tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-40668846925048227852024-02-20T23:12:02.324+01:00Footprints in BerlinA Berlin-based restaurant blog with weekly reviews.Itayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08034471312229143799noreply@blogger.comBlogger44125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4066884692504822785.post-39931660901936831322012-01-13T18:52:00.000+01:002012-01-14T00:31:23.536+01:00The Joy of Being Posh<br />
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Le Cochon Bourgeois - Kreuzberg</b></span> </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">My
favourite pastime in my first year in </span><span lang="EN-GB">Berlin</span><span lang="EN-GB"> was to correct people who told me I
was living in </span><span lang="EN-GB">Germany</span><span lang="EN-GB">. “I’m in </span><span lang="EN-GB">Berlin</span><span lang="EN-GB">, you fuckers. </span><span lang="EN-GB">Berlin</span><span lang="EN-GB"> is NOT </span><span lang="EN-GB">Germany</span><span lang="EN-GB">.” Or so goes the line? Alas, I’ve been disillusioned since. I am now a proud protagonist of the “</span><span lang="EN-GB">Berlin</span><span lang="EN-GB"> is very much in </span><span lang="EN-GB">Germany</span><span lang="EN-GB">” theory. No need to repeat all of
that. I’ve ranted about Germans in so many posts that it would be getting
tedious if I started this one doing the same. So no. What I did want to say
about </span><span lang="EN-GB">Berlin</span><span lang="EN-GB"> and </span><span lang="EN-GB">Germany</span><span lang="EN-GB"> was (hopefully) a bit more
intriguing than just that. It’s the age discrepancy between </span><span lang="EN-GB">Berlin</span><span lang="EN-GB"> and the rest of </span><span lang="EN-GB">Germany</span><span lang="EN-GB">.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0cnzi2LF6L4DEO-2PfIIabh4pk0dzkZ_45xv79c5wcmU1j66OLaHuiF567nH18bAv6bm-y2N-Sx27uzMxugcDCYtsJIW5Puv1BGq3z5cAhAjuKpeSTZv8Ybi_S7hMj5W5buwbLe5cZUU/s1600/Overall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0cnzi2LF6L4DEO-2PfIIabh4pk0dzkZ_45xv79c5wcmU1j66OLaHuiF567nH18bAv6bm-y2N-Sx27uzMxugcDCYtsJIW5Puv1BGq3z5cAhAjuKpeSTZv8Ybi_S7hMj5W5buwbLe5cZUU/s200/Overall.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span id="goog_2119204733"></span><span id="goog_2119204734"></span>Do you see
what I’m trying to say? Probably not. So here goes nothing. Think of the most
ubiquitously German attractions: Neuschwanstein, half-timbered
houses, the </span><span lang="EN-GB">Black
Forest</span><span lang="EN-GB">.
They all conjure up an image of beauty and greatness of yore. But then take a
look at </span><span lang="EN-GB">Berlin</span><span lang="EN-GB">, the capital, the icing on that Black Forest Gateau, and it seems
to reject all of the aforementioned romantic paraphernalia. Not only is Berlin younger than
your average German town, but the 20<sup>th</sup> century left such a mark of
the city’s landscape, somehow marginalising the influence of all that had
preceded it. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">There is
no need to retell the story of </span><span lang="EN-GB">Berlin</span><span lang="EN-GB">’s topsy-turvy history during the 20<sup>th</sup>
century. You Know Who between 1933 and 1945 and that wall between 1961 and 1989
are reasons enough for any place to change its appearance and identity. But what it
also means – especially in comparison to other places in </span><span lang="EN-GB">Germany</span><span lang="EN-GB"> – is that the 20<sup>th</sup> century
also made it impossible for </span><span lang="EN-GB">Berlin</span><span lang="EN-GB"> to have old institutions. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">At the end
of the day, the effects of the war are still visible just about everywhere in </span><span lang="EN-GB">Germany</span><span lang="EN-GB">. But still, in most German towns
one will still stumble upon old culinary institutions that have been around since
