Brats

On Thursdays the Konstablerwache Platz turns into the most lovely and jolly market. Packed with bakery, sausage, plants, vegetable and fruit stands, carts and trucks, there are also loads of places to eat and drink. And the Germans do. Mit Gusto. You can sit anywhere with anyone which is, you know, at the same time convivial and anxiety provoking. I got a bratwurst. Just a brat. On a hard roll. Nothing else. They have no mustard, ketchup, sauerkraut, nothing. But fine. So I sit down with some Japanese people who I figure aren’t gonna object to me the way a German would. 

This sausage was delicious. I’d eat one right now in fact. But it’s no Usinger’s sausage. Which brings me to: I’m gonna be home and have a Usinger’s sausage and think, This is fine but it’s no…oh, no wait, it is. And then what? I’m ruined forever by an imaginary sausage? 

I guess ruined may be an overstatement. 






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