Sausage and Cold Cuts
Wurst und Aufschnitt
Cold cuts in German are called Aufschnitt (the translation of which is “something cut up”). An unpretentious expression, it is appropriate to what it is—a food staple fabricated from chopped meat, which is then either cut into thin slices or, in the case of liverwurst, teawurst, and a few others that have a pâté-like consistency, spread on bread. Aufschnitt is an integral part of the German diet and might be eaten for any of the three meals of the day or as a late morning or afternoon snack. It is made in an extensive number of varieties and meets the human craving for fat, salt, spice, and meatiness. Since it is eaten on bread—either a dark grainy loaf or a crusty white roll—it also satisfies the urge for carbohydrates. It is essentially a leitmotif of German cuisine, and one that was shared by German Jews.
The broader category of Wurst, or sausage, covers a broader and deeper terrain. Whereas Aufschnitt is eaten cold, Wurst such as Frankfurters, Bockwurst, Bratwurst, Weisswurst, and Ringwurst are eaten hot. In addition, there are the German equivalents of corned beef and pastrami, which are smoked or pickled and therefore belong in the processed meat category alongside sausages.
The range of products is enormous. A sampling includes the following Aufschnitt, eaten cold on bread:
Cervelat—a smoky salami (that many of our blog readers pine for)
Bierwurst—a standard bologna
Liverwurst—a spreadable liver sausage
Head cheese—Pieces of meat encased in aspic
Leberkäse—a sausage that does not contain cheese and does not necessarily contain liver, as its name would indicate; it is finely ground meat shaped into a loaf that is often heated
Teawurst—a spreadable pink, flavorful sausage
The following Wursts are eaten hot:
Ringwurst—a heavily smoked sausage that is boiled or cooked in a soup
Bockwurst—a fat frankfurter
Bratwurst—a sausage that gets fried
Sausage making is a two-thousand-year-old industry, dating to the ancient Greeks. In 500 BCE, a Greek play by Epicharmus was called The Orya (“The Sausage”). We can’t really tell you much about the play other than its name, which causes us enough wonder to make note of it. Sausage continued to be a significant culinary item among the Romans. The Latin word for salty, salsus, is probably the derivation for the word sausage, which is salsiccia in Italian.
Curing meat with salt or smoke and then chopping it up with other ingredients is what defines a sausage. It is a way to preserve meat and utilize the less desirable parts of the animal, since everything is chopped or ground up and transformed by the curing process. Casings are historically made from the intestine of animals. Pork casings were the most common, so Jewish sausage makers developed their own methods using veal casings. Today, industrial casings are made of collagen, a by-product of cowhides.
In Italy there is a vast range of sausage products. The British, French, Poles, and Hungarians—to name a few nationalities—all have native sausage items. Over the centuries, the sausage has taken on the flavors characteristic of the country in which it is eaten, with seasonings varying from pepper to marjoram to caraway seeds and more. German sausages tend to be seasoned with black pepper, caraway seeds, mustard, and sometimes garlic.
There is a difference between fresh sausage and dry, or cured, which was developed when new spices to enhance, flavor, and preserve the product were introduced. Smoking is an additional preservation technique. Sausage in northern countries could be kept without refrigeration all winter, especially when smoked. In the south, dry sausage prevailed because it was easier to preserve.
Germans have a wide range of sausage products, rivaling the large selection of Italian sausages and maybe even besting them. What started as a necessity—a method of preserving food—turned into a centerpiece of the cuisine, a component of the daily diet.
Beef was not easily raised in Germany, and German foodways heavily favor pork—hogs do not require grazing land or large barns. Jewish butchers and sausage makers in Germany had to develop their own style of Wurst to conform to kosher laws, so they used either veal or beef, which was smokier than pork-based sausage. A large percentage of Jewish men living in small towns were livestock dealers. They provided the beef for small-scale slaughter to suit the needs of Jewish communities. The resulting beef sausage and its taste more closely resemble a Jewish salami from Eastern Europe than a German one.
