From Lost City:
One can't blame any of these happy grazers for feeling laden or sluggish. Zum Stammtisch fully commits itself to German cuisine at its fullest. You can not eat light here. You just can't. The meal doesn't begin with bread; it begins with a small loaf of bread, a knife thrust in its center. There's herring, there's goulash, there's wurst. The one listed salad is made up of nine components, including potatoes. Every fish come with sides of home fries. Entrees, like the popular, mushroom-smothered, veal Jägerschnitzel, are tripled-sized, almost ensuring a several-pound doggie bag. (It is assumed you will want to take the leftovers with you; when I hesitated, my waitress regarded me with a doubtful expression until I knuckled under and changed my mind.)
All these things are dangerously delicious, by the way. Beer (in glass, big glass, or glass boot) is the natural accompaniment. Hacker Pschorr, in several expressions, is proudly served—and advertised; the ribbons bearing the beer's blue and white colors, lit from within by white Christmas lights, are gayly draped from the ceiling like New Year's Eve decorations. They draw your eyes to the cute kitsch that line the walls: steins and tapestries, a poster for the upcoming 81st Edelweiss Ball, a the large moose head that wears a tiny Tyrolean hat.