the time eccentric kings still ruled the land. Lübeck’s 1960’s concrete market
square has a Niederegger café and </span><span lang="EN-GB">Munich</span><span lang="EN-GB">’s got its Hofbräuhaus, both founded a very long time ago. </span><span lang="EN-GB">Berlin</span><span lang="EN-GB">, however, is a bit weaker on
institutions. Things that have been around for a while. There are exceptions, of course,
like the old and endearing Baumkuchenlieferant
(the official Baumkuchen supplier for the Kaiser) in Moabit, but they are few
and far between. </span><span lang="EN-GB">Berlin</span><span lang="EN-GB"> is often about the modern and the
edgy. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Which is
why I sometimes enjoy walking around </span><span lang="EN-GB">West Berlin</span><span lang="EN-GB">, finding things that have been
around for longer than just a few years. Restaurants that assert themselves as
small, local institutions (needless to say, due to a couple of historical interferences,
it remains largely a West-Berlin phenomenon). Fichtestraße in Kreuzberg is the
proud home of a few such venues, established places that have been around for a
long time. Somehow the entire street manages to exude something dignified and appealing,
which means most restaurants are priced accordingly. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">One of
these places is Le Cochon Bourgeois – a poshly French restaurant. The space inside looks like a flat converted into a public house
and then decorated to produce an image of austere luxury. A bit like a pearl
necklace dangling from a rich lady’s neck, Le Cochon Bourgeois does not go past
the bare essentials, but it does it extremely well. No posters on the walls, no
fancy decorations hanging from the ceiling, no loud music to distract you from
a bad date (if this is what you happened to need). But after a second thought:
why would anyone in their right mind bring a bad date to Le Cochon Bourgeois?</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCCgQ0rvUIlfAOmdYiYjrCM0IxtSOfH2zBud5HSHh7V2G7X2JJRZ-e5MTj1pPoM_PplJVMO9ja9MZK5gRwkLpNIDrZ2r9u_FKA9d2XRgKUak8Z2nJy6xf-Fk0zvsvc5rjLkejVhLzgI2s/s1600/Boudin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCCgQ0rvUIlfAOmdYiYjrCM0IxtSOfH2zBud5HSHh7V2G7X2JJRZ-e5MTj1pPoM_PplJVMO9ja9MZK5gRwkLpNIDrZ2r9u_FKA9d2XRgKUak8Z2nJy6xf-Fk0zvsvc5rjLkejVhLzgI2s/s200/Boudin.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boudin</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQro3aqQ3r1hFyQVlqd3oxrNauIBOFjr7_v5GN4GpHhyznbGb8rtO9O22TKhWHcM795o4vLFINBX0Hz168j-udh796KJC2gMCRYKhinzHQrYG-2dJdJ15JOvj1ZK2hovMm9B9zJ2id24c/s1600/Mousse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQro3aqQ3r1hFyQVlqd3oxrNauIBOFjr7_v5GN4GpHhyznbGb8rtO9O22TKhWHcM795o4vLFINBX0Hz168j-udh796KJC2gMCRYKhinzHQrYG-2dJdJ15JOvj1ZK2hovMm9B9zJ2id24c/s200/Mousse.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mousse</td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-GB">First of
all, it’s pricey. Secondly, it’s too good for a bad date. We started with the
two most different starters one could think of: a boudin (the French equivalent
of black pudding, served with celery puree and apples for 8.00 €) and a goat
cheese mousse (served with various green stuff for 7.00 €). They were both
splendid. The boudin was perfect: the right consistency creating a refined mass
where no one on earth would be able to imagine this was just a blood sausage.
The sauce, the puree and the apples all seemed to dance along to the same
music. It was like a whole party – but just in your mouth. The mousse was
perfect as well, with just the right smoothness combined with a fantastically
rich taste. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">We
continued to the mains, which were even pricier. We opted for the confit the
canard (duck confit, maybe my favourite dish in the world, 26.00€) and veal
medallions (fairly expensive, but what the heck: 32.50 €). I wish I could rant
about the fact posh restaurants are just not worth the money and all that jazz.
