Pork & Potatoes

Why isn't there more love for German food in Britain?

A war has been brewing between Germany and Turkey in recent months, one largely unobserved here in Britain. The cassus belli – doner kebabs! Specifically, a war over naming rights.

Ankara, wanting the dish to be classified as a Turkish delicacy, has lodged an official request with the European Commission. If successful it would mean that only kebabs produced in Turkey can bear the sacred name. This would place it on an equal footing with delicacies such as Serrano ham, Gorgonzola cheese and even our own Melton Mowbray pork pies.

The disputes between Berlin and Ankara on all things kebab-related was covered with suitable mirth by The Spectator (a conservative British weekly) earlier this month and can also be read about with less condescension by EuroNews here.

Leaving aside the growing tensions between Turkey in Germany, the story about the Döner-Krieg, or kebab war as it’s sometimes referred to in the German media, got me thinking about German food more generally and how we view our neighbour’s cuisine here in Britain.

To the average Brit a doner kebab is something consumed after a night out. Even the smallest British town will have a late-night kebab shop, lights gleaming into the early hours to entice hungry drunks. Strips of the questionable meat are served with a selection of wilting lettuce leaves and other salad items, all covered in garlic or chilli sauce. The result is then messily consumed if not spilt all down oneself or the pavement. (I’m trying to sound sophisticated and judgemental, but I love a kebab as much as the next Brit or German!)

In Germany the Kebap, more commonly simply referred to as Döner (the umlaut firmly Germanifying the dish) is possibly even more prevalent than in Britain. Non-vegetarians who have spent any time in Germany will likely have consumed a Döner at some stage. For visiting Brits, they’re almost a taste of ‘home’.

An article in Politico earlier this year cited a kebab survey from 2022 which revealed that some two-million doner kebabs are consumed a day in Germany. Data from the same year indicates that Brits consume a comparable amount, with one survey suggesting that 10% of Brits eat one every single day (something I hope can’t be true!)

The fact that both our countries consume these ‘delicacies’ in such quantities reveal more of a similarity in tastes and culinary refinement (or lack of it) than either country would like to admit.

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One thing that always ground my gears when I lived in Germany and whenever food is discussed with German friends, is their attitude towards British food.

Most of the negative stereotypes Germans have about us I can accept – drunkenness, football hooliganism, class obsession, a propensity to wear clothing completely unsuited to the weather. But the stereotype of bad food is one with which I always take umbrage. Not because I think our cuisine is world leading (I would accept the criticism coming from the French or Italians) but because it’s not really that different to the German diet!

Now, full disclaimer – I LOVE German food!

To name but a few of my favourites there’s Schweinshaxe – a Bavarian pork knuckle, usually roasted (delicious), sometimes boiled (slightly less palatable); Spätzle – egg noodles usually accompanied by delicious mushroom sauce; Leberkäse – another Bavarian staple, essentially meatloaf; roast goose in autumn, Thuringian Bratwurst, as well as the myriad other sausages found throughout the land, Klöße (potato dumplings) and Sauerkraut.

Schweinshaxe with Klöße

My absolute favourite German staple is Gehacktes – raw pork mince, sometimes known as Mett, seasoned with salt and pepper, spread onto a Brötchen (bread rolls) and eaten with raw onion. I’m not being sarcastic, its delicious and is a speciality of the Eichsfeld region where I used to live.

Your author enjoying some Gehacktes at a German wedding last year

(There’s also a special white variety of Spargel, or asparagus, which Germans seem to universally adore to a terrifying degree – we’ll revisit that topic and what that says about the German character during Spargelzeit in Spring)

Though I’m salivating thinking about all these tasty foods, I admit that none are especially creative, refined, or visually appealing. Most are also generally some variation of pork and potato.

Much, and here is the point, like traditional British cuisine. We excite ourselves about our Sunday roasts, full English breakfasts, fish & chips, and apple crumbles. All delicious but essentially simple, warming, stodge – like German dishes.

This is understandable given our countries similar geographies, climates, and closely entwined histories. What’s less understandable is why we hold each other’s food in such low esteem.

