Some people are appalling at ordering food; no matter where they go, or what they order, it’s guaranteed to disappoint. My wife is one of the many that are afflicted with ROS or Rubbish Ordering Syndrome, nine times out of ten she’ll end up picking around the margins of a dish she can barely look at. This wouldn’t be such a problem, except my wife is unfalteringly polite, so I’m forced to consume whatever isn’t eaten so as not to offend the chef. There was a time that having two dinners would have been a dream come true, but the days of being a hungry student, stealing stray chips out of the pub kitchen at work, are a distant memory. Now I’m forty, sudden bouts of indigestion are a very real issue, so much so that I only recommend salads to my wife, just in case I’m required to quickly, and politely, consume the leftovers. 

Unlike my wife, I’ve never had much of a problem ordering food. Before you misunderstand, this isn’t some weird brag about my fabulous menu reading skills, rather I want to point out some important factors in play. First, I’m not picky. I like almost anything, except maybe those dishes that include a whole fish on the plate, dead eyes and all. I’m rarely disappointed by food, whether it’s fine dining or discovering a single lost Haribo between the sofa cushions. Additionally, I know the mystic arts of British politeness, which means the very idea of complaining in a restaurant makes my insides fold in on themselves from social anxiety. I wouldn’t tell you even if my order was awful. We like to pretend it’s a British “stiff upper lip” but really it’s just middle class angst about causing a fuss. 

Social niceties aside, I also benefit from living in a place that has little in the way of culinary diversity. Germany gets a bad rap for not having a wider range of international cuisine, and compared to the UK or the US, this is probably true. I do think more is made of this than is necessary, often by folks who reside in major cities like Berlin or Frankfurt. I’ve lost count how many times I’ve read or heard complaints from people about the lack of decent places to eat, and when I look up the options, I discover several pretty decent places on offer, and certainly more than can be found in my part of Bavaria. If I were to search for vegan restaurants locally, I’m sure all I’d get back would be a sad face emoji from Google.

It’s not even that Bavaria is lacking in international food, despite the naysayers, we’re not all backward tractor driving hicks. Bavarians might not be diverse in their political choices, but they do like different options when it comes to their food. Obviously cities have the widest range, Munich being top of the list since it’s the largest city, but Nürnberg, Bamburg, Ulm, Regensburg, all have plenty of options. What I mean about lacking diversity is that for every Chinese takeaway, there are five traditional restaurants, and for every Indian restaurant there’s five breweries with amazing traditional menus. I’m surrounded by some of the best German food in the country, often prepared in family run establishments that have cooked traditional German/Bavarian food for generations. Given how good it can get, I would be stupid not to take advantage. 

That being said, traditional food can suffer from ranging quality just like anywhere else, and as such is a perfect environment for an outbreak of ROS. When I first came here, I had this very problem. If you don’t know what a certain dish looks like, it can be hard to visualise what it is you’re actually ordering, especially when many traditional menus revolve around a handful of key ingredients and methods of cooking. The language is not always clear either, for instance, the word  “Gegrillt” isn’t quite as descriptive as many menu writers think, especially since the majority of Bavarian food is cooked this way. 

For this first couple of years living in Germany, I tried as many different dishes as possible, mostly so I would know what to expect in future. After a couple of years of ordering random food, I gained a good understanding of how the language on menus matched the food, and I quickly learned which were the dishes to order and which to avoid . Sure, there was that time I was stared down by a trout, but mostly it gave me a good idea of what I liked and what I didn’t. Turns out, after years of food based adventuring, trying everything I could possibly get my hands on, what I like is a no nonsense Schnitzel, in fact I’m pretty sure it’s the best meal in the whole of Germany.

When I came to this realisation, I was a little disappointed. For one thing, Schnitzel isn’t really German, or at least that’s what we’re told. It’s Wiener Schnitzel, or "Wiener Art”, Wiener as in Wien, or Vienna to English speakers. However, if you can be bothered to do the research you’ll discover that Italy has a claim to Austria’s most famous dish. The Cotoletta alla milanese bears a striking resemblance to Schnitzel, at least enough to muddy the waters.

The real problem of loving Schnitzel is that it’s basic. It’s a little pathetic to admit, but even after all these years I’m still hyper concerned about looking like a tourist, mainly because to people I don’t know, I might as well be. If I’m in a group of German speakers, servers will automatically switch to English when they speak to me. I know most Germans think this is super polite, but it really isn’t. Somehow hearing your order read back to you in German inflected English, especially when it’s “Schnitzel with Pommes”, feels like my browser history being read out to the other assembled diners. 

Nevertheless, Schnitzel is easily the best option and the key to avoiding any flirtation with ROS. It’s so simple to make, it’s practically impossible to get wrong. You can find disappointing Schnitzel because of size, even quality, but when all you want is a piece of breaded meat with chips, how wrong can it ever get? The most disappointing Schnitzel is still a Schnitzel after all. As long as it doesn’t come out of the kitchen with it’s retinas still attached, I’m golden. For those who prefer not to be tainted with the mark of the perpetual tourist, or would prefer something a little special, there’s Turbo Schnitzel, or as the Bavarians know it, Cordon bleu. This is a Schnitzel with ham and cheese in the middle, and like it’s more basic cousin, and again, it’s almost impossible to order a bad one. It’s cheesy meat, not rocket science. 

There’s a time and place for the Michelin starred restaurants of the world, just as there’s a time for food adventuring, but I also know that there’s a time for Schnitzel, that time being anytime you fancy having one. Sure, some people might assume I’m fresh off the plane when I order, but why should I care? I have Schnitzel and most of the time, that’s more than enough to be getting on with. 

Proofreader: @ScandiTina

Image Credit

Photo by Mark König on Unsplash

Photo by Tobias Schäfer on Unsplash

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

Photo by Leonhard Niederwimmer on Unsplash

Photo by Yuchen Dai on Unsplash

Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash