well shit, in case you were keeping tabs (which you weren’t. i know you weren’t, why would you?), when in NYC the other week i managed by sheer special providence to knock another whatever off the ol’ Omnivore’s 100. myself and some compatriots were hoofing it through the East Village (from a wine bar that i accidentally invited several people to, being deceived by the [perhaps overly?] unprepossessing design of their snack menu. the fare [as in, the food, not the bill) itself was bold and streamlined, but the layout [of the menu] was horrible.*) on our way to get some #1 dumplings when what should up and totally exist but a CURRYWURST BAR.
so obviously we had to stop and have pilseners and currywurst. which was a tough decision, because we were on our way to get delicious dumplings, but after a moment of total psychological paralysis, one of our company came to my aid and was basically like, “Dude, currywurst,” which if you don’t know, is fries with fried sausage covered in curry sauce.
it’s basically the poutine of Germany.
and maybe better? maybe just because i like sausage better than cheese curds/anything? although the fries were a little overly salty.
there’s really no reason not to open a currywurst stand here in Montréal (despite the obvious impropriety of a culturally milquetoast failed Maritimer anglophone opening up a German-Indian restaurant in Québec, but i mean, fuck it, the Cat In The Hat hat is basically the unofficial logo of Québec, so Reasonable Accommodation Debate aside, i suppose we can consider [neoliberal] multiculturalism a fait accompli and i should just open that shit up with a clear conscience), except that i fear what all that deep frying would do to my pores.
i consider New York City the land of opportunity mostly because you can order a jamaican patty on a bun through a miniature bullet-proof glass turnstyle at 4am.
*in retrospect, there were many missed cues that we were in fact going to a Wine Bar, but i’m pretty sure I Regret Nothing. the finocchietti (fennel sausage) was delicious, as were the deep fried lamb sausages with sage, and the red wine arancini w/oxtail pretty much stole the show, in terms of solids. i also consider myself lucky to have stumbled into the situation and patronized an establishment in NYC the equivalent of which i likely would not set foot in in Montréal (says the guy who’s going to Le Comptoir tonight) because i had the opportunity to try both a) a drier sherry than i realized existed, what with my limited familiarity with that whole family of fortifieds, and b) a sauvignon blanc from Burgundy, which i sort of thought Wasn’t Done, but apparently the Saint-Bris AOC is a bit of a black sheep in the white Burgundys business, and has basically the same soil profile and climate as Chablis. goddamn it was delicious. although unfortunately the above is the extent to the geographical information i was able to retain, and now can’t be sure i’ll ever find the exact wine again. just my luck that it was something they had just gotten in and so was not actually on their wine list.
(i also, preening degenerate that i am, took satisfaction in my New Friend’s observation of the novelty of being invited to a wine bar by someone who hadn’t brushed his teeth or changed his shirt [unwashed since july 2010, homemade Bolt Thrower shirt] in three days. in my defense, i did brush my shoulders off on my way in.)