Once when I was on a book tour, I traveled from Chicago to Milwaukee. The moment we crossed the Wisconsin border, my escort (the literary kind) screeched to a halt at the Brat Stop. The visit was prompted by civic pride in the most beloved dish in Wisconsin. That very minute, my escort explained, I had to experience a brat.
Brat (pronounced “braht”) is short for bratwurst, of course, and no other sausage in America inspires such fervor. There are brat-appreciation societies, brat festivals (the largest — now in its 50th year — takes place the first weekend in August in America’s self-declared brat capital, Sheboygan, Wis.), and, of course, there are heated debates on the Internet (not to mention in football-stadium parking lots) as to the proper way to prepare a brat. The sausage even shapes local linguistics, for in local parlance, barbecue goes by its German name: a brat-fry.
The brat was brought to Wisconsin by German and Austrian immigrants in the late 1800s. Brats are enjoyed from one end of the Badger State to the other, but the real brat capital is Johnsonville, a rural village named for President Andrew Johnson that’s little more than a country crossroads. It was here that a first-generation, Austrian-American butcher named Ralph Stayer, armed with a century-old family recipe, founded Johnsonville Sausage in 1945.
So what makes a brat a brat? In general terms, there’s the meat (pork), the grind (coarse), the casing (natural) and the seasonings (which include salt, pepper and, for a touch of sweetness, nutmeg or mace).
Ralph Stayer Jr. isn’t about to go into the particulars, but he does remember the moment his father realized that bratwurst was the family calling. “One day a customer came in and ordered 40 pounds of hamburger and 10 pounds of bratwurst,” recalled Ralph Stayer Sr. “When he returned the following week and ordered 40 pounds of bratwurst and 10 pounds of hamburger, we knew we had something special.” Today, bratwurst is big business, and Johnsonville Sausage sells seven different brat varieties (Cheddar or roasted garlic, anyone?) in all 50 states and as far abroad as France, Malaysia and Japan. Last year, the company sold something on the order of 400 million brats!
And the best way to cook brats? “I make a vodka gimlet and light my charcoal,” explains Stayer. “When the gimlet is finished, I rake out the coals. I make a second gimlet and when that one is finished, I put the brats on the grill. (You want to work over a fairly cool fire.) The proper roll for a brat is a Sheboygan hard roll, sometimes called by its German name (ITAL) semel (unITAL), a crusty roll that’s hard on the outside, soft on the inside and often dusted with cornmeal.
“You only find it in Wisconsin, and it’s highly perishable,” says Stayer.
“If we could figure out how to package it, we’d sell millions.” To serve brats, Stayer favors a toasted roll slathered with dark, stone-ground, German-style mustard, like Plochmann’s. He also likes a dusting of finely chopped onion. To that, many of his compatriots would add sauerkraut.
Talk to Wisconsinites a bit more, and you soon realize that there’s a wide divergence of opinion on the proper way to cook and serve brats. Some people like to parboil the sausages in beer first, or wine — with or without sliced onions. Others like to brush the brats with oil or melted butter to make the casing extra crisp.
Onions are generally considered to be an essential part of the package, but debate rages whether they should be raw (or, for that matter, minced, diced or sliced), sauteed or grilled. Most local folks agree that the bread should be a hard roll, but do you butter it, toast it or both? Dark mustard is the requisite condiment, but should you be ecumenical enough to allow ketchup or relish, too?
One thing is for sure: As long as there are brats, there will be heated debates about the best way to serve them. And that’s the way it should be.
