That night we braaied the Solitaire sausage. White stuff started to come out of it. Horror. It was septic! Then a vague Austrian memory surfaced, of standing in Vienna by a sausage cart and biting into a sausage beween slices of rye, which squirted hot stuff out: OK, not such a vague memory: CHEESE! There was cheese in the boerewors. And it was pork, not beef with coriander! Noooooooooooooooooooooo. Primal groan. Wrong, so wrong. In Vienna, yes, here, NO!
On a sleety Brooklyn night, consumed by the sniffles and flu, this all seems quite impossible.
But we were there.