The Wurst Is Yet To Come

I’m sure we all have our little moments of existential crisis … you know, those times on the ride in to work where you start wondering just what in the hell you’re there for, what’s the point, anyway, is this really all there is to life, blah blah blah …

If you don’t - if your life is so fulfilling and complete that it’s just happy-happy-joy-joy all the time, if your glass is overflowing at every moment - well, fuck you congratulations. You probably needn’t continue reading.

I suspect both of my readers are still here, because even the most content among us must have doubts as to what it’s all about. Even a gangsta is filled with angst, after all.

Bratwursts.

That’s what it’s all about – bratwursts. The sausage of the Gods.

I certainly won't deny that there are many other wonderful things in life: 2-for-1 beer night at a single-A ballgame, the full moon rising behind the foothills, seeing a kitten putting the smack-down on some big-ass dog, mimosas, 2-for-1 beer night at a single-A ballgame … all of these are beautiful parts of life’s rich pageantry.

But mostly, it’s bratwursts.

I have a number of friends from the upper Midwestern United States, and to them, I apologize for even attempting to author an accolade such as this. It is most certainly not my place, and I imagine that upon reading this, they feel something akin to how Stephen Hawking feels while talking to a Physics 101 student.

Nevertheless, I must voice what’s in my heart, and I will measure my love for bratwursts not against that of others, nor should anyone, for the bratwurst is truly something that each knows only in his or her own way. Further, adoration for the bratwurst is not a static, unchanging thing … in fact, I didn’t enjoy my first wurst (an occurrence known as menwurste) until adulthood. I was not fully appreciative of the difference a bun could make until just a few years ago. I do not grieve for lost time, however; rather, I relish the thought of the delicious discoveries yet to come.

So on that ride to work tomorrow, think not of the mundane repetition and pointlessness of it all. Ponder instead the pot of simmering sauerkraut, the brats basting in beer … and know that even though it may not be today, nor tomorrow, nor even weeks until the next one, that long-awaited bratwurst will eventually be at your lips, and that it will be the best you’ve ever had, and that the one after it will be even better, and that all the time spent waiting will have been worth it.

And that is what it's all about.