“Tiki taki tiki taki hoy hoy hoy!”

The tall balding man with endless ocean blue eyes and perfectly fitting lederhosen looked over the crowd at Glunz Bavaria Haus. He smiled an irrepressible smile as he raised a stein for the well-recognized drinking call. His expression, I imagined, was part of his job description as lead singer and master of ceremonies for a Saturday night Oktoberfest celebration at a local beer hall cum old world restaurant. What a gig; getting other people to drink mass quantities of beer, playing a mini-glockenspiel (which was harnessed around his waist), leading patrons in song, then recruiting marchers for a short black-red-and-gold flag waving parade between the tables.

John and I often frequented local ethnic diners, but I confess, we’d normally opt for a tangy Pad Thai over schnitzel and potato salad. This past weekend, though, a friend of mine from Madison and the 16 year-old exchange student she’s sponsoring came for a visit. When we discussed dinner choices and the possibility of getting some home cooking, the teen’s eyes just lit up.

Jasmine is from a small town near Cologne. She is smart and polite and sweet beyond belief. She was very proactive in planning what she wanted to see during her weekend in Chicago and made sure my friend Amy asked about the wifi readiness of our house in advance so she could SKYPE her regular conversation with her mother on Sunday morning.

After their first full day of visiting museums and walking around downtown, Jasmine and Amy joined John and me for a traditional Friday night (Chicago style) pizza. Then she sat with us in front of our 55” TV (a shamefully American indulgence, I reflected) and watched one of the baseball wildcard playoff games. Her questions delighted us as they demonstrated a real intent to comprehend the odd rules and strategies on display.

After their second day of tourist adventures, Jasmine came back with tired feet and no enthusiasm for working on her homework assignment, reading Slaughterhouse Five. Going to the Bavaria Haus for dinner was perfect.

Jasmine unconsciously started singing along with the band when she heard a familiar song then tried to explain, lest we get an unfavorable impression, that all Germans do not spend their time in beer halls. The bread dumplings they served must have reminded her of recipes popular in Ottendorf or whatever dorf she hailed from. She declared the specials authentic. Our waitress exchanged a few words with her in German including recommendations on where to find real German bread. This, it turned out, was one of the things Jasmine missed most.

Before heading off for their last day of museum hopping on Sunday, John somehow managed to avoid Chicago Marathon traffic to buy a round of German style farmer’s rye from the Austrian Bakery, per the Bavarian Haus waitress’s instructions.

As we ate the German bread with an otherwise very American breakfast of scrambled eggs and bacon, Jasmine closed her eyes and broke into an incredible smile. Somehow, I knew the smile she was wearing on the inside was even bigger.

While technology facilitated a surprising level of connection with her family (thanks to SKYPE), biting into a slice of bread that tasted like she knew bread should taste must have felt like a warm hug from her mother.

Witnessing a young girl finding a sense of home 4000 miles away from her front door is no small thing.