It's bretzelsonndeg a.k.a. pretzel sunday.
Now, the concept of this day is that a nice gentleman will present his lady love with a beautiful pretzel on bretzelsonndeg. She might say thanks, and even give him a little kiss, but the true indicator of requited love comes weeks later on Easter Sunday. If she feels the same way (and really, if anyone gave me a pretzel, I'd probably love them forever), she presents the pretzel-giver with an Easter egg.
I knew I wouldn't be receiving a pretzel today (unless logistically insane shipping was involved), but how could I just sit in my apartment knowing that the bakeries were filled with pretzels? And we're not just talking the soft pretzel variety you find at the carnival, but sweet pretzels covered in chocolate and almonds.
So I rolled out of bed in time to make it to the bakery before it closed at noon and ordered a delicious pretzel and a cafe a emporter before I strolled around my sleepy Luxembourgish town taking in the morning.
I wondered, as I stood in front of the pastry case, if ordering myself a pretzel on pretzel Sunday was the equivalent of buying yourself chocolates on Valentine's Day but figured for this? For this day, I'm willing to look desperate if it means I can eat this:
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