But I really can’t. It was all fairly perfect. The confit was brilliant, with
the taste of something that had been marinated in fat for ages, just without
the actual fat dripping from it. The medallions were tender and quite
incredible, with a perfect match between the meat quality, degree of cooking, consistency,
and yes, the sauce. All good. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZhJlDs-exHvtm4Y3nLy-ltHHzQi7PAzqMYF8zh7YD69O7Md-WPoJ98fPTe_qmfvrASbI40hLstp1ZPgAFA1KFl-WE7KbEhGzCl-dqNp4SWKs8s9Qtv2vWbKUSm7AVmfckl2R5hifjtTs/s1600/Veal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZhJlDs-exHvtm4Y3nLy-ltHHzQi7PAzqMYF8zh7YD69O7Md-WPoJ98fPTe_qmfvrASbI40hLstp1ZPgAFA1KFl-WE7KbEhGzCl-dqNp4SWKs8s9Qtv2vWbKUSm7AVmfckl2R5hifjtTs/s200/Veal.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Medallions</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh139VL3xzkn-0P12tklY4i_LWaZ5Z0XaL5AqlYBJDLpkgzzsFTp8lfKgr_GW2ZJDc-dDGWxPrdSGIAc3npXiyJluUVD_sxB6mVXBPWkyfDjC-CZhhNi9tdZita65JXowsx9yF5jONXgmo/s1600/Dessert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh139VL3xzkn-0P12tklY4i_LWaZ5Z0XaL5AqlYBJDLpkgzzsFTp8lfKgr_GW2ZJDc-dDGWxPrdSGIAc3npXiyJluUVD_sxB6mVXBPWkyfDjC-CZhhNi9tdZita65JXowsx9yF5jONXgmo/s200/Dessert.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wonderfully weird</td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-GB">We were not
sure whether we wanted to have dessert, but after one stern look from the wonderfully
chatty waitress we decided it really was now or never. We opted for the
boringly solid option (crème brulée, 7.00 €) and for the strangely unappealing
one, which was nonetheless highly recommended by that same waitress (red
cabbage in passion fruit marinade, nougat mousse and white coffee mousse for
13.50 €). The crème brulée was solidly wonderful: Just right, perfectly by the
book. Yet the real surprise was that other thing. “The world belongs to the
brave” was what the waitress said once we’d ordered the cabbage thingy. And she
was right. Think of something that tastes of passion fruit with a cabbagy texture
with two fantastic mousses on top and a piece of caramelised joy on top of
that. Well, it was an experience, and quite a brilliant one of that. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">The damage
aounted to 130.00 € for a three-course-meal for two with one wonderful bottle of wine
and another bottle of water. I forgot to mention we got small surprises from the kitchen between the dishes (a small soup and a sorbet, also excellent). It’s far from being cheap, but it was worth every
cent. Go to the Cochon Bourgeois. It’s not cool, it’s not edgy, but it’s
wonderful nonetheless. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><i>Overall Mark</i>:</span></div>
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<a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfRSvIbwK9brbpjCUX9IPQiQ7lVESeQm-my1IMdopq9PQQcQLQweYHrTsTdIF3ib42Vx6zndgpcAouPATHtMNETfZ2I0u2hu8j7q16WlzSu4AhsQwi7pb5qbblYTgF15v1wfGTlZOj174/s1600/5pawss.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb8NfF_5SNTi9f5gnr5ssCo6HinODhvP1BX537Ai25RZ2-5QVU6vbp4ZRSE6ssM_jD4zDTxp3rOeVW6tqiJAvToSUPXD7vgDWpo5-VjOmL7o-6PXxmHBnzYmiBeClFCf0bDwlRJBUxTW4/s1600/romances.jpg" /></a><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijkDv92Tb9dno-8GfB52hVijf_h8FIBPGAGZ1AYYeudq6lwVeGmTwqQ7iz2ZPlRYeyK4phxqAg_I9OON_9zxmZI3Qq4J0QFM-4BzaatJD9Ch84lQ49tY9oTGwiB7xad7Tx8VhOVpOYV08/s1600/travels.jpg" /></a><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd8b59aBPz5cnCRVe6zfR3TMGAiiFjBi2frVvGg97yrOvxmacrWhMapkDmC8k_vVT55h2Z_GDVMJYc61_uA3ao9_1ep63ArbeAXkK9U7Bu-8BRfcRMwkjgaGH-Db9xHOW2ZCK9BUBElb0/s1600/parentss.jpg" /></a></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB">Le Cochon Bourgeois</span></b></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB">Fichtestraße 24, 10967 Berlin</span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><a href="http://www.lecochon.de/"><b>www.lecochon.de</b></a></span></div>
