The only time I've been to Germany was when I was 4. We were in the Dusseldorf airport. My parents asked what I wanted for breakfast and I replied bacon, eggs and toast. They ordered to the best of their ability in German, which aside from some fleeting Yiddish was nil. Breakfast is served. I look down at my plate aghast- Eggs and toast, no bacon. I proceed to throw a fit worthy of every petulant 4-year old who's ever walked the planet. My parents desperately try to calm me down and explain that this will simply have to do as they don't speak the language and there's no time to reorder the bacon anyway as we have to catch a connecting flight to Paris. After the requisite sturm und drang, I eventually realize the futility of my position and begrudgingly tuck into the eggs. Turns out the bacon has been ingeniously placed below the eggs to continue cooking and keep it warm. I've been emotionally scarred every since. Needless to say, I've never returned.