Zefix nochmal, why does Sunday in Texas always start like a cattle stampede at the breakfast table? Back home in Bavaria, Sonntag is a calm day: church bells clanging, Sonntagsbraten in the oven, and nobody’s running around debating if pancakes count as real food or just a fluffy excuse for butter and syrup.

Big Texas Sunday: Fried Chicken vs. Kaffee & Kuchen

Out in rural Texas, Sonntag is still sacred, like in old Bavaria. First, the Familien hit church in the morning, then back to Oma’s or Mama’s house for lunch—except here, Oma serves fried chicken, mashed potatoes drowned in gravy, and biscuits that make you forget about your cholesterol for a few hours. Toss in green beans cooked long enough to surrender their will to live, and you’ve got yourself what Texans call Sunday lunch. By dinnertime, everyone’s still too stuffed to move.

In Bavaria, it’s not so different—you’d go to church, then return home for the Sonntagsbraten. A roast. Schweinebraten, maybe Rinderbraten, with Kartoffelknödel. And later? Kaffee & Kuchen, which is our civilized excuse to eat cake at 3 p.m. with a strong cup of coffee instead of a mimosa. Nobody ever asked, “Hans, would you like orange juice mixed with your Sekt at breakfast?” Nein danke, we drink our booze straight!

Brunch Madness in the Cities

But drive into Austin or Dallas on a Sonntag, and das Chaos begins. Brunch lines an hour long, hipsters clutching avocado toast like it’s the Holy Grail, and mimosas flowing like the Isar in spring. Breakfast tacos rule here—papas, eggs, chorizo, and more cheese than is politically correct. And then pancakes stacked so high you need climbing gear. Brunch in America is like Oktoberfest squeezed into Sunday morning—loud, boozy, and everyone pretending it’s about “community” when it’s really about day drinking in public.

In Munich? Brunch is not a thing. You either eat Frühstück—a proper Frühstück with Semmeln and cold cuts—or you keep it simple and wait for the midday meal. The idea of combining two meals into one and drinking before noon? That’s called Wiesn, and it has an actual ticket price attached!

Brewkraut’s Box

• What’s the deal: Texas Sundays are split. The countryside keeps tradition with big family lunches. The cities embrace brunch with tacos, pancakes, and endless booze.
• What’s nonsense: Turning brunch into a two-hour wait to drink watered-down orange juice with bubbles. Leute, just buy Sekt and drink it at home.
• Prost-finale: Whether you’re eating schnitzel or chicken-fried steak, the point is the same: Sunday is for slowing down and stuffing your belly until Monday hurts.

Tradition vs. Trend

I’ll say this, folks. The Texas rural Sunday feels a lot more like Bavaria—from the church bells to the heavy meal and the food coma. The urban brunch feels like a young cousin who got into your beer cellar, mixed everything with juice, and claimed it’s a new invention. Still, both traditions have their charm. Brunch might not be Bavarian, but it sure keeps you entertained.

The Last Word from Hans

So whether you’re elbow-deep in mashed potatoes or sipping that fourth mimosa, remember: it’s Sunday. In Texas, you celebrate it with fried chicken or tacos. In Bavaria, we celebrate with roast and cake. And me? I celebrate both, until my Lederhosen buttons start screaming for mercy. Prost, y’all!