DOS HERMANOS IMMER ESSEN IN MUNCHEN: DAY THREE

If Day Two was a relatively sober day then the beginning of Day Three was more sobering still.

HP suggested that we take the short S-bahn journey to visit the memorial site that is now preserving the horrors of Dachau. I was not certain I wanted to go. This was, after all, part of a journey to do research for a hopefully informative, but light-hearted book about food around the globe not a trip to the blackest corners of man’s inhumanity to man.

In the end, I decided to join HP. As the last of the survivors of these atrocities begin to die naturally, there are too many opportunities for people to claim that it never happened or ‘was not as bad as people make out”

Shame on them. Now, I have seen what happened and one of the places where it happened and, walking around what was once the roll call yard, as the Sunday morning winds cut through my heavy coat, I shuddered at the suffering of those who had gone before standing there in only their thin prison uniforms not certain if they would see out the day alive.

Unsurprisingly, we were silent on the return journey to the centre of Munich and what we had seen sat heavily on our shoulders. However, our spirits were lifted by the sight of my old publishing chum, Isabelle Fuchs, another local who had promised to show us around for the day.

Although originally from Austria, Isabelle has been in the city for years and knows every last nook and cranny.

It was past 2pm and we had not eaten, so Isabelle’s first port of call was Andechser-Am-Dom, another Augustiner beer hall close to the main catherdral.

As always seems to be the case, it was packed (when do these people work?) but they squeezed us into a communal table and Isabelle ordered us a schnitt of double bock. Double bock is the extra strength dark brew and is served in normal sized glasses but in small measures called schnitts which consist mainly of foam. They look benign, but a couple of them will have you reeling. They certainly did that to us and I was pleased when plates of food were plopped in front of us by the owner.

HP chose well, but then he always does. A blutwurst (blood sausage) came on a plate of roasted sauerkraut and broken roasted potatoes. The sausage was surprisingly spicy but not quite as much as one of the two types of sausage that adorned my own plate. The Germans don’t seem to have much of a taste for hot stuff and this seemed out of character but Isabelle assured us it was very popular around those here parts.

Isabelle was keen to show us more of “her” city and took us to The English Garden which, I am reliably informed, is one of the largest in Europe ( to put it in scale, larger than Central Park and smaller than Richmond Park) As the Sun began to sink and the light changed you can easily see why it is one of the Munchener’s favourite places to go for a stroll. Mind you, it also began to get cold and the thick sheet of ice on the mad made lake was a testament to how much colder it was going to get.

We decamped to a bar and began looking at a local listing magazine Isabelle had brought with her to decide on a venue for our last meal of the trip. I would love to say that we opted for fish or that we tried one of the many Michelin starred restaurants in the city. But, I would be telling a big fat lie. We, of course, chose yet one more beer hall for our last meal.

This time, with Isabelle as our guide, we found ourselves in The Augustiner Braustuben on Landsberger Strasse.

We moved away from a diet of pure pork this time although the opening dish of Saures Lungerl (a stew made of calf’s lung) sated our immediate meat needs for a little while at least.

The stew was dense and rich and a dash of vinegar to the sauce cut through the slight fattiness. The dumpling, made of bread, of course remained untouched.

Our main courses were, well, they were enormous. Half a duck, a schnitzel that could blot out The Sun and a Braumeisterpfan was a bit of a mix & match of assorted meats.

It is ugly as Hell to look at German food, but, it is damn tasty and suits its environment perfectly. It also suits the people who eat it. The Bavarians may be civilised and discreet, but under all that propriety, there are few people who know how to have such a good time and few people who care less about what others think of them as they do it.

After dinner, another necessary walk to see The Lady Of Bavaria flashing her armpits at the field which hosts Ocktoberfest every year and then, all back to Isabelle’s for some primo bootleg schnapps which saw us float happily back to our hotel.

