Dörflicher deustcher Döner: You're never too far from a kebab in Germany

I step off the S-Bahn* to feel the bracing wintery air on my ruddy cheeks. Shafts of light beam through patches of cloud amidst a brilliant blue sky, and the ground is crunchy, but firm, underfoot. It's coming up to the twelfth hour, and I hear the chapel bells begin to peel into the silent idyll. Strolling towards the village, my nostrils catch a whiff of something cooking on the breeze... it's something pungent, something warm, dense, and filling. It smelled like just the thing for a cold November's day...

But, it's not freshly-baked giant pretzels from local family-run bakery, nor old Frau Schiller's special Kartoffelsuppe (potato soup). Though it's the season forWeihnachtsmärkte (Christmas markets), it's sadly not even the smell of a cart selling the classically sweet gebrannte Mandeln (caramelised almonds) or geröstete Maronen (roasted chestnuts).

To my puzzlement, it's a Doner Kebab joint.

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My strongest impression of Buir was an olfactory one. Situated on the Aachen-Cologne railway line, between the towns of Düren and Horrem in the federal state of Nordrhein-Westfalen, Buir hosts a measly population of just under 4,000. Covering an unexceptional 14.8 square kilometres – which includes a decent portion of nondescript uninhabited, semi-rural space – it has all the quintessential features one would expect of a mid-size German village. The Church of St Michael, a bakery, a greengrocer, a hairdressers, a small primary school, and a two-platform train station.

Buir's handful of independent trades places – a florist, a family-run electrical goods store, even a motorcycle repair workshop – don't surprise me. Nor does Buir's Balkan restaurant, or even Aldi Süd on the outskirts. But, I cannot help myself puzzling over the Buirer Haus, proudly vending a selection of quick and affordable Gyros and Döner, and complete with a prototypical, faded street sign of your favourite meaty tower. Surely the demand for a greasy kebab can't be sufficiently high in such a small place? It's not like Buir is hubbub with tourists, either.

Yet, upon visiting and investigating an array of small-to-medium sized villages and towns across the nation, a very similar state of kebab-related play has unfolded. The town of Bleckede in Lower Saxony has a population of – according to Google's most recent estimate – 9,649, but it harbours at least three independent kebab venues. That's one kebabery (now a word) for every 3216 and a third people. Perhaps this is admissible, though, given the municipality technically covers a much broader area – 139.9km2 – and on two sides of the river Elbe. The kebab venues I discovered, however, were all situated on one side of the river, within walking distance of each other in the town's centre. I say "at least", because I did not check for any cheeky food trucks dishing out grilled meat along the riverbanks.

The delightfully-named Muggensturm, though, is an exciting one. It sits almost bang-splat in-between Stuttgart and Strasbourg, with an area of 11.56 square km . The municipality is home to 6,234 inhabitants, but also no fewer than three kebab houses! A pretty impressive 1:2078 kebabery to citizen ratio. Essentially – unless you're up a mountain – if you ever find yourself in an undistinguished, rural German settlement with a craving for some spiced, grilled meat in a flatbread – or indeed, a vegetarian alternative – chances are, you're going to be in luck.

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My ratios may be slightly inaccurate and more than slightly whimsical, but clearly, I wasn't the first to realise this phenomenon. An article I found on the BBC website from 2017 claims that the nation of Germany (then 82 million people) consumes a hefty 2 million kebabs a day and hosts over 40,000 kebab outlets. Of course, the capital Berlin is home to the largest number of vendors, with 4,000 across the city – more than Istanbul, the Turkish capital, where the humble kebab has its origins. With a population of 3.65 million (in 2019), this equates to an average of one kebab outlet per 912 and a half people. Given that Berlin expects a much greater number of tourists and business travellers each year than much of the rest of the country, this figure is perhaps slightly less outlandish than it appears at first glance.

The BBC's report clearly makes a point that the modern family in Deutschland likes their Döner. I witnessed this myself when I arrived at the Sperling family's home in Weingarten (Baden) last August to do some cat-sitting, and the two young boys greeted me with mouths full of last nights' meaty leftovers.

However, the report only briefly touches on the source of this phenomenon. Despite Curry Mile, the madras doesn't originate in Manchester, nor the French fry from the USA (or even from France, it actually has its roots in Belgium). Similarly, though hunks of meat and dill pickles are certainly a commonality, Doner kebabs are not traditional German cuisine (think more in the realm of potatoes, cheese, and dumplings). Native Germans – and visiting tourists – who benefit from the ease at which one can grab a cheeky gyro even when out in the sticks, owe it to the 867,000 Gastarbeiter (guest workers) who came over from the Republic of Turkey (now to be known as Türkiye) between 1961 and 1973.

Neither the Gastarbeiter, nor the German government, intended this to be a long-term arrangement. After two world wars followed by the erection of the Berlin Wall in 1961, the Federal Republic of Germany had ambitious economic plans, but a severe labour shortage. At the same time, in much of Eastern Europe existed a shortage of employment but a profusion of jobseekers. Therefore, in the same year, a bilateral labour agreement was signed by the West German government and the Turkish government, allowing Turkish migrants temporary working residence in Germany.

They were limited to two years initially. The Germans didn't want an influx of permanent migrants, and so none of the a guest workers were allowed to bring their families. They were to come and work for two years, boost the German economy – crucially, of course, by doing unskilled manual work for a very poor wage – but earn enough to then take back home. However, by 1964, this two year limit had been scrapped, and a new agreement was made allowing partners and children to take up residency, too. And, of course, with them came the vibrancy of Turkish culture, customs...and KEBABS.

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Today, approximately 2.75 million people of Turkish decent live throughout the 16 German Bundesländer. They are the largest national minority – recognised as such throughout popular media. Germans have certainly lapped up the Turkish culinary persuasions, which has provided an income source for many families who have established their own food businesses. Unlike in the UK, kebabs are more often of greater quality and authenticity here, and they certainly have a much better reputation than simply being a dodgy lay-by dinner, or a 3am post-bender pit stop.

As much as the Doner has now been embraced, as one sadly might expect, Turkish immigrants have certainly not been welcomed fully open arms in Germany. I'm a Western white girl; and therfore I cannot justly speak on this subject. I delved into some incredibly insightful first-hand sources whilst preparing to write this post. May I encourage you particularly to read Türkmen's article, as linked below.

However, I can say that, since finding myself on the road in Germany a number of times over the past year, I have certainly had my kebab scepticism challenged and changed. I do feel ashamed that I let their poor British reputation and my peers' horror stories of "eating a dodgy 'bab" get the better of me as I quickly walked past the Buirer Haus. I have also found myself loitering with irresolution outside many a dörfliches deutsches Kebaphaus since, and I am still yet to actually try one. Therefore, my planned summer visit to Baden-Württemberg shall not be done well without a Döner.

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*These are simple, regional commuter trains that cover most residential areas, but unlike InterCity Express trains, are not known for their efficiency or cleanliness – much like the kebab houses in the UK.

Confession: The image used is not actually of a kebab. It is a falafel wrap, and was shamefully taken by me in an American Diner, as I am woefully yet to get my chops around a deutsche Döner. The commitment to using my own content is strong.

Additional Sources:

Türkmen, G. (2019) "But you don't look Turkish!" : The Changing Face of Turkish Immigration to Germany. Available at: https://www.resetdoc.org/story/dont-look-turkish-changing-face-turkish-immigration-germany/ [Accessed 16 May 2023].

Unicomb, M. (2021) Sixty years of Turkish immigration to Germany. Available at: https://www.newarab.com/analysis/sixty-years-turkish-immigration-germany?amp [Accessed 16 May 2023].