By SALLIE SATTERTHWAITE
sallies@juno.com

How little it takes to connect with strangers, with no common language save, perhaps, a smile.

I adopted my daughter's practice of food-shopping almost daily while in Germany, a habit born of necessity there because of the tiny refrigerators in most German kitchens.

Since she and Rainer remodeled their kitchen, however, that's no longer the case. Theirs is a huge American model, Rainer's pride and joy. Nonetheless, when I visit I frequent the outdoor market almost every day for sheer love of the spectacle. There's nothing prettier than arrays of food scarlet radishes, glistening lettuce, stacks of golden cheeses, clear-eyed fish on beds of ice chips, bundles of asparagus, bins of potatoes, not to mention vegetables I could not identify.

My problem was seldom "what is it?" since I was perfectly happy to experiment with unknown veggies; my problem was more often how much to ask for. After all, you can point at what you want, but guesstimating quantity and then expressing it in both a foreign language and a foreign system of weights and measures that's when the simple act of grocery shopping can become a monumental challenge.

On this particular evening, cold and rainy of course, I knew we had some leftover pasta, a staple in Mary and Rainer's diet, and I thought some fresh spinach would be a nice addition. At home we have spinach salad at least twice a week and it seemed exactly right to go with cheese tortellini in a creamy garlic sauce. I found the market, but no spinach was obvious in the first couple of green grocers' stalls.

Finally, "Haben-sie Spinat?" I asked someone in my lame Deutsch. "Ja," says Frau and, of course, asked how much I wanted. I'm not sure what I'd have asked for in ounces, much less grams. When I faltered, she asked, "Fur ein Person oder zwei Personen?" for one person or two? It was going to be just me and Mary that evening: "Zwei, bitte," I replied confidently.

Frau turned around, reached down into a crate behind the counter and filled a bag while I fumbled around in my purse. When I got it back to the apartment, I decided she must have thought it was going to be the main course for two persons, cooked. The huge bag was packed.

I cleaned spinach forever, wilted about half of it to go over the tortellini, put a bunch more into a green salad, and we still had enough to make a green sauce for Maultaschen the next evening. (Maultauschen is my favorite, large dough pockets with meat or cheese in them, delicious simply cooked in a hot vegetable bouillon, with salad and a great seeded roll.)

The surfeit of spinach was OK. It's my opinion that there are two foods of which you cannot get too much: green veggies and orange juice.

Shopping in Germany sometimes seemed to be one such crisis after another admittedly minor crises, but they could be exhausting. One day when Mary had to work late, she gave me a shopping list. I plodded through the drizzle from store to store, struggling to express what I needed and how much of it, then figuring out how to pay for it.

I was almost done when I passed through the market square about two blocks from Mary and Rainer's apartment. The sight, sound and fragrance of heaps of fresh food, bustling shoppers, the occasional spit turning with something sizzling on it revitalized me. Of course, I thought, I'll pick up something special for dinner.

Potatoes!

They must have just come into harvest because they were everywhere, but what really stopped me in my tracks was one vender with 19 bins I counted them, 19! of potatoes, all different in some way. There were at least eight different sizes and several different types (yellow, red, brown). I tried to convey my amazement at the variety to the woman in the stand, but I don't think she got it.

I picked out some thin-skinned red ones while she held one of those paper cones green grocers often use, and then I spotted some rosenkohl, literally "roselike cabbage" Brussels sprouts, a favorite of mine that I seldom fix at home, since Dave doesn't like them.

How much do I need? Frau was obviously asking. I don't know, Frau, just put them in the cone and I'll tell you when it looks like enough. Whoa, that will do. Now save me the mental math and pick out of my hand whatever coins you want.

I trudge on home and all the way up the 76 stairs to the flat and realize I don't have half enough sprouts. Twenty minutes before Rainer and Mary were due home, I tear back down the steps, getting dizzy on the way down, turning 180 degrees twice at each floor. The Market was still open, I find Frau and manage to say, "Ich bin eine Dummkopf," and she flashes one of those dazzling smiles that simply illumine these stern German faces when you've invoked their sympathy.

She loads up another paper cone with rosenkohl. I thank her and let her pick out some money again, and she asks if I was sure I had genug (enough) and if not, she'd be there until 2 o'clock which she managed to say in English. We have a good laugh, and I know I'll go back to her stall next time I need veggies.

Tomorrow, Frau, morgen and off I go to climb my 76 steps for the second time in an hour.

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