Schnitzels We Have Known

Half-eaten schnitzel in a German brewpub


Wait­er — the ‘Wiener’ Schnitzel on your menu — is that real­ly veal? [Sneer­ing] Or just pork?

[high­ly affront­ed]
Veal, sir. If it was mere­ly in the Vien­nese style, we would cer­tain­ly have said so.

We usu­al­ly eat so many schnitzels on our trips to Ger­many that, by the time we leave, the mere thought of a but­tery fried bread­crumb makes us feel sick.

We ordered and regret­ted the Käse Schnitzel at Brauerei Fäss­la in Bam­berg — the size of a fris­bee and with a kilo of Ched­dar melt­ed on top.

We won­dered at a restau­rant called Schnitzel Time! (in Augs­burg, we think) which offered some­thing like fifty vari­a­tions, includ­ing a ‘Hawai­ian’. (Yes, that’s right — with tinned pineap­ple.)

We sched­uled our after­noon paus­es to coin­cide with a TV show whose title we nev­er worked out but the gist of which was: “It’s 10 AM and Fritz has arrived at the restau­rant to pre­pare a hun­dred schnitzels for the lunch and evening ser­vice. Mean­while, across town, staff at Die Gold­ene Gans are hav­ing a cri­sis — the dai­ly deliv­ery of bread­crumbs hasn’t arrived!”

We bought a schnitzel ham­mer at the Gale­ria Kaufhof in Cologne because, some­how, a Ger­man meat ten­deris­er just seemed more appro­pri­ate.

Last night, we had Schnitzel Wiener Art for tea. We but­ter­flied and ham­mered flat pork ten­der­loin, dipped it first in flour, then in egg, and final­ly in Panko bread­crumbs, before fry­ing in but­ter with a splash of sun­flower oil. As we ate it, we wished, not for the first time, that a trip to Ger­many was on the cards in the fore­see­able future