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<br /></div>Itayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08034471312229143799noreply@blogger.com6Berlin, Germany52.524268 13.4062952.2151175 12.774576 52.8334185 14.038004tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4066884692504822785.post-7393233827538622942011-12-13T19:19:00.001+01:002011-12-13T19:19:39.286+01:00Pan-Asian and Hotel Vibes<br />
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Modern Art of Asia (MAOA) - Mitte </b></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Last week I
had the misfortune of landing in the wasteland otherwise known as Potsdamer
Platz around dinner time. Don’t get me wrong – the place has a few redeeming features,
like the Philharmonie, the Stabi, the film museum and the fact it’s never
empty. And yet, finding something decent to eat over there appears to be a
super-human ordeal. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">But we were
hungry and the weather did not leave room for flexibility on the subject of
location. So we were pretty much stuck where we were. Glossing over the dismal choice
of restaurants available around the square that gave the world the traffic
light, I could only shrug and grunt an undecipherable complaint about the
desertification of central </span><span lang="EN-GB">Berlin</span><span lang="EN-GB">. With a choice of overpriced and sterile-looking
venues, Potsdamer Platz really does feel like an urban desert with a few bright
lights and never-ending loads of tourists. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">We ended up
marching into Modern Art of Asia, one of the sterile-looking restaurants on
Leipziger Platz. The pan-Asian restaurant is always crammed pack with people
and getting a table is not easy, which was – at lest – reassuring. The interior
reminded me of the hotel aesthetics in Lost in Translation, the 90’s version:
bright lights, long tables, basic colours. The concept reminded me of another
concept that seems to have been left to rot somewhere in the 90’s: Mongolian
buffets. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-Rlp3rKjITVt8pB7w_b3oK6neGYR1MdtWe3IG0V1fI6X_p4MIMCM_0l9DNksbBPV1KSE17W1y-TOJRNPsCj1a95N6W7T77dm3icMQxydt94a-cD-chJ68VgI64vGOsUO7widXz2aTLpE/s1600/Ambiance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-Rlp3rKjITVt8pB7w_b3oK6neGYR1MdtWe3IG0V1fI6X_p4MIMCM_0l9DNksbBPV1KSE17W1y-TOJRNPsCj1a95N6W7T77dm3icMQxydt94a-cD-chJ68VgI64vGOsUO7widXz2aTLpE/s200/Ambiance.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">You must
remember the loud rise and silent fall of Mongolian buffets. They were
everywhere in the late 90’s: the concept was assembling a dish from scratch
using available ingredients, as an able looking chef then took over one’s
creation and turned it into a work of fine showmanship on a scary looking
grill. The same applies here. The menu is fairly basic, with a few starters and
horribly overpriced drinks. The main course, however, is the buffet, available
as a stuff-your-plate-full-for-one-serving for 16.90 € or as a recurring
extravaganza for 23.70 €. We decided to go for the buffet and ignore the rest. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Every
serving consists of stuffing a bowl full of whatever ingredients one chooses to
eat, selecting a marinade from a list of different options and handing that
opus-magnum to the exhausted chefs slaving at the grill (unfortunately, MAOA
offers no spectacular show of knife throwing at your food). The available
ingredients start with basic things like onions and different sorts of
vegetables (bell peppers, carrots, courgettes, etc.), move over to spices like
chillies, coriander or dried fruit and end with a copious amount of meat and
seafood. The meat selection is actually the best thing about the buffet, as it
offers just about anything from duck through beef to kangaroo. The other
ingredients, however, are not as exciting with vegetables and spices remaining
