Sülze (Sauer Sülze)

Sauer Sülze sits in the German cold larder, the butcher's kitchen more than the feast table, but it earns its place on a Sunday as well as a weeknight. You make it ahead, slice it cold, and set it down with Bratkartoffeln, fried potatoes, and mustard or Remoulade. It belongs strongly to the north and east, from Schleswig-Holstein and Mecklenburg through Berlin and Saxony, where sour pork in jelly makes sense beside rye bread, pickles, and beer. Im Norden anders, im Süden anders: in the north you meet Sauerfleisch, sharper and often sliced clean; in Bavaria and Swabia it becomes Sulz, often more head meat, onion, and a softer sourness.

The whole dish stands on one piece of work: the broth must set itself. The pig's feet, rind, and knuckle go into cold water and climb slowly to a tremble because collagen loosens gently into the pot; a hard boil beats the fat and protein through the liquid and gives you a cloudy, greasy jelly. Runter mit der Temperatur. If the surface only shivers, you're cooking. If it rolls, you're making trouble.

I sour it after the broth is strong and reduced, because vinegar should cut clean through the cold fat, not boil for three hours and turn flat. Then the test decides everything: chill a spoonful of broth on a saucer. If it wrinkles and wobbles, the Sülze will slice. If it runs, reduce it longer. Nicht aus dem Glas, and not from the packet either. The feet have the gel in them.

Weggeworfen wird nichts. The knuckle gives meat, the feet give body, the rind gives strength, and the cooking liquor becomes the whole plate. Watch the pot, skim the fat, taste the sour against the salt, and let the cold finish the work. Das braucht seine Zeit.