Walking the hills around Pöllauberg is a lonesome experience. Around 11 a.m., I saw a few dozens of people leaving an impressive hill-top church, but then immediately getting into their cars and driving wherever religious people drive after a Sunday mass. For the next three and a half hours of hiking, I saw a few cars passing by, as well as a cyclist or two, but could not help wondering if the construction of the long asphalt road over the hills was actually worth the investment.
Once I reached Weingut Moser, however, I started to feel life around me. The table next to mine was occupied by a group of cyclists talking – all at the same time – in a local dialect that was completely incomprehensible. I could also observe more and more people arriving and walking through the Buschenschank’s door, as if its interior could accommodate an infinite number of customers.
The Brettljause was authentic, varied and quite heavy, despite its more than reasonable price of eight euros. The Speck required a bit of effort to remove the cartilage, but the rest of it was fine. The top ingredient, though, was the Kümmelbraten, which, in case you don’t know, is like the Schweinsbraten but with a crunchy and salty crust. The least enjoyable ingredient was (no surprises here) the liver sausage, coming with an annoying plastic wrapping and shouting “I am liver” so loudly that were no doubts. Not even the strong horseradish could hide its extremely livery taste.
Were today a less cloudy and rainy day, I would have again hired a bicycle to explore Brettljause places around, but with only my legs to carry my increasingly heavy body, Moser was the only Buschenschank still unknown to me that I could reasonably reach. I don’t regret it, although I must admit that listening to the locals and not understanding a thing did have a negative impact on my self-esteem.
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