very German (between broccoli and champignons). </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxpkP_vljHy8R2UrKEwehI8pDU2Zizja8kxL03a2A65oYSAkfpUC7EZC3dH6GD1TxgdjowQ55CgQhYINsDFd21472NlS4Npa3erFF1q1q-r0AarBLJfjAiqS0Ug6faE0WFqRsTXjh414Q/s1600/Bowl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxpkP_vljHy8R2UrKEwehI8pDU2Zizja8kxL03a2A65oYSAkfpUC7EZC3dH6GD1TxgdjowQ55CgQhYINsDFd21472NlS4Npa3erFF1q1q-r0AarBLJfjAiqS0Ug6faE0WFqRsTXjh414Q/s200/Bowl.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What a bowl looks like</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1519928534" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimVP6naVyvcfF9zkQ5MHYqiuxiAziYlhV1KBSh167IwZyc5MUc_X9_b5mSjuk3qDIq9qtQQi9mw4xqMNFalN1ZayqhxkOabyATfA9pigSZSEWGPkLxhGr-5pA__jwMEG7PtWFo6Xi6dXE/s200/Meat.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The meat section</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span lang="EN-GB">And yet,
the main feature of the buffet is that je-ne-sais-quoi DIY experience. It’s fun
to assemble things and come up with the most ludicrous combinations. The
marinades (from blackberry-sake to fennel-garlic) are also pretty pleasing in
most cases. They are fairly mellow and offer a diluted, Germanised sensation,
but this should come as no surprise at a pan-Asian restaurant that looks like a
hotel lobby. Which brings me to the bottom line: If you happen to be around
Potsdamer Platz, have enough money to spend and feel like stuffing your face like
a pig, be my guest, it’s fun. However, do not expect any refined experience of
superior taste. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Overall Mark:</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnUJyWF851xYXQzi1qLpYZOa-KOhg7OIbX5OzlLu925LmHDUqzsi2DyyQYXcjuWrIHLN78iJfRqJ5s-y3NQWN0jcLu4ltDbHSQJwGcSoLIOQLeadZd8ktRD6eaQcOGjDBlJZpf56gIdI4/s1600/3pawss.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"></span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFMUpCI8vDaa9R-1oyb3smrtkE5PQuUt0OpG8NCEGzgpKNDmbDGcQU_uEJ0c70UJjNggAuJ9VP5pItotFYOreJbaTQCmE9M1RxnsYMOw206WgM77hRLv2E-48TNcaYwdRC-YhryILIsrQ/s1600/friendss.jpg" /><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQgk5lo4pVMkrvU516t6WTD5aLkwWZQcSH2IF1YDU80bTl8_HMmCrrBUUcc1GwWR2dz9lOikmT7j9U2OkZqOO0ogpJy_1KzaInEge2gh2FHmBwg78ErkRCNRcPDEmu1E0nSn80IAR_o3g/s1600/tears.jpg" /></a></div>
<b>Modern Art of Asia</b><br />
<b>Leipziger Platz 8, 10117 Berlin</b><br />
<a href="http://www.maoa.de/"><b>http://www.maoa.de</b></a><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<iframe frameborder="0" height="350" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=de&geocode=&q=modern+art+of+asia,+leipziger+platz+8,+berlin&aq=&sll=37.0625,-95.677068&sspn=37.956457,79.013672&vpsrc=0&ie=UTF8&hq=modern+art+of+asia,&hnear=Leipziger+Platz+8,+Mitte+10117+Berlin,+Deutschland&ll=52.508914,13.378759&spn=0.00713,0.01929&t=m&z=14&iwloc=A&cid=11958552545107184372&output=embed" width="425"></iframe><br />
<small><a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=embed&hl=de&geocode=&q=modern+art+of+asia,+leipziger+platz+8,+berlin&aq=&sll=37.0625,-95.677068&sspn=37.956457,79.013672&vpsrc=0&ie=UTF8&hq=modern+art+of+asia,&hnear=Leipziger+Platz+8,+Mitte+10117+Berlin,+Deutschland&ll=52.508914,13.378759&spn=0.00713,0.01929&t=m&z=14&iwloc=A&cid=11958552545107184372" style="color: blue; text-align: left;">Größere Kartenansicht</a></small>Itayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08034471312229143799noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4066884692504822785.post-1066123539842444792011-11-30T18:48:00.001+01:002011-11-30T19:04:01.079+01:00Teutonic Pizza: A Guide to German Cultural References<br />
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Rocco und seine Brüder - Kreuzberg</b></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Who owns a
city? I’m not talking about rich people who own the land (who may not even live
there) or the municipality that provides the services. What I’m aiming for is
to get to the bottom of deep philosophical issues. I can see you are frowning
at the screen and thinking of closing this window. Be my guest if you want to,
but this is serious stuff! I stumbled over this question yesterday after the 4<sup>th</sup>
G&T at a new, cooler-than-thou expat venue in Kreuzkölln. It was packed
with trendy people. Yet it was the first time I felt a pang of superiority
