The Berlin standard, though for some reason they call it the Munich Plate. The No. 1 Currywurst Truck of San Diego.

The No. 1 Currywurst Truck of San Diego. I'd be surprised if there were a number two.

Driving around a couple weeks ago I found myself lined up at a red light next to a food truck painted brightly with the word Currywurst. For a moment I forgot I was on my way to a meeting, and contemplated following the truck for the rest of the day to see where it landed. Currywurst consists of nothing more than fried bratwurst slathered in ketchup and curry powder, and yet I am sentimentally unashamed to say: I'm a fan.

I discovered currywurst, as most do, in Berlin, where the now-traditional street food is so popular there's a full time museum dedicated to it. Currywurst stands and trucks may be found across the city, east to west, usually near bars and clubs, where they competes with döner to provide the go-to late night drunken munchie of choice.

Legend has it that currywurst inventor Herta Heuwer came up with the idea following World War Two, when her soldier husband returned from a POW camp in the American south with an insatiable hankering for barbecue spare ribs. Why she thought curry powder and ketchup could approximate BBQ sauce is anyone's guess, but apparently she was some sort of street food genius, because if you're cruising Oranienburger Straße at 3am and want currywurst, you need to stand in line.

I tracked the down the truck at my local food truck event — the Tuesday night Curbside Bites in South Park. There too, I had to stand in line to get the wurst served in my preferred fashion, with French fries. The brat wasn’t the best in town, nor should it have been. But it was finely minced and tasted fine with the curry ketchup. The fries were crispy, and I ate everything as a single dish, fondly remembering a cheap lunch in Kreuzberg, that late night in Pankow.

I typically disdain food trucks, but this one succeeds by not trying too hard. It's not attempting to serve quality meals out of cardboard cartons, content to stick with street food. A little bit of sweetness, a little tanginess, some fried potatoes and easy-to-chew meat. What could go wrong? Although, apparently the San Diego market for currywurst is such that half the truck's menu has been given over to various takes on a grilled cheese.

Now if you ask me whether the 10 dollar pricetag is appropriate for a single wurst chopped up with a small handful of fries and a side of sauerkraut? Then I might have a gripe. But I've paid more for less off the back of a trendy truck in the past and not gotten to experience the nostalgia of a kickass visit to one of the most vibrant cities on the planet. Danke schön, No. 1 Currywurst Truck of San Diego. This one takes me back.