Braunschweiger
A smoked sausage named after a city in Germany, the country where my father’s family originated. Pork liver, pork scraps, pork fat ground with various spices: garlic, allspice, coriander, marjoram, mustard seed, nutmeg, thyme, sage. You could buy it at the deli counter in thick slices to eat between bread as any other cold cut. Our family liked the softer variety—a pâté—that Oscar Mayer wrapped in a plastic tube labeled Authentic. I can still picture how Dad rotated a Ritz cracker to slather a perfectly even layer that came to a peak in the center like a miniature sand dune. He did the same when buttering muffins or icing on cupcakes. We all have our peculiarities. I thought it a blend of eccentric and magical.
16 thoughts on "Braunschweiger"
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I wouldn’t have thought it magical until reading about it here. Love the idea of it being a miniature sand dune and also the apparent sentimentality involved in observing
Thank you, Stefan.
What a beautiful memory that is, Karen – and a poem full of detail ingredients to go with it!
Thanks, Nancy.
This brings back memories of my childhood lunches! Such a whimsical description!
Thanks, Leah.
I never thought I would be reading a poem about Braunschweiger! (Love that you included “Authentic”). Memories of my dad eating it all the time. You have indeed turned it into magic.
Thank you, Sylvia.
I will never forgetting ” rotated a Ritz cracker”. Lovely detail
Eric, thank you.
Such a sensorally rich piece. You draw us in with all the senses and let us experience the wonder.
These details are a delight!
You craft image well, Karen!
Dad rotated a Ritz cracker to slather a perfectly even layer that came to a peak in the center like a miniature sand dune.
I love these remembrances of our family traditions. I mean, Braunschweiger was certainly a ritual for your father! My father loved liverwurst.
I really love the lists in this piece & your description of the way your father ate them–I can see it so clearly.
Of course, I had to read this one when I saw that title. I can taste this poem.