Background: Goan girl (me) meets German boy on a midnight train in 2010. 5 years later she moves to Germany and is now 8 months young in the world of Bratwurst, Currywurst and Beers.
I met a Goan friend last month in Hamburg and 30 seconds into saying hello, here’s how the conversation went:
Goan friend: So, what’s your sausage situation?
My German husband: Excuse me!
Me (blanching): What?!
It took me a couple of tricky moments to realise he meant my culinary situation.
Me: Er… I don’t have any.
Goan friend (shocked): how can you not?! I’m going to change this when I see you again next week.
He went on to describe our beloved chouriço pão in such exquisite detail that I found myself victim to the overpowering craving of a demented soul. Even my husband who is not a fan, started looking forward to a nice fat parcel of Goan sausages.
As promised, my Goan friend met us with a heavy bundle the next Friday and went into further details about this goan delicacy. He is a top chef who travels the world and could go on for hours about food.
By the next morning my craving had reached a feverish pitch and I bolted out of bed, anticipating the most delicious breakfast in 8 months.
I ripped open the bag and all hell broke loose. Out came misqut- mango pickle, dried fish and….. NO SAUSAGES!!!!!
Unbelievably, my earnest Goan-sausage-evangelising friend had committed a gross mix-up of goody bags!
Utterly distraught, I called my parents and pleaded for some sausages to be mailed/couriered/sent through friend or foe. Anything!!!! Of course they had to laugh it out. Knowing their daughter’s love for sausages had suddenly turned into an obsession.
Realising his mistake took another week and my friend vowed not to leave Hamburg before the sausages were safely in my custody. With hours left before his departure, we decided to meet at the main train station which it roughly the size of 2 football fields, crisscrossed with chaos. 30 minutes of running around in circles and missing each other until at last we discarded our phones and used our senses. He, looking for a brown skinned, black haired Goan; and me, sniffing the air for my beloved chouriços.
I finally cooked up a storm of Goan sausages, the aroma spilling over my balcony, into my heart and satisfying my thirst for a piece of home.
Bratwurst: Brat= fried. Wurst= sausage. Big, juicy and mouth-watering. Eaten with fresh loaves and either mustard or tomato sauce. A moment on the lips and forever on the hips.
Blutwurst: Blut= blood. People say it’s either a love it or hate it sausage. Many I know swear by it and say it’s the most delicious thing on the planet. I made my decision before tasting it.
Currywurst: it crushed my notions of a fiery red gravy dripping sausage. This is a sausage dusted with a tangy, mildly spiced powder called curry and smeared over with tomato sauce. Once I got over my initial disappointment, it soon turned into my favourite street foods.
Oh for the love of sausages!! Sigh! 💓