Meat Uber Alles

Zum Schneider

107 Avenue C (7th St.)

212-598-1098

Extreme stress can do strange things. In my case, it usually spells sciatica or migraines. But this month, it's brought my German roots to the fore: I'm craving meat. As a longtime near-vegan, I rarely consume it-usually when in Germany. And while I'll be there in November, last week's yen couldn't wait.

Lower East Side slice of Bavaria Zum Schneider has been around since 1990, but as someone who doesn't drink, can't eat dairy and (usually) won't eat meat, what's the point of a bier garten? So I'm giddy as a schoolgirl when I round the corner of 7th Street and squeeze into the outdoor table where my Irish friend John and my German friend Robert are waiting. I'm about 10 minutes late, for which I apologize. "Are you kidding?" John replies, holding up a glass. "I'm just fine."

He's started off with an Allgäuer Büble ($4/6/12), a lager that John likens to Bud, but far superior in quality. "It's sudsy and light," he explains, "with a really nice bitter aftertaste."

We peruse the appetizers, and decide to start with the Vegetarische Maultaschen ($10), vegetarian dumplings. The dish is brothy and buttery; though the dumplings have quark in them, the dairy factor is light. Nothing phenomenal, but it hits the spot. Same goes for the brez'n ($1.75). But as pretzels go, this is, frankly, a sorry excuse. The mustard that doesn't show up until we request it improves matters slightly. John pairs his brez'n with a pint of Weltenburger Anno 1050, an amber with a pleasing "dirty" quality. He compares this one to Killian's Red, but again, a far superior rendition. "It's mellower, stronger, has a more full-bodied taste," he reports.

Robert Ehrenbrand, my other companion, currently resides in Asbury Park, NJ, but hails from just outside Munich. The 27-year-old bassist for hardcore band BoySetsFire may be vegan, but he's still German. "I'm not vegetarian because of any dislike of meat," he tells me. Thinking about the Bavarian sausage platter ($13), he sighs. "I bring my friends here and just watch them. Oh, those little sausages, how fast they disappear!"

Bratwurst and schweinebraten may be out, but Ehrenbrand can still drink. Owner Sylvester Schneider stocks Augustiner Edelstoff ($5), the oldest Munich lager, brewed since 1328. "It's a real taste of home," says Ehrenbrand. "It's hard to find outside of Bavaria. You can't get it in Berlin, much less New York."

Tonight, I'm drinking one thing only: Gerolsteiner. It's my favorite beverage, but I'm not enough of a fanatic to lug heavy glass liters of it home on the PATH train. Upon arriving, I ordered a large ($4), which arrived in a stout beer stein with a slice of lemon. I downed half of it before taking a breath. If I were drinking Perrier, such a gulp might have induced tears. That mineral water's carbonation hits you like a bouquet of bricks, square in the nose. But Gerolsteiner's naturally occurring carbonation is velvety smooth. That's not to say flat; it's just even, smooth and eminently drinkable.

The best part? No ice. Americans often tear their hair out in search of ice cubes in Europe. Unless you ask for it, a beverage is served without ice. If you ask for it, a single cube is typical. Here at home, I'm more often than not stuck plucking the loathsome cubes out of my beverages, so my delight at the gleaming stein before me could not be more complete. I put away three of these before the evening's close.

When our entrees arrive, Robert crows. My schweinshax'n ($17) has been served to precise Bavarian standards. This imposing section of pig leg, which bears more resemblance to a large heart, towers from its plate-doubly so because of the large carving knife protruding due north. The meat is tender, if unwieldy, and the gravy is complex and savory. While even some meat eaters might be horrified by this grisly spectacle, I say, if I'm going to eat meat, it might as well look like it. Why pretend I'm chowing on Fakin' Bacon or a Boca Burger?

John's wammerl ($14) is also delicious. The thick slabs of bacon over sauerkraut and schupfnudeln (fantastic, gnocchi-like potato noodles) are smoky and decadent in their unabashed fattiness. When his mouth unexpectedly fills with fire, he figures out there's a serving of horseradish on the plate, too.

We all enjoy the heaping vegetarian side dish that accompanies my schweinshax'n. The bowl includes helpings of potato salad, pickled beets, both purple and green cabbage, and some house salad with a delicate lemony dressing. It's almost enough to offset the tremendous quantity of pork I've consumed.

Schneider's rollicking corner restaurant pulls off southern Germany an ocean away. It's noisy, and the service is spotty, but it's terrifically friendly, and we stay for over three hours without any pressure to move along. John concludes our evening with a glass of Aventinus ($5/7/14), a resplendent, dark doppelbock wheat beer whose banana tones set me to swooning.

As we stumble away, I say two quick prayers: one to the gods of digestion, the other for a martyred pig.