The delights of the continent

As you may know, my budding travel comrades and I recently embarked on a trip to the land of Germany, Berlin to be exact.  Before leaving for what was for me a maiden voyage to uncharted lands I consulted the expertise of my more so well-travelled peers in anticipation of what was to come. We conversed for an age trading tales of our escapades; a good friend of mine aroused my intrigue with the mention of the local zest for sausage it was a delicacy there he explained. So, off we went on our merry way to find out just how good the German sausage really was.

Whilst in transit I naively envisioned street vendors and specialised shops completely dedicated to the chunky snack but upon arrival and during the preliminary pleasantries with the locals I discovered no such thing. My friends and I were pointed in the direction by our guide to the bourgeois coffee houses and ‘hip’ drinking bars which were all fine and dandy but deep down they were of no interest to me.

During a visit to the coffee house we were joined by a quite unsavoury chap from the middle east who although higly intoxicated on German beer and I suspect a little hashish he seemed to know his way around the city and I felt it an opportune time to enquire further into the matter. “Excuse me my good chap, do you know where we may get some of your great sausage?” We asked. To our dismay we were greeted with looks of confusion and shoulder shrugging so we attempted to re-ask the question in the local tongue which by his reaction seemed to resonate somewhat. He took a quill and paper and drew up some sort of phallic object and let out a roll of laughter. I took this as some sort of cryptic message and thanked the man kindly for his assistance. 

Later that night we ventured out from our lodgings in hope that the night scene may perhaps bring us more luck in our endeavour. We trawled from district to district, conversing with local Frauleins and indulging in the well renowned German beer but still no sausage. At one point I thought my luck was in whilst walking along a busy road when a shifty character emerged from a dark side street soliciting some form of illicit substance which on closer inspection turned out to be hashish. This did nothing for my now escalating frustration. I was starting to wonder if these suggestive rumours had any clout whatsoever. 

Disappointingly, the first day in Berlin had been fruitless in my conquest but I remained stellar and undeterred on my mission. 

The next day we ventured further afield, taking full advantage of Berlin’s efficient metro system. I was convinced that the busy market place would be laden with readily available German sausage. I imagined them hanging gracefully from the walls like trophy game catches or swinging proudly on strings from the ceilings. Yet, despite my efforts there was still no sign of the so called delicacy. 

Later on in the evening we retired to a local restaurant to regroup and re-fuel.  I skimmed through the menu a demoralised and deflated man, starring defeat in the face but then I saw it... The beautiful word that jumped from the page and dazzled me into a frenzy… “Schnitzel” written so elegantly in a cursive font. “It’s here!” I proclaimed. “They have the schnitzel!” I announced much to my comrades delight.  I almost bit the waitress’ hand off when she came to take our orders “schnitzel,” I demanded vigorously. “Would you like mushroom sauce with the schnitzel?” The waitress asked in a suggestive tone. “ Yes please,” I replied although I thought it a strange accompaniment to a masculine platter of bulky sausage but then again - this is no regular sausage, and I imagined nothing like anything that I had had before. 

I sat restless, twitching my seat and salivating with anticipation. Approximately 19 minutes and 56 seconds later the waitress returned and placed a plate in front of me... Grinning like a child at Christmas I braced myself, fork in hand ready to take on this meaty dish. What I was confronted with was not quite what I had expected. This was some form of tame and flattened portion, coated in bread crumbs and covered in mushroom sauce. Apprehensively, I cut a segment of this offering and brought it to my cautious mouth. The breadcrumbs and mushroom sauce were not much to my liking but the meat was succulent and tender. If this was truly what all of the fuss was about then I suppose I could understand some form of plaudits where merited but certainly not to the degree in which they have been hailed.

On our third and final day on the continent I arose with a slight sense of relief that I had tasted the acclaimed delight although it had not quite lived up to expectations, but life is full of tiny disappointments I told myself, stiff upper lip and all that.  I thought, “Perhaps today I can take in some of the culture and history of the place undistracted by my search for wholesome German sausage”.

The city is truly draped in heritage, history and culture, art is allowed to flourish unconditionally. I was led through old battle grounds where many noble men had fallen and this almost brought a tear to my eye. The enlightening tour through Berlin had definitely been an emotional experience for me and by the end of it I for one was quite flabbergasted.  One noticeable thing about the riveting tour is that I had hardly thought about the schnitzel (or lack thereof) for over an hour.  

Just as we were leaving the last point of the tour for the station I looked up and across the street... “What’s this? Do my eyes deceive me?” I enquired to myself. I gasped with glee as I realised what I had stumbled across. A lowly street merchant perched (strategically I presume) on a street corner right in the centre of the most vibrant district of tourism and commerce brandishing his superb sizzling German sausage for all to see. “My knight in greasy stained armour has finally come” I thought. Like a flash I was stood before him “I will have some of your German sausage my good man” I requested bashfully. “With mustard?” he responded in a subtle and inconspicuous tone, as if I could say no. “Yes sir,” I replied before the nonchalant schnitzel monger proceeded to wrap his German sausage in a fluffy warm bun that could hardly bare this vast example of superior swine stick.  

With great anticipation I took my first bite. I was in heaven, my humble taste buds have never been greeted with such flavour and impeccable consistency, a firm exterior with a tender centre, it was truly deliciously and scrumptious in every way. What an experience to behold.

It had taken for us to travel far and wide, being led astray with dubious information until we had learnt the history and plight of the cities people like a sort of rite of passage or initiation to the world of schnitzel. 

On the return journey to our travellers’ lodgings I remained solemn in a blissful daze. To my surprise as we embarked on the short trek from the station I was confronted with a remarkable amount of enthusiastic schnitzel mongers; their German sausages sprawled out in front of them in an utterly transparent vat that left nothing to the imagination. “What rotten luck,” I thought.  After searching for days for this level of public sausage flogging I only manage to discover it at a time when it is less required due to me still feeling the effects of my earlier feast. 

Momentarily I allowed myself to drift into a fantasy world where I was to indulge flagrantly in all of this readily available schnitzel, gorging on it from every angle until I was completely stuffed.  Of course a certain level of self-discipline had to be exerted, an Englishman must always control his urges, everything in moderation.

I arrived back in Old Blighty a satisfied traveller with a sizzling story to tell my comrades whenever the occasion arose that we would next reconvene around a table.

TTFN

David,TCC