If you saw my May, 2008 post from Berlin about Curry Wursts, you might think I’m obsessed with hot dogs. But honestly, it’s the Austrians and Germans who are obsessed, not me.
Yesterday I made the acquaintance of the Kasekrainerwurst. Loosely translated, that’s cheese dog. But there’s nothing loose about this puppy. It’s a large, dense sausage, with an outer skin that’s tighter than the skin on Joan Collins’ face.
It looks pretty much like all the other wursts on the wagons that dot the Wiener landscape. The majority of the six or seven sausages that are typically offered, are dark red-brown, fat, and about seven inches long. (Bratwurst is lighter in color; the Debreziner is skinnier and longer.)
But though the Kasekrainerwurst Cheese Dog looks “normal,” it is anything but.
I bit into mine and was blown away by the explosion of rich, smooth, silky, er, how do I say it, fat. Not greasiness, mind you. And not just the clear juices of a really good frank. Thanks to the little bits of cheese that are somehow tucked into the meaty filling before it iis cooked for the first time, there’s an outburst of juice that coats your tongue, along with a subtle cheese flavor that perks up the tastebuds.
My first thought was “What the heck is that?” I hadn’t seen any cheese. But with the help of my reading glasses I poked around the next slice and found the weensy pockets of an Emmenthaler-like cheese that created this sensation.
The wurst wagen or hot dog cart is a Vienna institution, embraced by all ages, nationalities (the city is home to many immigrant workers), social standings and budgets.
The man behind the grill plucks a wurst from the rollers, slaps it on a small, fluted paper plate, hacks it in an instant into six or seven pieces, pokes a small plastic toothpick into one slice, asks if you want mustard or ketchup dazu (on the side), and plops a large piece of rye bread on a napkin. The kasekrainerwurst costs just over 3 Euros, or about $5. Ask for it as a “hot dog” and the man impales a long, firm roll on a steel contraption that creates just the right size of tunnel in the roll. He then slips the dog into the tunnel. A “hot dog” version costs about 50 cents extra. (Most locals order the wurst sliced; tourists tend to order the hot dogs.)
Surrounded as it is with young people in Goth drag, professors with battered briefcases, old people with scraggly dogs, and wealthy men and women in Chanel and Cartier, the Viennese wurst wagon delivers drama and entertainment along with its delicious treats.
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