Now that
Zany is commuting to New York City from the “Northern Suburbs” she has plenty
of time to read the newspapers. It is the crack of dawn (at least it feels that
way) on a steamy day in late August when I get a text. She’s on the train devouring the Wall Street Journal. She’s photographed and sent me a headline
that reads, “Yorkville Goes to the Dogs.” Her text says, “Field trip!”
The story
concerns a new “sausage bar” (yes, that’s a thing) on the Upper East Side
called Schaller’s Stube, a brand new twist on the local hot dog stand.
Schaller’s Stube features authentic Teutonic sausage and wurst, served
practically on the street. Which means you can actually sit to dine. They have stools. Zany accurately notes that since the market
news is dismal, the Wall Street Journal
reporters have chosen to drown their sorrows in gourmet bratwurst.
The sun is
barely up, and I haven’t even had my Cheerios, and she’s already tempting me
with savory, grilled meats. I think she’s my best friend ever.
We agree
that a “hot dog happy hour” is in order. It takes a little time to coordinate
schedules, since evening adventures are new for us. In fact, anything that
resembles brick and mortar is a pretty dramatic step.
Low and
behold, it is now the month of Oktoberfest and our schedules have finally
synched up. Zany is thrilled. “The scent of sauerkraut is in the air,” she
proclaims.
We
rendezvous after work at the 51 Street - Lexington Avenue Subway station and
squeeze our way into a crowded number 6 Train that whisks us uptown to 86
Street. From there, it’s a short walk
to Second Avenue, amidst the teeming humanity of the Upper East Side.
Schaller’s Stube is tucked between the Schaller & Weber charcuterie shop (that has
been in residence in Yorkville since 1937) and one of those classic
neighborhood bakeries where you put on the pounds just looking in the window.
Schaller’s Stube is hidden behind the construction rigging that marks the
future home of the Second Avenue subway, an urban improvement project that I am
certain will never be completed in my lifetime.
Schaller’s
Stube has only been open a couple of months.
What is a “stube” you ask? I had
to look it up. One dictionary says a stube
is an establishment serving alcohol and chiefly beer. Well, guess what? Schaller’s Stube is still working on getting
its liquor license. That’s okay. We’ve
come for the wurst. Other definitions hearken to German translations, which
say that a “stube” is a lounge or parlor. This is more accurate. And quite
frankly, for two folks who are used to dining on the street, the indoor
accommodations are downright luxurious.
Zany approaches
the open window that faces Second Avenue. Two friendly guys wearing black
t-shirts and red baseball caps lean forward, and exhibit an incredible degree of
patience, as we take too long to debate our order. Should we get the formidable “Berlin Wall,” a
half-pound of kielbasa covered with American cheese, bacon jam, crispy bacon, chicharones
and diced onion, or what about Mrs. Schaller’s Fried Chicken, which sounds
yummy but doesn’t quite seem suited to our Oktoberfest celebration? Or maybe we
go smorgasbord and order a variety of tube steaks?
Tempting us,
right at street level, is a luscious selection of artisan wurst and brats piled
high in a glass display case.
After much
debate, we settle on a savory tasting menu of Schaller’s best – “The Classic,” which
is bratwurst, S&W Dusseldorf mustard and S&W sauerkraut, the “Steuben’s
Reuben,” a beef wiener, Swiss cheese, sauerkraut and stube sauce, and the “Saigon
Special,” which consists of bauernwurst, daikon-carrot slaw, cucumber, fresh
jalapeno, cilantro and sriracha aioli.
We place our
order and move to the “parlor” which is an indoor space behind the street
counter about the size of a small walk in closet – challenging if you’re
claustrophobic, or great if you enjoy an intimate dining experience. At the
back end of the parlor is a steel door and a sign that sharply warns us not to
advance beyond a certain point.
Zany has
been conflicted over this move to indoor dining, but the street noise offers a
special kind of ambiance that makes us feel right at home. “This is legit,” she admits. “I still feel true to my roots, and
technically, we did order on the
sidewalk.”
Our beverage
is an Austrian fizzy drink called “Almdudler,” which our maître d’ explains is similar
to ginger ale or elderflower cordial, and pairs beautifully with savory
meats.
Zany puts
her butchering skills into play and divides up the goods.
The first
thing we note is that the rolls that surround the wurst are exquisite. Toasted and buttery with perfect grill
marks.
“Is this
brioche?” Zany asks? “You know brioche
is not good for you at all.” I can
barely hear her as I’m snarfing down the bun.
“This one
looks like a German Cannoli,” she remarks.
I like the
fresh bite of the “Saigon Special” but neither of us can deny the sheer gustatory
glee of “The Classic” and the “Steuben’s Reuben,” both smothered in
sauerkraut.
Zany
reflects that she’s always been smitten by sauerkraut.
“That’s
because you’re from Pennsylvania,” I say.
“Everything you ate from the time you started to teethe was either
pickled or fermented.”
“Pretty
much,” she nods.
Having
completely abolished our trio of wurst, I’m still in an adventurous mood, and I
convince Zany to sample one more entrée, the Checkpoint Charlie Currywurst,
also known as C.C.C. It’s a mélange of
sliced knackwurst, topped with curry ketchup and curry powder. Our maître d’
explains that this is classic Berlin street food, and is traditionally served
without a bun. That's good. We're watching our carbs. The dish is placed on the
counter in a white cardboard tray, disks of wurst piled high.
Zany inhales
the spicy aroma. “Is this Germany, or little India?” she asks. Within minutes, we bring that wall of wurst
down.
Zany glances uneasily
at her watch, and I recognize the look of a conflicted commuter who is always
on the mass transit clock.
“I can run
for the next train,” she says, “Or we can go get a glass of wine, and I can get
the later train.”
I raise an
eyebrow. A glass of wine? How civilized. Perhaps there are some fringe
benefits to dining out at night.
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Barritt All Rights Reserved