Outside of London: Baden-Baden, Germany: Leo’s Burger

Burger at Leo’s, Baden-Baden

I had never intended to go burger hunting during my trip to Germany, in fact I had resolved to ignore them completely and focus on trying to local cuisine.  As it turns out, there is only so much Alsace food you can eat without giving yourself a severe case of indigestion.  Overindulgence in flammkuchen, sausages and cake led me craving something a little simpler and a little more familiar.

The idea that a burger is somehow a remedy to rich food is laughable, but it was the best I could do.  Baden-Baden, as a small town, does not have the array of cuisines one would expect to find in a bigger city.  On our last night we simply wanted to find a restaurant that had food not laden with cream or soaked in vinegar.  Leo’s looked like a good bet.  It was an interesting place – right near the river with a few tables outside, the decor on the inside was like nothing I had seen in some time: dimly lit, white tablecloths, red velvet chairs and waiters in traditional black and white outfits.  The menu was a combination of traditional German dishes, a few from France and Italy, a couple of steaks and an 18 euro burger, highlighted in red text.

Ordinarily, only a very special burger would entice me to part with that much cash, but this lapses somewhat when I’m in another country.  Plus the words “we love it” next to this item on the menu gave me a little extra encouragement.

The first thing I noticed was the sheer enormity of the burger, which made me feel better about the price, however on closer inspection I could see that the patty was being propped up by rather a lot of salad.  We’re not talking garnish here, but almost a full side salad shoved into the bottom of the burger.  I’ve never been a lover of salad in my burger – a few lettuce leaves, some (pickled) red onions and a few pickles are sufficient.  This burger had a lot of lettuce as well as tomato, which contributes very little to a burger, despite the insistence of many to add it, and cucumber, which has absolutely no place in a burger. None.  Once the salad was removed it became a much more manageable size and not necessary to eat with a knife and fork.

The meat used for the patty was of exceptional quality, I suspect it was rib-eye.  It was well-seasoned and cooked medium (sadly not medium rare) and had a good amount of flavour.  The cheese was the slappy American kind, always good on a burger, well-melted and oozing; and the bacon crisp and smoky.  The bun was a generic seeded bun, but was of good quality.  It held together well despite the bottom half being a little soggy from all the salad.  My favourite thing about this burger were that they were not stingy on the pickles which, for a country that sells many different varieties in jars, you would expect.  All in all, an excellent burger.  Just lose the salad.

Leo’s, Luisenstraβe 8, 76530 Baden-Baden, Germany.

Outside of London: Buhl, Germany: Market Feuerwurst

Feuerwurst from Buhl Market

For the past few days I have been sampling the delights of Baden-Baden; namely of the food, drink and spa variety.  For those not familiar, it is a small town in the Black Forest region famous for its beer and thermal waters.  As with the rest of Germany, it is also the place to go for some seriously good sausages.

A few miles away from Baden-Baden is a small town called Buhl that has a farmers’ market every weekend.  The curse of the hand-luggage holiday always scuppers my plans for shopping in markets as almost everything is over the 100ml limit they allow for liquids on the plane.  Sure, you can buy similar stuff at the airport, but it is three times the price and never as good.  Whilst dragging me away from a stall selling German honey in beautiful glass jars, my husband consoled me with the news that sausages were being cooked up on the other side of the market.

Good sausages are as ubiquitous in Germany as good beer, and you never have to go far to find them.  Markets are a good place to start as, like this one in Buhl, they are where most of the local residents can be found on a weekend morning.  Most of them had congregated around the van where several different types of sausage were being cooked up on a hot plate.  The van looked like one you would find in the fun fairs of days gone by, complete with industrial-sized pump-action bottles of sauce.

I opted for the feuerwurst which, even with my limited grasp of German, I knew translated as ‘fire sausage’.  I could tell by the fact that it was redder in colour than the others that it would be the spiciest.  I actually know very little about the differences between the different types of German sausage, so thought this would be a good place to start.  Once cooked, it was placed in a small, traditional bread roll and handed to me.  “Drei,” she said.  Three euros.  For the biggest sausage I had seen in some time.

The feuer was definitely there; the sausage was spiked heavily with both paprika and chilli – I even found some seeds hidden within the meat.  It was a perfect German sausage with a good bend and a decisive ‘snap’ when you bit into it.  Doused with a generous amount of Dijon mustard, it was delicious, if it had a bit of sauerkraut too it would have been sheer perfection.