The Mouth: As dinners go, we’ve had Wurst

If the resulting food coma is any indication, there’s something kind of endearing about an unexpected visit to a German-themed Brauhaus in a Sydney tourist trap.

Munich Brauhaus fare

Well, here’s a little something we learned this week.

Apparently if you consume a massive amount of really salty pork, wash it down with a whole lot of beer, and drink about a gallon of water before bed thinking this will prevent a hangover, your beloved other half will find you on the sofa the next morning looking as bloated as a dodgy property developer who’s just been fished out of the Parramatta River three days after he missed school pick-up.

You’re probably wondering, as the kids say, how we got here.

We had been in The Rocks on a sort of business related expedition (don’t worry, this column has not taken a second job selling kangaroo scrotum bottle openers to cruise ship passengers) and wound up at something called the Munich Brauhaus. And this is where the trouble, if that’s the word, began.

First off, there was the setting.

A Munich Brauhaus platter. Hearty to say the least.

This column can certainly over-think things but it was more than a little disorienting to be in the touristy theme park bit of Sydney and then wind up in a touristy restaurant themed to an entirely different country.

And then of course there was the Brauhaus itself, about which the most authentically German thing might well have been the number of staff working the joint from overseas.

Beer. A whole lot of it. Picture: Supplied

Every sort of pseudo-Bavarian kitsch was laid on with a trowel and with all the good hearted authenticity a bunch of Irish and Anglo and Indian kids on student and backpacking visas could muster.

Which, sadly, was not much, given the Brauhaus’s commandants had decreed that pretty much everything had to happen either by QR code (curse these infernal things) or a 10-minute wait at the bar.

Happily, because the bar for German food is rather — let’s be honest — low, the kitchen was able to at least get it done with groaning platters of meat.

The main event was something called the Munich Platter (which required all that aforementioned beer and water, leading to “pees in our time”).

We lost track but we seem to recall that a pork knuckle, lots of sausages, random bits of schnitzel, and the air filter from a 1986 BMW 635i were involved.

Disappointingly, there was precious little mustard or sauerkraut to cut the obscene richness of everything else, and at one point we felt our pancreas contemplate desertion.

And yet as kinda weird as the whole thing was, there was also something endearing about it.

— The Mouth is an anonymous critic and bon vivant who pays his own way around Sydney and beyond.