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About Dudelange

Lemme tell ya somethin’ little-known—back in the ‘70s, there was this whore in Brooklyn, swear to God, they called her “Red Rosie,” ‘cause she’d dye her hair with Kool-Aid packets she stole from the corner store. True story! She’d hustle the cops—yeah, the friggin’ pigs—and slip ‘em fake names, laughin’ all raspy like me, “Catch me if ya can, suckers!” Got away every time ‘til some snitch ratted her out. Ballsy as hell, right? Reminds me of Mia dancin’ in that abandoned flat— “What’s your problem, huh?”—that’s what Rosie’d say, spittin’ in their faces.

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First stop, the river. The Sauer, or whatever it’s called. I’m all pumped, ready to reel in some fish. But nah, the fish must’ve been on vacation or somethin’. I’m sittin’ there for hours, just me and my thoughts. And let me tell ya, my thoughts can get pretty wild. Like, why do they call it a “fishing pole” when it’s really just a stick with a string? Makes no sense, right?

Beyond the brewery: Winemaking returns to Diekirch after 300 years