And that, mein Damen und Herren, was about it for Munich. Oh, we flopped about a bit the next morning before heading back to the airport and, once we were there, we had a few beers of course. But, that last meal of good food, good beer and good company was a perfect full stop to a great weekend

It may not be everyone’s idea of a perfect destination for a Winter break but, I suspect next year, when I am pondering where to go to drag me out of the malaise that hits me in post-Christmas London, Munich will be pretty near the top of the list.

Danke

DOS HERMANOS IMMER ESSEN IN MUNCHEN: DAY TWO

Inevitably, given the excess of the day before, our second day in this fine city turned out to be a quiet affair.

Equally, inevitably, we both awoke with mouths that could have been used to grate cheese and heads that pounded like an illegal warehouse party.

Despite the quivering of my hands, I managed to shave and shower and we headed out to catch Munich’s citizens at weekend play.

It is, compared to many cities, surprisingly sedate. With a relatively small population of around two million housed in a relatively large space, the city never feels cramped and the pace at which people live is so civilised that you seldom feel hassled or stressed.

our first stop was to listen to the hugely unimpressive Munich Glockenspiel, of which they all seem inordinately proud. I was not. I may even have turned to HP after about five minutes and said "I have already had enough glockenspiel to last a fucking lifetime. Let's eat" before walking away in the general direction of a much more important place “ The Stomach of Munich” The Viktualienmarkt where most of the city seems to come and shop.

It is great fun with stalls selling bewildering varieties of fish and meat and sausages sitting next to cafes and bars feeding the locals as they shop.

Before noon, of course, it is required under German law that you indulge in at least one beer along with that staple of Munich snackdom, the Weiβwurst. As the name suggestst, a white sausage made from good cuts of veal along with some bits from less attractive parts of the beast and, as with much else in Germany, there are very strict rules about how one should be eaten. No random chomping here, I am afraid. The way to eat your wurst involves a gentle peel back of the skin to reveal the meat before picking it up and sucking the flesh from the casing and then washing it down with a glug of wheat beer.

It is pretty good stuff and, as pick-me-up after the night before, it did just the job. So too did another treat of Spanfarkel, or suckling pig to you and me which came in a semmel, a crunchy roll along with some sweet mustard and a good slab of crunchy crackling.

We also stopped off for a glug of warm honey wine which too played a part in aiding our return to some semblance of normailty.

The relaxed pace carried on through the rest of the day with a long, leisurely stroll to the most famous food store in Germany, Dalmyre. It is smart enough and packed to the gunwhales with food and punters, but I didn't care for it. A bit like going to Fortnum & Masons after Borough Market.

So, we left quickly and headed to the Swarbing area of Munich which is very swish indeed and houses many of the main university’s buildings. Down the residential side streets numerous cafes and bars were already filling with people knocking back the beer or chomping down on more sausages. We were a little meated out and saving ourselves for a bit of a large bit of pork in the evening, so instead, we dipped in to a Konditorei for some terrific hot chocolate, topped with a heart attack inducing amount of cream, and some equally terrifying cakes.

The night before had caught up with me by now and I went back to the hotel for a kip while HP, ever the brave little soldier went back to the market for a Leberkasemmel. Now, this really is a speciality of the city. A semmel roll filled with a finger thick slice of mystery meat made, apparently, from ground beef, bacon and herbs. HP rather liked it, but then he has always been one for mystery meat products.

By the time evening came, I was very much back in the game. Colon clear as a whistle, thanks for asking and head just about waving “goodbye” to the fug of the previous night’s drinking.

I was ready for some more beer which we found near our hotel in bars named after, respectively, Beethoven and Mozart. I wondered if they ever got into fights, standing outside the other's bar shouting "your sonatas are shit" while waving their fists angrily. Just a thought.

We only had one thing on our mind that night though, pork.

HP had done some more of his excellent research and come across the Altes Hackerhaus, another legendary beer hall on Sendlinger Strasse. It certainly looked the part and, with seating on three floors, we were pretty certain we could walk in and get a seat.

