The subject is pumpernickel. And the post title? That’s its actual etymology—probably. Pumpern means “to thump” or “to knock,” but can also refer to flatulence; Nickel is a name for the devil (cf. English Old Nick). The idea is that this coarse, heavy brown bread would disrupt the digestion even of someone well accustomed to sulpherous fumes.1
This particular pumpernickel…
…advertises itself as health food. It’s whole grain! Preservative-free! “Ideal for a cholesterol conscious diet”! (Don’t worry, I had mine with butter.) It has nine grams of fiber per slice!2
On opening it, our first thought was that is smelled overwhelmingly of molasses. Which is funny, because there’s nothing even remotely molasses-like in the ingredients list. (Unless it was the malt extract?)
Our second thought was to look at our cookbooks to see if they could give us some idea of what was going on.3 But neither Irma nor Fannie nor Zombie Betty even had “pumpernickel” in the index, and so we were left to fend for ourselves.
The bread, as it happened, was fine. With butter (and accompanied by a few radishes and pomegranate pips), it was easily a full meal in itself. My tasting partner described it as a “stick-to-your-ribs” food.
I only tried a tiny bit of it raw: this was, at least, not starchy-tasting. However, it was much better toasted. We did as many as three cycles in the toaster. The middle became progressively chewier and more savory the more it was heated, but a slight burning at the edges dissuaded us from experimenting further.
Given its pure-rye composition, and the note on the package that described it as “crispy when toasted,” we wondered if toasting it would turn it into something along the lines of Scandinavian crispbread. This was a vain hope. No amount of crisping could remove the pumpernickel’s basic heaviness of texture.
This bread was notable—and blessable—for being almost the only non-sweet item in the German aisle at Jungle Jim’s. One could almost imagine the Germans living in a treacle-well—at least the Scandinavian sections had lefse and canned fish!
A week from now, on Boxing Day, we’ll be tackling the last of our haul: Leibniz biscuits and knockoff Nutella. This, on top of Christmas and Christmas Eve leftovers, and oh dear isn’t that the day we go to see our relative in South Bend; maybe we will be ill…
Wish us luck.
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I’m almost certain I first read this explanation in John Ciardi’s Browser’s Dictionary, but I haven’t got a copy at hand to confirm it.
This makes it ⅛ fiber by weight.
Given that this is our family’s usual reaction to confusing situations, we really should keep a Necronomicon on hand—just in case.