Our culinary expert finds herself at the epicenter of the most glamorous motorsport on earth
By Lydia Itoi 

At the podium

For 362 days of the year, the township of Hockenheim, pop. 20,000, is mostly nondescript farms and scraps of pine forest, just off the A6 between Heidelberg and Karlsruhe. It’s only 60 miles from Frankfurt, but it’s way off the tourist map--generally not worth even a pit stop. However, for a sweltering summer weekend, the population balloons over 100,000 as Hockenheim becomes the epicenter of the most glamorous motorsport on earth. And in this exclusive, Gemütlichkeit reports on the 2006 Formula 1 German Grand Prix directly from the paddocks of Team Ferrari itself, the second hottest seats in the house after Michael Schumacher’s.

Actually, there really aren’t any seats in the paddocks except for the pit crew. In the pits, where most races are won or lost, there is simply no room for error, and less for visitors. Gino Rosato, who might have been a linebacker for the 49ers if he weren’t so busy being point man for Ferrari’s CEO, found us an out-of-the-way corner where we were somewhat less likely to be trampled to death by swarms of helmeted spacemen in red-orange jumpsuits.

Outside, fans filled the grandstands as uniformed racetrack babes pranced around the starting grid. There were a few spots of baby blue Finnish flags supporting MacLaren driver Kimi Raikkonen and teal blue Renault colors for defending champion Fernando Alonso, but for the most part, the Hockenheimring is a roiling sea of Ferrari red. Celebrities and VIPs get a closer look at the cars, and I spot a TV crew interviewing Nikki Lauda. The former three-time world champion still bears the battle scars from his terrible 1976 accident at Nürburgring, Germany’s other fabled circuit. That incident helped lead to the F1 German Grand Prix’s return to Hockenheim.

Michael Schumacher

Hockenheim’s long racing pedigree goes back to the 1930s, when Mercedes-Benz turned a motorcycle track and backwoods roads into a test circuit. Within a few years, the original triangular raceway became a long oval that blazed a famously high-speed loop through the Black Forest before sweeping back into town. War, new highway construction, safety issues, and the demands of modern spectator sports have brought several modifications, and the latest Herman Tilke-designed incarnation was opened in 2002. This new track design reflects F1’s current preoccupation with slowing the cars down—if they were any faster, they’d take flight. Traditionalists mourned the passing of the days when men were men and thought nothing about hurtling through silent forests in attempts to warp the space-time continuum. (Two drivers have lost their lives on the old track in the process.) Today’s shorter, 4.574km/2.842 mile Hockenheimring may no longer have those atmospheric tree-lined straightaways or turns through the village graveyard, but it still lets cars get over 200 mind-rattling miles per hour and has capacity for 120,000 rabid Schumacher fans.

It feels like twice that number have shown up for the weekend, and the roads into town are completely jammed. Many don’t have tickets, but they stay for the party anyway. Hockenheim’s cornfields have temporarily sprouted Winnebagos, souvenir stands, and impromptu beer gardens in the shadow of a vast encampment of racing team trucks and trailers. Schumi’s popularity and performance have turned Hockenheim into Germany’s biggest tailgate for the past 10 years. As it turns out, 2006 could be the last Schumacher homecoming. In July, F1’s regulating body announced that from now on the German Grand Prix would alternate between Nürburgring and Hockenheim, and the 2007 race will take place at Nürburgring. Later Schumacher himself, seven-time world champion and the most successful F1 driver in history, would announce that he’s retiring after this season.

As extraordinary as Schumacher is, even he doesn’t win on his own. A regulation 2.4 liter V8 engine that can pump out 800 bhp at almost 20,000 rpm isn’t the only well-oiled machine you need to win in Formula One. You need about 60 of them, each designed to last for only a few hours, plus a crack crew of design engineers and fanatical roadies who could probably assemble a fighter jet from scratch in 30 seconds blindfolded. Formula One is also the world’s most expensive and technologically demanding sport. To organize and finance all of this, you need a formidable organization that could teach NASA a thing or two about high-tech logistics. They may hail from Marinello, but Team Ferrari is a modern-day Roman invading army, sweeping everything out of its path with its technical and organizational muscle.

In the pit

In the moments before the big race, the pits look like intense chaos, but it’s carefully choreographed chaos. One knot of mechanics swarms over the cars, waiting to the last minute to whip off the puffy covers from the Bridgestone tires. Someone holds an umbrella over Schumacher as he pulls on his helmet, receiving final words of advice from Ferrari CEO Jean Todt. Just before the starting flag, the engines are roaring over the crowd, but the pits are finally quiet, almost relaxed. Everybody settles into their seats because everything is as ready as it can ever get.

Then the light changed. All at once, the surrounding Black Forest was practically uprooted by the searing howl of 22 apocalyptic riders launching off the starting grid. In the trenches, you don’t watch the race— the crew watches a live video feed—you FEEL it. You feel the air and your inadequately protected eardrums shattering under the pressure of a solid wall of sound. You feel the ground shaking and your nose burning from fumes and incinerating rubber. You feel the tension in the room as every team member strains at the monitors, willing their man to get to the corner first.  I for one felt a rabbit’s instinct to dive into the nearest safe burrow when hawks are screaming overhead.

Formula One fans

I won’t go into the details of the race since I’m not a sportswriter and it took me a while to pry my eyes back open. But when the dust finally settled from the starting rush, the two Ferraris were pulling easily ahead. On the first lap, Ralf Schumacher, Michael’s brother, ran into David Coulthard, and the two BMW Saubers ran into each other. Raikkonen, who started in pole position just ahead of Schumacher and Massa’s red Ferraris, had to drop back because MacLaren had accidentally put too little gas in his tank, forcing an extra pit stop. We saw him blaze down the pit lane three times, and when his crew struggled a few extra moments with a wingnut, the Ferrari team politely looked away. Defending world champion and 2006 leader Fernando Alonso limped along on his blistered Michelins as the Ferraris continued to sweep around the circuit, leaving behind 67 laps of scorched earth.

If the race looked easy, it was thanks to perfect engineering, planning, and execution. I never saw any outward signal, but somehow the crew knew when to get up in a body and take their places in the pit. One of the Ferraris would come screeching to a halt, there would be a wild frenzy of activity for some six or seven seconds, and then everyone would be back in their chairs again, some even catnapping between stops. The car merely seemed to vanish into another clap of thunder—tires changed, tank filled. In slow motion, the frenzy would look like grease monkey ballet. This has to be the best mechanic shop on earth, the absolute last word in the technology of speed. It’s also the cleanest—I sat on a tool chest and came away after two hours with not a smudge on my white slacks. I only wish I could bring my car here for service.

The pit crew’s battle-hardened composure exploded when Schumacher crossed the finish line first, followed by his teammate Massa and then by Raikkonen, Jenson Button, and Alonso. We found ourselves swept up in a tidal wave of red-shirted euphoria as the crew rushed for the podium to be showered with champagne. The crowd nearly crushed me against the rail as Schumacher climbed out of his triumphal car only a few feet away. Grown men, including the giant Gino and our friend Ralf, were jumping up and down and climbing the walls like children. Clearly, the fact that Schumi had won so many victories didn’t make his 89th any less special. July 30, 2006 would go down as a perfect day at the races for Ferrari and Germany’s favorite son.