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Sunday, September 15, 2013

The Fourth Reich

It's been a long time since I lived in Deutschland.  When I did live there, I wore shorts with built-in suspenders, and I pulled up my socks oh so high, and I often ran through various valleys and sang out in triumph.  Oh, but I kid!  When I was there I actually worked for an engineering firm and I wore pleated trousers.  My boss, Franz Duseldorf, loved a good sausage, and he would often take me all over in search of wursts, brats, potato salads, and all manner of delicious German foods.

Now I'm in New York, and the pickings are slim.  But they're not that slim.  There are good German-style restaurants and beer halls.  When I want a good currywurst, I can think of no better place than Wechsler's Currywurst, an intimate little pub in the East Village.  Wechsler's serves all manner of sausages, and they have some damn fine potato salad.  The mustard oils permeate the potatoes, and dill, there must be dill!

The currywurst is nothing short of spectacular.  The wurst is rich and beyond reproach.  It's served, as is the custom in Germany, with french fries, but these are no ordinary fries.  They're golden brown and crunchy and delicious.  Housemade curried ketchup is slathered on, and never in your life have you wanted something slathered on so much.

Franz Duseldorf visited  last week and we went to Wechsler's.  He was quite pleased, although he didn't agree the potato salad had dill. "Listen here, you son of a bitch," I said.  "If there isn't dill in this potato salad, then slap me silly and call me jesus!"  He proceeded to slap me silly and call me jesus, but I still maintain there's dill.


Wechsler's Currywurst
East Village, the City of New York