Well, we did get a seat, but only just. The place was packed and they ushered us to a small, covered courtyard and pointed to one of the few available places. I was concerned that we were pushed out in some sort of beer hall Siberia, but I need not have been. The service was the very epitome of German reliability and incredibly friendly.

HP began to look at the menu and mumbled something about “starters” I warned him off them. Not because they are no good but because the main courses are so huge that even he, stuffed as he was with leberkase already, would struggle to finish his meal an occurrence that I can only recall happening once in my lifetime.

He heeded my warning and was glad we did when our meals arrived. I went for more spanferkel. The suckling pig flesh was soft and creamy with a great layer of crunchy crackling. It was exceptionally good but did not come close to HP’s dish of schweinhaxn or pork knuckle. The meat on this was tougher, coming from an older animal, but had a huge amount of flavour. The skin was crisp and it was, all in all, as good a bit of pork as you are ever likely to come across. The before and after picture should show that HP would tend on the side of agreement. Although, if you look clearly, you will also see a lonely little potato knoedl sitting unloved on both plates. We eat most things, but we are not savages.

Obviously pudding was not going to happen. I never did get to try and struedel. Ho hum, but the bill with a beer was enough to bring a smile coming in at under £25 for the two of us.

A quick stop off for tea and coffee had us back at the hotel by about 11pm, which compared to our 2am drunken lurching the night before, was positively abstemious.

However, I think we both knew that the pig would wreak its revenge on our digestive tracts, bringing us a night filled with meat sweats and little sleep. Did we care? We did not

Roll on day three.

DOS HERMANOS IMMER ESSEN IN MUNCHEN: DAY ONE

It is that time of year again when London is at its most dreary. It is cold and the sky is steel grey. So, inevitably, are the people of London with Christmas cheer nothing but a memory and the next payday a few weeks off.

As ever, this is the time when DH need to get out of the city, go somewhere warm and sunny and recharge our batteries. Last year we chose, er Berlin where it was -7 and snowing. We still had a fantastic time what with all that currywurst. So, when it came to choose this year’s trip we looked to Germany again and stuck our pin in the poor, unfortunate city of Munich.

HP went into overdrive with his planning and I came home one day to find him poring over every guidebook he could find in the bookstore alongside a plethora of notes he had already printed out from the Internet.

That of course, was all well and good. We have a perfect system when we travel together. HP does all of the preparation to create a basic framework while I am the one who extemporises when we are there by going “what’s down that alleyway?” It usually works a treat. I have to admit to being a little more alarmed than usual this time however, when I found that HP had also found what kind of plane we would be flying on from City Airport and, not only that, had downloaded a clip of said plane from You Tube. At this point, I had to leave the room.

Anyway, Munich it was and, after a totally painless flight, we arrived at Munich’s Terminal 2, collected our bags and headed to the city. Only we didn’t. HP’s research had told him that the airport not only had a large selection of shopping options, it also had its own beer hall, Airbraeu who brewed their own beer. It would have been incredibly churlish not to stop off for a quick one or two.

Munich, as we were to find, has a huge range of dining options. Just about every cuisine you can imagine is on offer and at prices which go from the cheap and cheerful to the nosebleed inducingly expensive. We had made a definite decision to stick to traditional Bavarian places on this trip and started as we meant to go on by ordering a large bowl of Grammelsmaltz to accompany our beer. Basically, its fat folks. But this is good fat, laced with fried onions and bits of local ham it is what dripping wants to be when it grows up and, when spread on rye bread, perfect with the house brewed beers.

By the time we had drained our second large glasses, we had a nice buzz, which lasted all the way to our hotel and saw us fortified to head out onto the streets.