beside the usual feeling of pure, green envy.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmB-FFxhWGaFnH0aoORJ-GvszAmG8-vsAnNCasXAF6-rRcrxKjr0jLH-09Tsj86AUgHpeFjTjbU59JzBfKitcfJDlMqJR8ak-DAxYtBSXuxdZYf92JKtru3YJ3mVomnkrElnLlqhz0YUc/s1600/Space.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="144" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmB-FFxhWGaFnH0aoORJ-GvszAmG8-vsAnNCasXAF6-rRcrxKjr0jLH-09Tsj86AUgHpeFjTjbU59JzBfKitcfJDlMqJR8ak-DAxYtBSXuxdZYf92JKtru3YJ3mVomnkrElnLlqhz0YUc/s320/Space.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">I think the
superiority bit came after listening to a girl from North London with a
butterfly pinned on her beautifully coiffed head explaining why Berlin was HER
city after mere 1.5 months. And why she was here to stay. She was giving tips
and recommendations, talking about areas that are cool and others that are “so
passé”. There was a lot of sneering involved. And the only thing I could think
was: “Really? Your city?” So I just smiled back as if you’d smile to a slightly
retarded child who had just done something resembling a failed imitation of a snotty
Pug. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">This girl
actually made me feel superior. Not because I’m any better. All I can say for
myself is that I’ve been here long enough to speak the language and get a
feeling for the culture. It’s merely about time. And yet. Her sheer chutzpah,
ignoring the time factor and the hard-earned lessons it brings, made me think:
what makes a person own a city? Is it enough to know your geography and know
the cool safe-havens in town? I believe it takes more than just that.</span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1oCj7TjIrCDYw_pXQV81tGxfhjEZMqHzOCMmstuEwj7p5OtFTJ5q8pj9FF8EYQa9tjPn1mdtdMyYy3vLVP_eEt6UV3hAT1r8ItOzco5PrAeYofGMR1Nn8WIXUnw8p_h5LpbChTYoU3_4/s1600/Bar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1oCj7TjIrCDYw_pXQV81tGxfhjEZMqHzOCMmstuEwj7p5OtFTJ5q8pj9FF8EYQa9tjPn1mdtdMyYy3vLVP_eEt6UV3hAT1r8ItOzco5PrAeYofGMR1Nn8WIXUnw8p_h5LpbChTYoU3_4/s200/Bar.jpg" width="113" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Because at
the end of the day, even though </span><span lang="EN-GB">Berlin</span><span lang="EN-GB"> may seem so un-German to the
untrained eye, it is still in </span><span lang="EN-GB">Germany</span><span lang="EN-GB"> (as the saying goes). And immersing
oneself into the folds of Teutonic culture requires a deeper understanding of
local codes, local aesthetics and local references. Unfortunately for the
newcomer, local references are not always pleasant or easy to learn. Being
exposed to deep-end </span><span lang="EN-GB">Germany</span><span lang="EN-GB"> often requires developing a 6<sup>th</sup>
sense for repellent schlager singers (I still wouldn’t be able to distinguish
Roland Kaiser from Udo Jürgens even if my life depended on it), commenting the
latest Bauer-sucht-Frau developments, and moreover, recognising Inka Bause
(Bauer-sucht-Frau presenter) if you saw her walking down the street in
lederhosen. These are things locals know automatically. But for us expats,
learning all these references is a long, excruciating process. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">The
ever-elusive game of German references was the defining experience of this
week’s dinner at Rocco und seine Brüder – a popular pizza restaurant behind the
church on Lausitzer Platz in Kreuzberg. A couple of VIVA presenters had taken
control of the next table and as the conversation drifted to commenting old
German TV-presenters, I found myself at a loss. To make things worse, Rocco und
seine Brüder is one of these themed restaurants, based on an Italian film from
the 1960’s that used to be extremely popular in </span><span lang="EN-GB">Germany</span><span lang="EN-GB">. Most Germans around me seemed to
have regarded the film as an integral part of West-German culture (even though
it was about the Mezzogiorno. Oh, the intricacies of European culture), which made
the photos on the walls and a few of the pizza-names accessibly witty for them.