German-Jewish Meat Stores in Washington Heights
During the heyday of the German-Jewish community in Washington Heights there were numerous butcher shops, and each family had its favorite. There was Schildt, Koesterich, Guttman & Mayer, Pollack, and Bloch & Falk. These shops ranged from kosher to nonkosher. Schildt was kosher enough for the strictly kosher people, while Pollack was not kosher, and Bloch & Falk was the kosher store that appealed to the nonkosher and less strictly kosher majority.
The original Bloch & Falk store was located on 173rd Street and Broadway. Later it expanded, adding three branches in neighborhoods with a high concentration of German-Jewish residents: Nagle Avenue in Inwood (north of Washington Heights), and in Jackson Heights and Forest Hills in Queens. Alfred Bloch was the butcher, and the back part of the store on 173rd Street contained the smokehouse where he made and smoked the sausage products. He told his wife, Herta, that when he was gone, the products of his labor would also be gone, and he was right. The store was sold a year after his death in the early 1990s, and it only lasted a short time under new ownership before closing altogether. Bloch & Falk apparently died with the scattering of the community that comprised its customers, when German Jews moved out of the neighborhoods, dispersing in all directions.
Today you can find second- and third-generation Heightsers with glowing memories of the authentic German kosher-style sausage, pleading online for help in finding a Cervelat or Ringwurst as it was made by Bloch & Falk. This is evidenced by our blog post of September 2013 about Bloch & Falk, which has garnered over 150 comments to date. To our surprise, it became something of a gathering spot for former residents of Washington Heights—a site for people finding childhood friends and relatives from the 1950s and 1960s. Mainly, though, people from all over the globe commented about the Bloch & Falk meat products they used to eat on a regular basis. They remembered the taste of various cold cuts and sausages, and the warm and friendly feel of the store. Everyone who was a child then remembered receiving a sample slice of a cold cut from a hand reaching out from behind the counter. (As does Gaby, who always looked forward to those little taste samples when she accompanied her parents or grandparents on shopping trips to Bloch & Falk.) The overwhelming sentiment was one of longing and lament for the foods that are dearly missed, perhaps a surrogate for the community that is missed.
My parents have always been night people. When my brother and I were small, my parents often decided to make the drive from Boston to New Jersey to visit my grandparents at night, when traffic was lighter. Being heavy sleepers both, we would be put to sleep in our own beds at home and then carried out to the car, still sleeping, when they were ready to depart. Knowing how much I liked the George Washington Bridge, which spans the Hudson River separating New York from New Jersey, they sometimes woke me as we were driving over it, which was just a few miles from my grandparents’ house. Then I would look up through the rear window to see the impossibly tall, lighted towers of the bridge sail past. Other times they didn’t wake me, but carried me into my grandparents’ house still asleep. On those occasions, I would wake the next morning to see the distinctive black and off-white Greek-inspired geometric wallpaper on the wall next to my pillow and I would immediately know we were at Oma and Opa’s!
On those mornings I would run down to the kitchen, knowing Oma was already there, my parents likely still asleep. My grandparents’ kitchen had been redecorated, and it was brand-new, with a sparkling palette of black, white, and yellow. A vibrant geometric wallpaper covered the walls, and there were cheery vinyl place mats set on the table. Oma always (always!) set the kitchen table for breakfast the night before, after the dinner dishes had been washed and before she went to bed. She set out the place mats, plates, napkins, glasses, and cups—and at her place she set out a cereal bowl and a box of Corn Flakes. But that was only the preparation for her own breakfast; everyone else would undoubtedly eat an Aufschnitt (cold cuts)–filled morning meal.
The bottom drawer in Oma and Opa’s fridge was the designated Wurst (and Aufschnitt) compartment. I imagine my grandfather made a special trip to the meat shop to stock up in preparation for our visits, so I don’t know how full the drawer usually was, but when we were there, it was filled to the top with packets of waxy white paper expertly wrapped and tucked around thick bundles of various German cold cuts. I never remembered all the many different names, but one of them was Gelbwurst. There were many different variations of the same basic thing: mild, light-colored, large rounds of presliced Aufschnitt. Some required peeling the plastic orange wrapper off before eating, which left you with a skinny strip to be placed next to your plate.
