Don Diego's quick currywurst sauce, chunky style

Ingredients for 4 servings:

• 3 tbsp olive oil
• 1 medium-sized onion(s), cut into not too fine cubes
• 1 tbsp curry powder, medium or hot mix
• 1 tsp garam masala
• 4 tbsp tomato paste
• 1 class can/n tomatoes, chopped or pomodori passati
• 1 tomato(s), cleaned and diced
• 1 tbsp Worcestershire sauce
• 2 tbsp red wine vinegar
• 1 tsp honey
• 1 tsp paprika powder, hot
• 1 tsp sweet paprika powder
• 100 ml apple juice
• Chili sauce (Habanero pepper sauce), if necessary
• 4 sausages, al gusto
• 4 servings of French fries

Instructions

Working time approx. 30 minutes; Total time approx. 30 minutes

Westphalian stall magic warms the heart

I peel a medium-sized onion, halve it, and cut it into small cubes that you can still feel between your teeth. I sauté it in olive oil for a good 5 to 7 minutes. They should become translucent and soft. Next, I dust it with a tablespoon of curry powder and a teaspoon of garam masala and let it roast for half a minute until it turns yellow. Then I add 4 tablespoons of tomato paste and mix the curry onions with the paste. They are now red. After this foreplay, it’s time for the rest of the ingredients: chopped canned tomatoes or pomodori passati, fresh diced tomatoes, Worcestershire sauce, red wine vinegar, honey, apple juice, both types of bell pepper, and salt. Once thoroughly mixed, I simmer the ingredients over medium heat for 10 minutes. Finally, I check whether the sauce should be a bit sweeter (apple juice or honey?), more acidic (more vinegar?), or spicier. If a touch of spice is still missing, it can be enhanced with a habanero pepper sauce (which “warms the heart”). A currywurst junkie won’t forget to simultaneously place the bratwurst in the pan and prepare the French fries in the deep fryer. After baptizing the crosswise sliced, fully cooked bratwurst with the fresh sauce, the attentive husband garnishes the portion for his beloved wife with a slice of orange and two cocktail cherries. This is optional, not required. Hopefully, you won’t have to resort to an ordinary fork for lack of an original Currywurst OpTicker! This recipe was developed by the State Office for Inner Westphalian Affairs (LfIWA). In Westphalia, no woman looks offended when a man invites her to a currywurst. To quote Hape Kerkeling, this is “totally normal.” A currywurst saleswoman’s routine question, “Is it spicy?”, would be answered with the counter-question, “Can you tell?” counter, while the man would breathe, embarrassed but quite truthfully, “Auch!” Let’s face it: Currywursts are erotic. Currywursts are a turn-on. And a da capo provides double satisfaction. Currywurst is the world of work. A human resources manager with a high school diploma who demands a Latin curryculum from a Gelsenkirchen employee instead of a German resume will most likely receive a chronological list of the currywurst stands that this employee has graced with occasional visits throughout his life. Including a top 10 to guide the boss. Currywursts are culture. Since Hebäät Grönemeyer, ordering has been permitted by singing, and since Uwe Timm’s novel “The Discovery of the Currywurst,” a branch of currywurst history can be traced back to the Großneumarkt in Hamburg. Currywursts are true Homeric songs. The Iliad and the Odyssey are merely part of the mainstream. Currywursts are philosophy. To cite a popular example, the people of Westphalia have long since moved beyond Stefan Remmler’s philosophical approach, “Everything has an end, only the sausage has two.” This is simply ignored in favor of a dream of a currywurst without end. A dream that can be dreamed ever more rarely because globalization is also eroding currywurst culture in Germany. Cult stands must give way. A city’s sharp edges are all too often smoothed over by run-of-the-mill alternatives. Currywurst is home. And home isn’t so easily displaced. The currywurst withstands the international fast food tsunami. Whether pseudo-Turkish doner kebabs, standard Asian spice dishes, or sushi from the freezer, all the waves have subsided. The currywurst isn’t disappearing. It is part of the national wealth. From a popular snack, it is transforming into a specialty that is celebrating a resurrection in currywurst museums and new gourmet currywurst restaurants. Currywurst remains the magic of a stall. Nevertheless, we must admit that currywurst in stylish restaurants cannot replace the amalgam of smells from the old folk kitchens: the smell of roast chicken, freshly fried meatballs, shashlik gently simmering in its juices, frying fat, curry, paprika, and grilled sausage. Currywurst is science fiction. Let’s think the seemingly unthinkable. Couldn’t it be possible that an eau de parfum called “Currywurst,” “Frittenbude,” or “Budenzauber” could actually enjoy regional success? In Westphalia, Hamburg, and Berlin? This will probably remain only a dream, because the only person one could trust to accomplish this task, the super-nose Grenouille from Patrick Süskind’s novel “Perfume,” has long since passed away. Currywurst is self-help. Often, we are left with only individual solutions that honor tradition but don’t slavishly cling to it. I’m walking around like an anatomical miracle with two slender legs anyway, because both my curry roots were cut off. “Schneider’s Imbiss” in Paderborn had to make way for a parking lot, and I can’t say with absolute certainty whether “Onkel Klaus – Das Würstchen aus Pinneberg” still exists. However, both first-aid stalls were distinguished by the fact that they served an excellent shashlik sauce to accompany the currywurst, which—as an example of an early bonus strategy—often included a piece of onion, bacon, or meat. These early chunky-style sauces were pure doping and triggered spontaneous feelings of happiness. Only the strict discretion of the customers saved them from being closed prematurely for violating the Narcotics Act.