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“Butter? Butter? Who the hell ever hearda using butter on brats?” Bud Schultz looked down into his glass of Blatz. “You’re nuts.”
“I’m not bull-shitting you. You use butter.” Dewey Appleton swung around on his bar stool and looked at the door. “Waldo should be here by now. Ask him. He’ll tell ya.”
“Hey Whitey! Gimme a couple of eggs.”
Whitey left a huddled conversation with Grant Milowsky and walked down to the end of the bar. He unscrewed the cap, ladled out two pickled eggs and placed them on a cardboard plate.
“Here ya go.” he said as he slid the plate in front of Bud. The bartender took a five and placed three singles back on the bar.
Bud took a bite. “Damn Whitey your old lady makes the best pickled eggs in the county! She’s gotta share the recipe with me.”
”Told you before,” Whitey smirked, “My woman is taking the recipe to the grave with her. She won’t even let me in the kitchen when she makes them up.”
“Damn.”
Cold artic air swept into the dark tavern and everyone turned to eyeball the door.
Waldo Sheboygan, a tall Swede, strode across the field of discarded peanut hulls and sat down on a stool next to Dewey.
“Hey Waldo, you ever hear of using butter in the water to cook brats?” Dewey drew his fingers through his dirty blonde hair making his soft English features look almost untarnished in the subdued light.
“Ya Dew.” Waldo looked over at Whitey pulling himself a draft. “Your wife giving out my secrets now?”
Whitey sat a foamy beer in front of Waldo. “That woman can get a good recipe out of anyone. She has her tricks.”
The men laughed in unison.
“And she never gives up any of her own.”
The men roared even louder.
Whitey was proud to have snared Judith. She was a sassy, good-looking widow from
Dusseldorf in visiting her sister from East Troy when Whitey met her. She was too young to be so sad and Whitey, a widower himself, found out he had the magic to make her happy.
“See. I told ya.” Bud was rubbing a little vinegar into Dewey’s skin. “I’m 100% German. I know about these things.”
“Ya. Ya.” Dewey got up and walked down the hall to take a piss. He stopped at the brown paper-littered corkboard to make sure his snowplowing tear-off-tab poster was still up. Then he spied it. “Real Wisconsin Brats” The recipe was on Judith’s pink paper, written in red ink. It read like Waldo’s brats. Dewey pissed fast, recipe in hand, he had to show Waldo.
Dewey slid the pink paper on the bar in front of his cooking buddy.
“What the fuck is this?” Waldo had had a bad day at the Harley-Davidson plant.
“Look familiar?” Dewey was driving at him.
The man read the recipe.
1 large onion
2 cloves garlic
a dozen brats (the white kind from Kilmer’s)
½ stick of butter
six-pack of Blatz
Put all of this into a big stockpot and boil gently for 1 hour. Meanwhile fire up the grill. Ladle out the brats and cook them to a good brown, then place them back into the boil water until ready to serve.
Use hard rolls or Italian rolls, not hot dog buns! The buns at Zimmerman’s Bakery are the best. Add sauerkraut and mustard.
Only one person knew it…Judith. She got it out of him when they were at cabin 106 at The Tamarack. Naked and relieved, he told the woman anything she wanted to know. Waldo’s blood pressure was rising. “Damn bitch.” he thought, but he couldn’t reveal anything. Not with Whitey standing right there. “Oh yea,” he was making things up as fast as he could, “I finally gave in and gave her the recipe last week when she was bartending.”
Whitey’s ears picked up.
10:30 already and the men had work in the morning. One last round and they all left for home in the predicted blizzard.
…..
Nothing changed rapidly in the Upper Midwest. People went to work, went to the bar, and went home to bed. They like the predictability of life. Waldo kept his appointed date with Judith, cabin 106, 9:30 Saturday morning.
He didn’t care about the recipe. Or did he? He wanted the pleasure of her soft, woman-scented skin on him. Mary Elizabeth, his second wife, had run off with a liquor salesman named Hank. That was two years ago and in a town with a population of 2,364 there aren’t that many choices.
After they enjoyed one another the secret lovers always talked about their second passion: food.
The next Monday, after work, Waldo met his pals at The Slip-In, Whitey’s place, just like always.
He had a present. After three beers he walked down the hall, took a piss, and as he was walking back he stopped at the bulletin board. He dug in his pocket and pulled out a folded paper. He opened it out and push-pinned it to the board right over his brat recipe: “Authentic German Potato Salad.”
4 lbs Wisconsin russets
a pound of bacon
2 chopped onions
¼ cup flour
¼ cup sugar
1 teaspoon celery seed
salt and pepper
1 ½ cups water
1 ½ cups apple cider vinegar
Boil the peeled and sliced potatoes.
Cook bacon. Crumble and reserve ¼ cup of bacon fat.
Cook the onion in the reserved fat. Stir in flour, 2 teaspoons salt, celery salt and pepper to taste. Cook 2 minutes. Add the water and vinegar. Cook to a boil, stirring often. When the sauce coats the back of a spoon it is done.
Stir in bacon and potatoes. Toss gently to mix.
Let sit at least an hour, better overnight. Warm to serve.
Tit for tat. And that is that.
