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Perhaps it was just as well that I chose to go on holiday to Munich for a few days, although it was Bavarian palaces I went for, rather than Bratwurst and one litre steins of beer. I must admit, my knowledge of German cuisine was rudimentary - one might say even pig ignorant - before I embarked on my trip.
For one, I harboured several traumatic memories from my GCSE years. Staring at cartoonish drawings of objects which looked vaguely like sausages, potatoes, or cake, I remember being forced to repeat 'Ich möchte Bratwurst/Kartoffeln/Kuchen' over and over again like a broken glockenspiel. Even worse, when I attempted to further consider the nature of German food – its origins and its specialities - I could only think of one phrase. Don’t touch my sauerkraut. Unfortunately this is not an original quip on my part, but the title of a sketch from improv comedy show, Whose Line is it Anyway?
When the talented members of the cast were challenged to perform a foreign film sketch, the audience came up with a hilarious proposition - Wayne Brady and the then unknown Stephen Colbert would perform in German, and Ryan and Colin would translate their utterances into English for the three-minute game titled, of course, 'Don't touch my sauerkraut'. With such comic genius on board, the skit managed to weave in themes of infidelity, homoeroticism, Häagen-Dazs, to eventually propose the concept of ready-made, microwaveable sauerkraut.
Luckily, having returned from my travels I no longer have to resort to Stephen Colbert’s (hilarious) pre-conceptions of German grub. In short, I know my Bratwurst from my Blutwurst and my Schweinebraten from my Schweinehaxen. If my recent travels to Munich have taught me anything, it's that there's much more to German food than bratwurst and sauerkraut. And where better to revel in the delights of traditional German gastronomy than Munich, homeplace to a vast array of beer halls, the glorious Viktualienmarket and afternoon Kaffee and Kuchen?
Usually the humble German wurst is subject to an abundance of awful puns (rest assured, I will refuse to subject any Yorker readers to such linguistic maiming), but as the mainstay of culinary culture in Munich, it has become as ubiquitous as the beer halls and gardens which serve it. From morning, when the Bavarian Weisswurst makes an appearance, to afternoon, when the food stalls at the sprawling Viktualienmarket serve up the delicately flavoured Blutwurst 'mit Semmel' (with toasted bun), right down to the average takeaway, home of the Currywurst, which arrives swimming in a spiced tomato sauce, the German wurst is an essential part of daily life, and for good reason.
There are so many types of wurst I'd end up writing an entire essay, should I venture to list them all. Walking through the Viktualienmarket, I encountered Weisswurst, Wollwurst, Blutwurst, Stockwurst, Rindsbratwurst, Teewurst - there was such a variety of mouth-watering delicacies, but sadly due to budgetary constraints I could only choose one.
So in a darkened beer hall one morning, complete with dirndl-clad waitresses, I ordered Weisswurst, notable for its traditional Bavarian past. Should you order this dish after noon, consider yourself breaking one of the city's oldest taboos. Because it was freshly made and came unsmoked in a time without refrigeration technology, Bavarians would have to eat their sausages before noon. I did see Weisswurst being sold in supermarkets, but such a concept defies the very traditions the Weisswurst was manufactured upon. Needless to say, if you are expecting sausages English fry-up style, you’ll be sorely disappointed.
Weisswurst is served in boiling hot water, with a pot of homemade sweet mustard and a basket of Brezen (large German pretzels). Before consuming this tasty mix of veal, pork and herbs, you are supposed to remove it from its tough skin. My fellow patrons deftly peeled their Weisswurst skins away with a simple flick of the knife. Sadly, my dining etiquette was laughable. Needless to say, I resembled a cross between an awkward schoolgirl attempting to successfully twirl a baton and a feral beast ravenously clawing the diameter of a porcelain plate with a knife far too delicate for its ungainly paws.
German food is fairly cheap and it is hearty fare, arriving in extraordinary portions which defy the human appetite. In Munich I saw pretzels the size of my face, one litre jugs of beers being considered on the 'small' side and pork knuckles complete with crackling filling an entire plate. I may have a gaping abyss for a stomach, but I struggled to finish most of my dishes. You might bludgeon me with sausage rolls and shepherd's pies for saying this, but I’ve never really understood the ‘cheap and hearty’ epithet often applied to English food.
Sunday pub lunches have come with limp beef and turgid vegetables; our sausages barely contain 50% meat. What Munich does best is simple food. I don’t mean that in a derogatory fashion, moreso that Bavarian cuisine is delicious in its deliberate unpretentious nature. Many of the specialities I came across stemmed from wartime necessities – because of financial restrictions, consuming less popular cuts of meat became essential to survive.
Today traditional restaurants in Munich will still serve such unconventional items as pig kidneys or calf lungs. Don’t squirm - munching through pig entrails may sound disgusting, but it tastes just as good as a fatty piece of pork belly. Factor in those German purity laws, which state that beer can only be made from four ingredients, nothing else, and you find a region which truly fits the bill of fresh, pure, home-made cuisine.
If you’re going to Germany, try out some of the items listed above. I promise you, it’ll make for a great experience. As for me, when I say ‘Don’t touch my sauerkraut’ now, I really do mean it without a hint of irony. No, really, it tastes great with some Blutwurst and Kartoffeln. But seriously, ignore the clichés. In our present culinary climate, German food is a breath of preservative-free air. Tony Bennett may have sung ‘I left my heart in San Francisco’ and I can certainly say the same for Munich. But faced with the prospect of gloopy soup and tinned tomatoes back in York, I realised I might have left my gut in this Bavarian gem of a city too.
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