the monastery. The monks always stuffed the people’s pouches with some extra pretzels. “To keep your belly full, while you’re trotting,” that’s what they always said. So the pretzel travelled through the mountains and borders to different countries.

The story continues with a claim that the pretzels were perfected in the mountains of southern Germany.

One of the monks being busy with preparation for Lent, hired a young apprentice to help him. “Keep your eyes opened and the fire burning,” he requested.

The young boy, who liked to eat and snooze a lot, with all the warmth surrounding him from the oven, dozed off. He tried very hard not to do it, but it was so warm and fuzzy, he just curled up like a puppy. The days were still frosty outside and he was dreaming of spring time with blooming flowers and sunny days, rolling down the hills on the green grass.

While he was daydreaming, the pretzels were in the oven. The fire was slowly going out making the kitchen cooler. Soon, the chilly interior awoke the apprentice. As he saw no fire and the pretzels baked not quite right, he almost ran away.

At the same time, the monk walked in feeling the cool interior and seeing scared boy, he knew something was quite not right. “I…I just kipped for a little,” the boy stuttered. “There is not enough time to do a new batch!” exclaimed the father. Resigned, he sat down with his hands supporting his head.

The boy tried to cheer up the monk and tasted the over-baked pretzel, “This is not bad.” The monk without a word took a piece and to his surprise the hard pretzel tasted as good as the soft one. “This is not bad after all,” he already forgot about all the worries and walked out of the room chewing on the bread.

After the Lent, there were a few pretzels left. They tasted almost as good as the fresh ones. He divided them one for each day to check how long they would last. He noticed that the hard pretzel lasted longer than the soft one. Therefore, they became more popular.

So, either by accident or not, the pretzels in a way were perfected in Germany.

But this is not the end of the story yet, now we’re getting to the sweet part.

The story continues with the hard pretzel further travelling from southern to northern Germany.

In the city of Hamburg, there was a baker, who specialized in baking pretzels. He dusted the pretzels with salt or seeds of sesame, poppy and caraway. The pretzels were taking on different taste as well as shape. Some stayed in its original shape big and round, the others got very tiny; some were straight sticks looking like a finger.

His bakery was next to a confection store. The kids came running for chocolate sweets more than for salty sticks or seeded pretzels. Seeing kids craving the chocolate, an idea sprang into his mind.

He covered the tiny pretzels in chocolate; some sprinkled with colorful sprinkles some with crushed nuts.

Next time the kids came running to his neighbor store he shouted, “Free samples! Free samples!” With his big hands, he held a massive tray in front of him filled with freshly prepared treats.

The kids flocked amazed by the vibrant colors covering the chocolate. “It’s crunchy and savory,” commented one kid. “And on top of that it is sweet,” added another kid.

All kind of pretzels became very popular spreading its fame beyond the borders.