If Memory Serves: White Sausage
Dave Watson

If Memory Serves: White Sausage

If Memory Serves chronicles moments from my dining past, perhaps explaining why I'm so damn warped.

On this day a couple years ago I was with some friends at the Christmas market in Nuremberg.

Actually, me and another guy spent Saturday afternoon in a sports bar watching Bundesliga action with some German who spent several hours recounting the career of goalkeeper Oliver Kahn. We did, however, step outside once or twice for a helping of the region's spicy white sausage.

The city is known for war crimes trials (try asking locals for directions to the sights) and sausage, both in brat form and--at Christmas market stalls--as ground patties. Standing outside with the smell of mulled wine and pork fat all around with the holidays approaching, well, there's no better way to appreciate a greasy meal.

Yes, you can also get the famous rostbratwurste in just about every restaurant in the city--as well as many market stalls. But the weisswurste has an allure all its own.

The white sausage is almost gentle, with a sweet flavor backed by herbs, spices and that compelling layer of scrap pulled from the grill as the meat caramelizes. And the Germans don't cut down on fat, so each bite oozes from the bun.

Damn it's good.

I highly recommend a trip to the market there, though you'll need to go soon. But if you do schedule a trip, don't make the same mistake I did. Apparently the women in your group get a little upset if you spend the entire vacation hanging out in a sports bar arguing the merits of Kahn, Lehmann and the late Enke, emerging only to gulp gluhwein and eat sausages.


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