It’s not uncommon to find, in the great American melting pot, unlikely marriages of cuisines. In what we like to call “Modern American” cuisine, there are all sorts of stunted love children, like mango-jalapeño spicy tuna rolls or pesto enchiladas. There are also careful, successful pairings that will have even the most red-blooded Commie appreciating the unrestrained creativity of these kitchen pioneers.

But another thing that America’s immigrant communities can provide is a sort of culinary time travel. Academics are offered a look back in time, for instance, at unique pockets of linguistic interest that are preserved all across the country; there are Czech towns in central Texas where residents still speak the language of 1800s Czechoslovakia, which isn’t immediately recognizable to a speaker of the modern-day incarnation of the language. And there are communities that have preserved the food not only of another country, but of a distinct period in that country’s history.

Such, supposedly, is the case with the family at Altengartz. They left Germany in the late 1800s, and, as the story goes, on a recent pilgrimage back to the motherland, an exhaustive search yielded no sausage quite like theirs. We have a hunch that this lovely little anecdote has more to do with selling sausage than an anthropological inquiry, but we’ll bite. The sausage is great at this humble, friendly food cart. Bratwurst have a lovely snap to their casing and a full, meaty flavor. Ask for it without cheese—we find it too distracting, and it’s not a move you see too often back in the Old World. Bread isn’t the freshest.

This is a bare-bones experience. Those manning the cart are polite, but a bit quiet. Diners are provided with way-too-flimsy plastic tables and chairs. Get it to go if you can, and enjoy.

Should you become hooked, sausages from the Altengartz diaspora are available just about everywhere, in any frozen foods aisle.