Photograph by Ryan J. Meyer
Sunday morning, we’re in a diner in Cincinnati with our friends Mina and Cyna.
OK, we’re not actually in Cincinnati—we’re across the river, in Newport, Ky. Everything in Cincinnati, aside from its two pro-sports stadiums and the statue in the opening scenes of that ’70s sitcom WKRP in Cincinnati, seems to be in Kentucky. Even the Cincinnati airport isn’t in Cincinnati. We’ve spent an entire weekend in Cincinnati and have actually been in Cincinnati for about five minutes.
This morning, we’ve been brought to this diner, the Pepper Pod, for a specific reason: goetta. We’re a little embarrassed, given our status as a worldly connoisseur, that we’ve never heard of goetta (pronounced get-uh). But our hosts generously overlooked our ignorance when the subject came up the night before. We were explaining toasted ravioli and St. Louis’ version of pizza, and they countered, “Ever have goetta?”
Goetta is a German word, probably from Westphalia, from which thousands of immigrants arrived in Cincinnati in the mid–19th century to help in not building a multimillion-dollar subway system there that no one ever apparently had any hope or intention of completing. They also introduced goetta, which has been more successful. It’s a sausage, a mild one, of ground beef and pork and spices and, while the exact recipe’s a proprietary secret of the two companies that make it, we’re guessing a heapin’ helpin’ of fat.
But here’s what separates goetta from other sausages: pinhead oats. Steel-cut oats are added to the mixture, no doubt originally as an extender. The thing is, the big, pleasantly chewy grains add a wonderful texture to the meat. It might actually be addictive. Goetta can be cut into thick pucks, but as my hosts inform me, it’s best sliced into thin patties and fried until crispy. Locals like it for breakfast.
A couple of rounds arrive on my plate with scrambled eggs. First bite: This isn’t bad. Second: Not bad at all. By the time I finish, I’m giving my companions’ plates that sidelong “You gonna eat all that?” look.
I wonder how we might get a goetta import business going in St. Louis. It could be tough: Glier’s, the planet’s major goetta supplier, produces 1 million pounds of the stuff annually—450 metric tons—and virtually all of it is consumed in the immediate Cincinnati area. It’s popular enough to be the impetus for Cincinnati’s Goettafest (imagine our surprise upon learning that it’s actually held in Kentucky), a weekend celebration “of everything goetta” bringing shooting chest pains to thousands since 2001. Goettafest features more than 30 goetta dishes for sampling, along with a goetta ring toss, temporary goetta tattoos, oompah music, and—if you’re not already checking into airfare, this should get you going—a “new and improved goetta slide!”
We are, frankly, a little distracted by all of the goetta talk, so we have to ask Cyna to repeat his question about another Cincinnati favorite.
“Do you play cornhole?”
Excuse me?
Mina explains that cornhole is another bit of local culture. A pair of one-by-twelve boards 3 feet or so in length are fitted with struts at one end so they sit at an angle, with a softball-size hole cut near the top. They’re set up in pairs like a horseshoe pit, and players toss bags stuffed with dried corn, with points scored by landing one on the board or through the hole.
In other words, it’s like washers. It’s played the same way, at backyard cookouts and neighborhood celebrations, and it’s a fixture at tailgate parties in Cincinnati when the Bengals are in town. Indeed, later that morning, as we travel to the Cincinnati airport (in Kentucky), nearly every one of the bars and parking lots we pass sports at least one cornhole game, in preparation for the Bengals’ contest that afternoon.
It got us thinking: Cincinnati and St. Louis are both river towns, with the architecture and history to prove it. They have Procter & Gamble; we have Anheuser-Busch InBev. What we call “hoosiers,” they call “grits.” They have cornhole; we have washers. We have toasted ravioli; they have goetta. So how about a cultural exchange? Mayor Francis Slay could take the lead, contacting Cincinnati’s mayor and proposing a challenge of sorts.
Let’s take a washers team to Cincinnati, bring a few dozen cases of toasted ravioli, and challenge the locals there to a match and dinner. Then they could come here, complete with their cornhole game and their goetta, and take us on and feed us afterward. So come on, Mayor Slay: Get in touch with your counterpart in Cincinnati.
We’re guessing, by the way, that his office is in Kentucky.
SEEING RED: THE MAKINGS OF A MIDWEST RIVALRY?
Sure, you’ve watched the YouTube video of that 2010 brawl between the Redbirds and Reds a dozen times. But beyond baseball, St. Louis and Cincinnati might just have the makings of a healthy Midwest rivalry. Consider these five points of comparison.
Significant Citizenry: When it comes to sheer size, St. Louis has a slight edge. Our metro area boasts 2.8 million citizens, while Cincy comprises 2.1 million.
In Good Company: Both cities have precisely nine Fortune 500 companies. While we have Monsanto and Express Scripts, Cincinnati is home to Procter & Gamble and Macy’s.
Beautiful Buildings: Cincinnati’s Over-the-Rhine neighborhood contains the largest collection of Italianate architecture in the nation. The Cathedral Basilica of St. Louis, on the other hand, boasts the largest collection of mosaics in the world.
Memorable Cameos: Among the films shot in Cincinnati: Rain Man, Traffic, and Seabiscuit—all Oscar contenders. Shot here in St. Louis? Escape from New York; Planes, Trains & Automobiles; and National Lampoon’s Vacation—all cult classics.
Drinking Game: In August 2008, Forbes ranked Cincinnati 10th in a list of “America’s Hard-Drinking Cities.” St. Louis tied for eighth.
