This cod, salted and served with the bones and skin on, is quite close to the traditional basque style of preparation. They are known to have salted the fish and then buried it on the Newfoundland coast for preservation. Regardless, its creamy and salty flavor go well with a good German beer.

German beer gets characterized a lot of different ways. German beers, in general, are not strong, are not dark, nor unusual. German beers, rather than being novel, on a whole are simply well refined. Not refined as in snooty; refined as in the taste is perfected.

Beer was not invented in Germany - it has existed for almost as long as man became agrarian, and is thought to have preceded the making of bread. But Germans are noted for making the most progress. The Baltic Germans were producing beer of such high-quality by 1200 A.D. that an early gigantic export industry was forming in port towns like Bremen. Ships were setting sail for England, Scandinavia, the Baltic towns of the Rus. But so too then, were pirates, thirsty for loot and beer.

Piracy in the Baltic was rampant. The response to this was key for the development of the Baltic cities. It gave them reason to protect their wares in the form of merchant associations called the Hanseatic League. Initially, to protect the land routes between the salt-producing towns and the herring-fishing towns, the two commodities were tied by their function in preserving herring. But the Hanseatic League expanded to as far East as the Rus and as far west as Holland. Ship merchants would band together on their routes, forming armed sea caravans to thwart the constant threat.

In 1489, Baltic Germans created the world’s first brewing guild. In the middle ages, Northern Europeans; men, women, children, drank on average two six-packs a day. One middle age temperance group in Germany called for a limit of seven drinks per meal.

In the morning, we crossed by caravan into the Polish state of Western Pomerania over the Oder River just south of Szczecin. Polish Pomerania is a view of agriculture fifty years removed from the free market. The wheat fields are all poppys and lavender, the barley fields have gone to pine seedlings. The after-effects of communism can be disquietingly pleasing, but also a shame. The first thing you wonder about Polish Pomerania is what’s up with those prostitutes hanging out in the woods?

They wear all white, and their hair is bleached white too, so that, against the green of the second-growth pines on the side of the otherwise empty road, they look like bad Shakespearean nymphs.

But there are more than just hookers here on the road through the woods. Mushroom hunters too. In between the shade of the trees you can catch their diminutive Polish cars discreetly parked on logging-roads or simply under a tree.

I wondered about if the hookers were strutting their white skirts for the mushroom hunters. Like some mushroom guy is walking along looking for some chanterelles and then all of a sudden a damsel in white appears. So the mushroom hunter holds up his bag of mushrooms for trade and points to the nearest blueberry patch.

They say that prostitution is the oldest profession in the world, but we all know that gathering is the egg to prostitution's chicken. Picking mushrooms came first. What else would early man have to offer the woman? Chanterelles are a distinctive mushroom, looking more like an upside-down gas-funnel than a Smurf house. Their color ranges from pale to bright orange, and even draped in cheese or gravy, their wild flavor abounds.

As over-hunting eliminated most of Pomerania’s game, the mushroom would fill in for its meatiness. Present-day Poland is home to 1,500 fungi; wet Baltic air, moist woodland, rich soil.

There are no freeways in Polish Pomerania. It's all two-lane. The roads are the same size as when Frederick the Great of Prussia planted limes, oaks, and chestnut trees along their side. I ask dad about those trees. "They got rid of them in West Germany," he said.

Those trees planted to keep the soldiers and traders cool in the bright sun are the most consistently endearing and beautiful characteristic of Pomerania.

Those roads march haphazardly, above marshes and over hills, and through woodland. Always there is an old steeple or an unkempt palace in the distance, and always the ultra-weird concrete of communism's beehive dwellings.