In addition to a selection of meats, there was bread—an unsliced, oval loaf of dark, grainy rye-sourdough bread. The bread was sliced on the bread slicer that lived on Oma and Opa’s kitchen counter—it had a large round metal blade against which the bread was placed, and as one applied a bit of pressure against the blade with one hand, the other hand turned the crank that spun the blade, cutting one slice at a time. We ate the Aufschnitt of our choice on a slice of bread first spread with butter. Sometimes a soft-boiled egg was involved, served in a little white porcelain eggcup and scooped up with a teaspoon. Always orange juice in small Danish modern juice glasses that were made of smoky gray glass and had a pebbly texture on the bottom. The grown-ups drank coffee brewed in the shiny old white-porcelain three-piece coffeepot—the top half being a filter with tiny holes to allow the water to drip through. In addition to Aufschnitt, there was also a selection of cheeses (one or two famously stinky) and marmalades and jams in exotic flavors like black currant and gooseberry. After those morning feasts, we were ready to head into a fun-filled day with Oma and Opa.
SONYA
Today there are a few producers of similar products, including businesses owned by former employees of Bloch & Falk who went on to produce sausage elsewhere. We have heard about several purveyors in the Northeast of the United States, as well as one in Amsterdam, Holland, that produce authentic-tasting sausages. We have not sampled them personally, though, because of lack of accessibility, as some are unable to ship out of state.
We understand the quest for meat products as made by Bloch & Falk, a style of food that was quintessentially German-Jewish and is also the bedrock of some of our recipes. The authentic recipes for lentil soup in this book call for cooking the legumes with a smoky meat. In Washington Heights, our family bought such a product at Bloch & Falk, whether it was a smoked tongue, Ringwurst, or corned beef. The Ringwurst as we knew it is a rare commodity today. We generally purchase a kosher kielbasa, which is similar in that it is all beef and quite smoky, or a high-quality turkey kielbasa.
To our delight, we found a perfect match to the Bloch & Falk Ringwurst of the past at the Kleinmarkthalle, in Frankfurt, Germany, in 2011. We paused at one of the Wurst stalls when Gaby spotted a blue and white label on a ring-shaped sausage that said “Rindswurst” (beef sausage). Since virtually all German sausage contains pork, this stopped us in our tracks. We spoke to the middle-aged shopkeeper, who told us that this Ring, made by Gref-Völsings of Frankfurt, has been produced since 1894. “Indeed,” she told us, “before the war, there were many Jewish customers for this product.” It seems most likely that this Wurst was developed for the many Jews of Frankfurt who were not kosher but who cherished the kosher-style product—as did many émigrés who moved to Washington Heights. Today, it remains popular in Frankfurt as an all-beef sausage. We bought one and brought it home to the United States. Even though it is not kosher, based on Gaby’s memory, the style and taste are very close to that of the Bloch & Falk Ringwurst. (The Blochs, by the way, were also butchers in Frankfurt before immigrating to the United States.)
A discovery like this enlightens those on both sides of the counter. We were fortunate that the merchant we met knew the history of the product in relation to Jews. But the general public in Germany has no knowledge of this connection—perhaps an awareness of this connection would give them a small insight into the food of the former Jewish community that had lived in Frankfurt. For us, it was valuable to learn that a product like this one—virtually unavailable in the United States—is still obtainable in Germany and is a remainder of the time when Jews were part of the fabric of German life.
Wurstbrot
A sandwich made of Aufschnitt, known as Wurstbrot, is often an open-faced affair. (“Sausage on bread” would best describe Wurstbrot in English.) Thin slices of a dense rye bread are smeared with a thin layer of European mustard, goose fat, butter, or a combination of butter and mustard, the latter two for the nonkosher consumer. Then, one or two slices of Aufschnitt are layered onto the bread. A sour or dill pickle may be served alongside, or radish lovers might include a radish or two, cut in half and lightly salted. This is not an American-style sandwich, which is usually piled high with filling. Rather, thin and spare is the general rule. Wurstbrot can also be made as a closed sandwich, with the same basic assembly as above, but served on a white crusty roll.
