This morning I received an email from a fellow by the name of Matthew. Akin to a haj to Mecca, Matthew and his friend Jack took a mission to Germany, with whynatte on their mind. Matthew submitted some pictures of him and his friend Jack drinking whynattes in Germany, and had the following to say about the experience:

“It was a rainy night, but we were determined to bring the whynatte to the maiden land of jagermeister — Germany. We arrived at our destination (a bar called “am Hansemann”) and before I knew what had even happened my friend Jack had already negotiated procurement of the whynatte with translation help from a surly-looking man at the end of the bar (the bartender spoke virtually no English).

The bartender went into the back and came out with our “lattes.” The only problem is that apparently in Germany, “latte” means “steamed milk.” And we were staring down the barrel of two pint glasses full of it. Somehow we figured out that what we needed were “latte macchiatos,” and after getting her new instructions, our bartender whipped up a couple of beauties. We had to drink them down a bit to make room for the jager, and just as we were ready to drop in, I made a sudden move with my arm and spilled my latte — all over the place. Rather embarassing.

Soon afterwards she made us up a fresh batch, and we promptly took them down. Whynatte, meet Germany. Germany, whynatte.”