Britain has long had a love affair with many other nations’ cuisine. French restaurants have always been high end establishments, Italian can be found in virtually any town or shopping centre; Spanish tapas is increasingly popular; Japanese sushi is no longer just the preserve or inner-city yuppies but found on most high streets; Indian food has a claim to Britain’s national cuisine. But German food? This is something largely absent from British restaurant choices.

This hasn’t always been the case. German delicacies used to be far more popular in the UK. An indication of our two nations’ closely entwined history.

As German communities grew in Britain throughout the 18^th and especially 19^th centuries, their bakeries, sweet shops, and delicatessens (itself a German word and invention) became prominent and popular in areas with large German communities such as Manchester, Bradford and parts of London.

Most of these Germans living in Britain were forcibly ‘repatriated’ back to their ‘homeland’ after the First World War. A rather shameful and ignored story in British history, which I will discuss in another, sadder, post one day.

Nevertheless, many of their fooderies remained in London throughout the 1920s and 30s; Schmidt’s on Charlotte Street, Avesta on Oxford Street and Appenrodts German Deli in Piccadilly to name a few. Whatever they thought of Germans during the war, British people maintained and appreciation for German produce.

After WWII, any association with Germany became unpalatable for a long time, though connections remained. Currywurst, the infamous dish of sliced-up sausage covered in tomato sauce, sprinkled with curry powder and served with fries, has its origins in our shared histories. It was created in Berlin in 1949 when good quality meat was still hard to come by after the war. Legend has it that to make the sausages more palatable, a local chef, Hertha Heuwer, started covering them in ketchup or Worcestershire sauce and curry powder, purchased from the British troops still stationed in the country.

Plaque in Berlin honouring Currywurst’s creator

Currywurst enjoyed on a recent visit

Over the past few decades, a fondness for German fare has been creeping back into Britain.

I remember back in 2010, as part of a Germany season across the BBC, TV chef Rick Stein presented a show on German cooking. Though his intentions were good, most of the dishes ended up looking like various coloured slimes.

One of the dishes on the show is another example of a shared Anglo-German culinary history. Labskaus is a Hamburg speciality of corned beef, beetroots and onions, blended into a paste with a fried egg on top, sometimes accompanied, inexplicably, with some pickled herring. Surprisingly tasty if you’re willing to try! Many suggest that the dish is the origin of the British word ‘scouse’ as a term for Liverpudlians. Whether or not this is true, it is a sign of the close relationship between these two port cities throughout history.  

Labskaus

In spite of Rick’s show, appreciation for German cuisine has slowly continued to build in Britain since then.

German Bierkellers have become a more common site in British cities. Serving up varieties of pork, beer and Oompah bands, these are representative of a particularly Bavarian aspect of Germany, something other Germans are always keen to emphasise. Yet their prevalence around the UK is still a sign of growing fondness for German dishes.

At the same time the massive expansion of German supermarkets such as Lidl and Aldi has seen a growth in German delicacies on sale.

Not content with our own kebabs, there’s now a chain of German Döner Kebabs around the UK.

At the higher end of the culinary spectrum there’s the glorious German Gymnasium in Kings Cross. A building alive with the history of Germans in 19th century London.

Originally built in the 1860s as a sports hall for the local German community to practice the popular exercise of gymnastics, it was the first purpose-built gymnasium in England and even hosted the first indoor Olympics Games there in 1866. It ceased to be used for Gymnastics after the First World War, its German associations quickly and purposefully forgotten. It was used as office space or storage for decades, falling into a state of disrepair. However, in 2015 the building was restored and reopened as the German Gymnasium. A smart restaurant serving high-end German dishes, and quality German wine. With no Lederhosen or Oompah bands in sight.

The wonderful German Gymnasium in King’s Cross, London

The less humour side to the kebab story with which we started, is not so much what they are called, but what they are costing. As most German news stories highlight, people’s main concern is how much the costs have risen over the past few years

Since 2016, doner kebab prices in Germany have increased by 75 percent (compared to a 24 percent rise in overall inflation), according to one study. Another sign of Germany’s economic worries.

Perhaps this would be a good time for them to develop more of a taste for British dishes. We won’t mind if you put umlauts on our classics.

Cöttage Pie anyone?