I try not to go into restaurants with set expectations, but I had a pretty clear idea of what I was expecting from a German restaurant. Lots of sausage, lots of sauerkraut, lots of beer and maybe some polka music playing in the background.
Three correct guesses out of four isn’t bad.
Wirtshaus, located at 345 N. La Brea Ave., has more of a hip, modern vibe than one might expect from a Bavarian bar. Immediately, I started to question the authenticity of the food I was about to order, until I found out the executive chef, Kenny Seliger, was born in the German state of Hessen and the owners, Bulent Yildirim and Bjoern Risse, were in Germany renewing their visas.
My two guests and I split a sampler-style sausage platter (wurstplatte), with traditional-style, spicy, Bavarian white and vegetarian sausages (traditionelle wurst, scharfe wurst, weisswurst and vegetarische wurst, respectively); we also ordered a side of potatoes with bacon and onions that could have used some salt and, predictably, a giant portion of bitter, almost limey sauerkraut that I gradually realized I didn’t enjoy.
There was a slight delay before the full punch of the spicy sausage kicked in. I should admit that I don’t like spicy foods ““ or rather, I’m a wimp ““ so my dislike of that particular sausage was a matter of personal taste.
The traditional pork sausage was nothing out of the ordinary, though it went well with the various mustards the restaurant offered (pickled, beer and spicy).
Unlike most brats, the Bavarian white sausage is boiled instead of cold smoked, according to Seliger. It’s a combination of veal and pork which was juicy, flavorful and easy to chew without being soft.
As it turns out, the vegetarian sausage is more of a concession to Los Angeles sensibilities than a German staple. I got the sense that asking for a vegetarian sausage in Germany would be the equivalent of asking for rabbit stew in an Applebee’s.
And, speaking of rabbit stew, or hasenpfeffer, it’s not as weird as it might sound. Wirtshaus makes their hasenpfeffer with apple cider, vinegar, celery, carrots, potatoes and, of course, rabbit that has been cooked down for three hours and shredded. It smells divine ““ the combination of apple cider and vinegar overpowers everything else, but it didn’t bother me until I was about three-quarters of the way done. And rabbit, which is a staple of German food along with sauerkraut, red cabbage, pork and potatoes, is softer than beef but has a similar taste.
I haven’t made any mention of the last of my German cuisine predictions, the beer. General manager Christy Jackson gave me a quick lesson on German beer. The two key differences are the size of the frothy head on top of the beer and the alcohol content. In both cases, more is better.
Of all the restaurants I have ever been to, few beer menus have impressed me as much as the one at Wirtshaus.
There were dozens of brews I had never heard of, as well as a few options I had never thought of. The biermischgetranke, which means beer-mixed drink, section of the menu features novelties like beer and Fanta, or Sprite. I, very cheaply, settled for a glass of water, but was intrigued nonetheless.
At the end of the meal I found myself full and satisfied, though I did think I had been deprived of the authentic German experience I had been looking for. Unlike last week, when I visited Persian restaurants in the Persian area south of UCLA, Wirtshaus appealed to the locals by removing some of the heaviness from their meals and by excluding cringe-worthy menu options like hearts, brains and innards.
Not that I blame them ““ they are running a business, not a cultural exhibit. But at the same time, it reinforced my theory that, for the most part, people are not adventurous when it comes to food.