Head Cheese Sülze
| SERVES 4 | M |
This Aufschnitt has nothing to do with cheese, but rather is a mild yet flavorful jellied cold cut made of meat from the head of the animal. In the case of Bloch & Falk, or any Jewish butcher, it would be the head of a calf (veal) or cow (beef). The tasty sliced Sülze contains pieces of rosy-colored meat of various sizes, including slices of tongue, encased in a clear or amber-colored gel. Here it is served dressed with a vinaigrette, and for this presentation the head cheese should be cut into ½-inch or slightly thicker slabs, to be eaten with a knife and fork. Head cheese may also be sliced thin and eaten on bread. Perhaps it is an acquired taste, but a delicious one that is definitely worth trying if you’ve never had it.
1 hard-boiled egg
1 pound head cheese, cut into ½-inch slabs
2 tablespoons white wine vinegar or apple cider vinegar
1 tablespoon finely chopped shallot
1 tablespoon brined capers, drained
1 teaspoon finely chopped fresh parsley
1 teaspoon finely chopped fresh dill
Kosher salt and ground black or white pepper, to taste
1 tablespoon neutral-flavored or olive oil
Thin slices dark bread, as accompaniment
Coleslaw, potato salad, pickles, or hard-boiled eggs (quartered), as accompaniment (optional)
1. Finely chop the egg and set aside. Put the head cheese on a serving platter.
2. In a small bowl, combine the vinegar, shallot, capers, parsley, dill, and salt and pepper to taste. Whisk in the oil.
3. Sprinkle the egg over the head cheese and drizzle the vinaigrette over all. Let chill in the refrigerator. Serve with thinly sliced dark bread and the accompaniments of your choice.
Lentil Soup with Ringwurst Linsensuppe mit Ringwurst
| SERVES 6 TO 8 | M |
In Washington Heights our family and many others ate lentil soup that was infused with the smoky aroma of the kosher Ringwurst available from Bloch & Falk. Sometimes the soup was cooked instead with a smoked tongue for a very similar effect. There isn’t need for many other seasonings, because the smoked meat provides plenty of aromatic flavoring. Ringwurst resembles kielbasa, and you can use an all-beef kielbasa or a turkey kielbasa for this dish. This recipe is hearty enough to be a main dish. Serve with a vegetable salad or vegetables vinaigrette, and sliced dark bread.
The same procedure is used for pea soup, by substituting dried split peas for lentils. Simply allow additional cooking time for the peas, and add extra water as needed to keep the peas covered.
1 tablespoon neutral-flavored oil
1 large onion, cut into ¼-inch dice
1 leek, washed well between layers and white and light green parts cut crosswise into thin rings
1 stalk celery, cut crosswise into ¼-inch slices
1 to 2 carrots, cut crosswise into ¼-inch rings
1 (1-pound) kielbasa or ring sausage
8 cups water
1½ cups brown lentils
Kosher salt and ground black pepper, to taste
1. Heat a large frying pan over medium-high heat and add the oil. Add the onion and leek and sauté, stirring frequently, until the onion is transparent and the leek is wilted, about 5 minutes. Add the celery and carrots and cook for a few minutes longer.
2. Meanwhile, place the sausage and water in a large soup pot and bring to a boil over high heat. Skim off any foam that rises to the surface. Decrease the heat to medium low and add the lentils and sautéed vegetables. Simmer until the lentils are soft, 45 to 60 minutes.
3. Season with salt and pepper to taste and cook for 5 minutes longer.
4. Remove the sausage from the soup. When it is cool enough to handle, score the skin lengthwise with a sharp paring knife. Peel the skin off the sausage and cut the sausage into bite-size pieces. Return the sausage pieces to the soup.
5. Serve hot.