Fleischsalat

Fleischsalat belongs to Abendbrot, the cold evening table, and to the butcher's counter where a cook buys sausage, not spectacle. In the north and west it sits in a split Brötchen with butter underneath; in the south they point at Wurstsalat with vinegar, oil, onion, and no mayonnaise. Im Norden anders, im Süden anders. Both have a right to exist. This one is the northern mayonnaise-bound kind.

The larder is doing the work here: cured Lyoner or Fleischwurst, pickled cucumber, mayonnaise, a little brine. Cheap food, if you cut it properly. I don't want cubes. Fine strips give the dressing surface to cling to, so each bite tastes of sausage, pickle, and acid together instead of one mouthful of sausage and then a spoon of sauce.

The deciding move is to loosen the mayonnaise with pickle brine before it touches the sausage. The brine cuts the fat, carries salt and acidity through the salad, and keeps the dressing from sitting like paste. Then it rests for an hour. Das braucht seine Zeit, even for a cold salad. Taste at the end, not the beginning. Würzen, Fett, Salz zum Schluss.