Home runs are hard to predict

We've wandered from town to town.  Whatever the differences between places, there are a few constants.  We need to figure out where things are.  How to get around.  What we want to see.  How to use the money.  What the tipping customs are.  Sleep.  And eat.

I love finding good food.  But it can be daunting.  I'm constantly on the lookout for fabulous meals, but the reality is that most of them have been pretty mediocre.  (We haven't been to France yet, however!)  I've already mentioned the lack of variety in Italy.  Germany, Hugary and Austria have had more diversity, but we've consistently tried to find authentic cuisine that's spectacular.  Actually, that's been more of my mission than Susan's but she enjoys great food too.  TripAdvisor and other web resources can be of some help, but that takes time and effort, and a lot of times we just find ourselves out and about, hungry and tired, and just have to pick.

There have been good meals, to be sure, but nothing in the memorable category.  Until last night, in an utterly unexpected place.  This part of our journey, the driving part, was to have lasted a week and taken us to Budapest, Vienna, and Prague.  Cost and logistics considerations caused us to fly from Venice to Frankfurt (Hahn airport, 100 km west of Frankfurt) and drive to Budapest, working our way back to Frankfurt where we would rail to Paris.  With two days in Budapest, and then a day in Vienna, we realized we'd bitten off more than we could chew, so we discarded the Prague piece to spend an extra day in Vienna.  Since Vienna-Frankfurt was going to be more than 6 hours, we decided to break it up and stay in a well-preserved city called Regensburg.

The Hottentotten Inn, an inexpensive, African-themed hotel located in the parking lot of a car repair yard, a bit outside the city walls was run by a crusty older man and his wife who had lived in Africa for seven years.  He recommended the Braueri Kneitinger, a Bavarian brewery/eatery that had been in the same family since the 1860s.  It was late Saturday afternoon, and stepped into the crowded beer hall where much of the crowd was intent on the fusbol.  The host found us a table that we shared with a friendly retired couple from Berlin, who were nice enough to help us interpret the menu.  Susan was intent on sausages, this being Bavaria and all.  I figured I'd have sausages too, until the Berlin couple mentioned the Schweishaxn, a Bavarian specialty, served with Kartoffelknödel and krautsalat.  Schweishaxn is a braised pork shank with skin on, where the skin crisps up. Kartoffelknödel are a mixture of cooked and raw potatoes, formed into a ball a little smaller than a tennis ball.  These are served on the plate with a rich brown gravy, which I'd guess is made from the pan drippings and onions.  The pork was tender on the inside, crisp on the outside.  Salty, but not overwhelmingly so, with a deep savory flavor that was easy to, well, savor.  The potato balls were like enormous gnocchi, but not with that starchy texture -- they went down smoothly and were perfect for soaking up the gravy.  The cabbage salad was a simple, plain counterpoint.  And the house-brewed beer was terrific.  We tried two of the heavier ones, the bock (17% alcohol) and the dunkel (12%) were smooth, rich, but not too heavy or overwhelming.  They stood up well to the heavier meat.

As I was enjoying this meal, I realized that a home run had snuck up on me.  The meal was fantastic.  Our table companions were friendly and engaging, telling stories of traveling central and northern Europe in their motor home.  And we seemed to be among as many Regensburgians as tourists.  To top it off, the meal was inexpensive.

I'm writing this on the train from Frankfurt to Paris, where I have high expectations for the food -- hoping for the best!