In the German city of Munich, a unique morning culinary tradition dictates that it is never too early for a cold beer, provided it is accompanied by boiled veal sausage, sweet mustard, and giant pretzels. This classic Bavarian breakfast is traditionally consumed in its entirety before the local church bells ring at midday, signaling the end of the morning feast. The meat- and carb-heavy meal is a staple of the region, offering a hearty start to the day that is certainly not for the faint of heart.
This summer, a special series is taking listeners around the world to see what is on the table at this time of the morning. Correspondent Esme Nicholson, whose byline reports on this culinary journey, is heard speaking German as she begins her exploration of Munich's breakfast culture. Her local guide, Demetrios Kyriakides, is also heard speaking German as they sit down at a famous local establishment that makes its own beer and is renowned for its morning meals.
Nicholson notes that Bavarians do not wait long to drink their first beer of the day. After all, the beverage is known locally as "flussiges brot," or liquid bread, and it is considered a standard part of their daily dose. Even though it is not even 10 o'clock—specifically 9:50 AM—a gentleman nearby has already finished a full liter of beer. Kyriakides, wearing traditional lederhosen, which represents his Sunday Bavarian best, explains that this is a classic Bavarian tradition. Kyriakides spent a year of his free time researching the best Bavarian breakfast joints in Munich, and this particular spot is one of his favorites. He explains that the weiss beer, or wheat beer, helps wash down the heavy combination of boiled veal sausages, sweet mustard, and a giant pretzel.
The sausages are served at the table in a large tureen. Kyriakides lifts the lid to reveal four pale, cylindrical weisswurst, as they are known, floating in warm water. Handling the hot dish carefully, Kyriakides says, "I'll try not to drop it. I'll give you one at a time so they can stay warm in there." Kyriakides, who prefers to be called Jimmy, is as Bavarian as the breakfast itself. However, when speaking English, he sounds like he should be tucking into bacon and eggs. Being of both British and German descent, he admits he actually prefers weisswurst to a traditional English breakfast.
When it comes to eating the sausages, Kyriakides explains that there are two distinct methods. "There's two ways of eating them. One is called zuzeln, where you literally, like, cut the head off and then just suck the meat out," he says. Nicholson reacts to the description, noting that it "sounds a bit disgusting." Kyriakides agrees with her assessment, replying, "It's not my cup of tea. I prefer to be old-fashioned and use a knife and fork."
Both Nicholson and Kyriakides opt for cutlery, but removing the sausage skin—which you are not supposed to eat—is far from a simple affair. Nicholson describes the process as "kind of a surgical procedure. So you're cutting the sausage in half length ways." Kyriakides responds, "Yeah. But not cutting the skin at the bottom." He then demonstrates the technique, adding, "And then, essentially, it peels off quite easily."
Kyriakides emphasizes that this morning ritual is not just about the food; it is about "gemutlichkeit," a Bavarian term describing warmth, friendliness, and conviviality, which is often accompanied by the cheerful sounds of brass oom-pah-pah music. However, as the Germans say, "das geht um die Wurst"—meaning "this is now about the sausage," which signifies that the matter is highly serious. Master butcher Andreas Gassner, based in the city's slaughterhouse district, known as the "belly of Munich," agrees with this sentiment. Gassner, also speaking German, uses his grandfather's traditional weisswurst recipe to craft his products.
Gassner explains that a good weisswurst is made from veal and pork fat. He notes that the pork fat, much like butter in a cake, defines the texture of the sausage. The mixture is then seasoned with salt, pepper, mace, a little bit of lemon zest, and fresh parsley. There is certainly a massive local appetite for them; Gassner's shop makes about 1,200 sausages a day. However, they ramp up production significantly for Oktoberfest, delivering 18,000 weisswurst for breakfast in the beer tents on the first weekend alone.
When Nicholson tries to sample a Gassner weisswurst, the boiled white sausage slides around her plate, evading her fork. Once she finally gets hold of it, she finds it is much lighter in taste than expected from such a fat sausage, which is due to the veal. Gassner also prefers to eat his Bavarian breakfast with a knife and fork, but notes that "sometimes you just have to suck it up." He snaps the sausage in half and deftly extracts the contents. Gassner advises that the trick is to try it without mustard first to get the unadulterated, full flavor profile of the sausage, and recommends giving it a good sniff, too.
Traditionally, this hearty Bavarian breakfast must be eaten before the church bells strike midday. This deadline serves as a reminder that all good things must come to an end—except, of course, for sausages. As the classic German saying goes, "everything has an end, apart from the sausage, which has two."