HP, of course, had most of Munich’s beer halls marked out on a handy sized map. It was not quite as frightening as a recent trip to Spain where every asador in Valencia was marked with the word MEAT in large letters, but I still had to admire the effort involved. Me? I was just interested in more beer and, of course, some wurst.

I will leave you to make your own wurst jokes. There are thousands of them, I am sure. But, for the people of Munich, the subject of sausage is no laughing matter it is a basis for an entire lifestyle. From the morning Weiβwurst upon which the light of noon must never shine to the schweinwurst that slips down all too well with a dark Dunkel beer, there are hundreds of the things and the people of Munich attack them with considerable gusto.

In fact, the people of Munich, Bavarians, not Germans as they are keen to remind you, do most things with considerable gusto and it is easy to see why. Munich has the highest quality of living in the country and the opportunities to enjoy your self are everywhere from the restaurants, bars and cafes to the galleries, museums and parks. It is a lovely city and, down to the foresight of its forefathers who had all the original plans, was rebuilt completely in style after the decimation of WWII.

Our first stop was The Augustiner Beer Hall on Marienplatz which just about summed up Munich and the attitude of its people.

On a Friday lunchtime, it was packed to the rafters with locals and visitors enjoying the food and the beer. But there is no sign of being ripped off here. Regulars and tourists rub shoulders perfectly amiably with no sign that the former will try and rip off the latter just because they are visiting. In fact, compared to London, prices are incredibly cheap and a Dunkel accompanied by a plate of schweinwurst set us back about £6.

The Dunkel started getting good to us at that point, so we headed around the corner to arguably the most famous of all Munich Beer Halls, The Hofbrauhaus. Being the most famous, it is of course, the largest magnet for tourists and at mid afternoon was packed with drinkers from many nations, including ours. It is perfectly fun and the oompahing of large, ruddy faced men in leather making a perfect soundtrack to more dark beer, but there are far better beer halls in Munich, so, after one drink we headed out into the cold air.

German beer is not for the faint hearted. It is strong stuff. Fortunately because of the Reinheitsgebot, the German purity laws, it is not full of crap like so many lagers in the UK and leaves you less prone to hangovers. Mind you, it still leaves you prone to getting pissed and, once the cold gets on your kidneys, in constant search of a place to have a pee.

So, we walked and, every now and again, dipped into a bar to top off at one end and siphon off at the other. It is a great way to spend an afternoon and Munich is one of the loveliest cities you can imagine spending it in.

By the early evening, we were ready to meet up with our new chum, Stephan Berg, who is one of a group of eccentric German bartenders who form an alliance called The Travelling Mixologists.

I first met Stephan at The London Bar Show where he interviewed me for his website using a microphone hidden in a cucumber. You had to be there, I guess.

Anyway, although hailing from East Germany originally, Stephan is now well and truly ensconced in Munich and had set his stall out to show us a bit of nightlife. He certainly did that. If the restaurant scene in Munich is vibrant, it pales besides the bar scene which is top notch with mixing as good as I have encountered anywhere.

Drinks first at The Sofitel before moving to the spectacle of the gorgeous Falks Bar at the Bayerichehof Hotel, one of the few rooms in the hotel to survive Allied bombings.

In between the cocktails which were beginning to take their inevitable toll by now, Stephan heeded our pleas for some hearty Bavarian grub and steered us in the direction of The Ratskeller, a restaurant situated under what was formerly the Town Hall. Stephan took control and we were soon presented with large plates of wurst with mashed potatoes, cold meats and bread with various toppings including some more of that excellent grammelschmaltz.

Once more, there was nothing dainty about it but, with the freezing cold on the outside and a challenging mix of beer and cocktails on the inside, it was just what we needed.

Two final cocktails at two of Munich’s best known bars, Schumann’s and Tobacco, saw us finally hit saturation point and stagger to a taxi and back to the hotel.

As ever, on our first day in a new city, excitement had got the better of us and we had over done it. However, if you are going to over do it, there are few better places than Munich to choose.