I, however, could only nod and smile as my table companions commented different
aspects of the ambiance. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">And yet,
the place is pleasingly alive and nicely unpretentious. The tables are crammed
on top of each other and the service is jovially accommodating. The menu is
fairly simple, with starters and pizzas making out the two only categories available.
We began with the anti-pasti platter (for two, 12.80 €), which I found to be
fairly disappointing. It contained all the right things: a bit of cheese, a bit
of sausage, a few oily vegetables and fresh ingredients. But the quality was
not quite there yet. The cheese was very simple (the taleggio was alright, the mozzarella
was the cheapest version available and the bland slices of the Gouda-looking
rubbery cheese were completely unnecessary). The meat was alright, but nothing
more. The other ingredients were not bad, but on the other hand, they were not
refined or pleasing enough to justify those 12.80 €. </span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFIeymqwbawhyphenhyphenVU14i5cbAoOpUKwbDpTpmpHceTsC3VFpyef9v1K3FHriU4rrl4NkaTPHnP1nnakmOi4s1lD6n4YHDibOmvyYWs0zPpnE8r65S50NPaU1aaDq_140QapPJ2eUBAZBZa0s/s1600/Antipasti.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFIeymqwbawhyphenhyphenVU14i5cbAoOpUKwbDpTpmpHceTsC3VFpyef9v1K3FHriU4rrl4NkaTPHnP1nnakmOi4s1lD6n4YHDibOmvyYWs0zPpnE8r65S50NPaU1aaDq_140QapPJ2eUBAZBZa0s/s200/Antipasti.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Antipasti</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFvoTxcE2AFv5epaLc9txbjU1F3fw0Qs02uBsBt25TeQqrJXmhstDeLTCLQj5Uh-RPejI_LIB-yuBE9_WNK-vLQCqT2UcYLotwu1Z_p64AwduLcq4K4VTkvxgK9LiksfBI36a9uoFhc4w/s1600/Mario+Adorf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFvoTxcE2AFv5epaLc9txbjU1F3fw0Qs02uBsBt25TeQqrJXmhstDeLTCLQj5Uh-RPejI_LIB-yuBE9_WNK-vLQCqT2UcYLotwu1Z_p64AwduLcq4K4VTkvxgK9LiksfBI36a9uoFhc4w/s200/Mario+Adorf.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mario Adorf</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span lang="EN-GB">And then
came the pizza. The menu contains two whole pages of different pizzas, for
prices starting at 7 € and ending with 11.90 €. We chose the more luxurious ones:
the Mario Adorf (mozzarella, taleggio, cèpes, 9.50 €) and the Tartufo (truffle,
rocket salad, 11.90 €). They were both quite good, but far from perfect. The
biggest problem was the dough: it was a bit too thick and dry in all cases. In
that same vein, slicing through the Tartufo was quite an ordeal. The toppings,
however, were fairly generous and pleasing. The Mario Adorf (a German speaking
actor from South-Tyrol in </span><span lang="EN-GB">Italy</span><span lang="EN-GB">) was more wholesome than the
Tartufo, which came hidden under a mountain of salad, which was as dry as it
was green. There would be other details which were not perfect, but at the end
of the day, the pizzas were quite enjoyable.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Rocco und
seine Brüder is a thoroughly enjoyable place. The food would not be the first
and foremost reason to go there – it’s not bad, but it’s not exciting either.
However, the ambiance makes it a perfect location for a friendly evening with a
few friends, a hearty pizza and a gargantuan carafe of wine. Before you go
there, be sure to google the Luchino Visconti’s film Rocco e i suoi fratelli
(Rocco und seine Brüder). This way, you’ll always have a knowledgeable remark available for any witty
exchange. </span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB">Overall Mark: </span></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUIvVihJT0K3pGwTkoCyuy4nOTYiId5C7zDgqE-gQAh0spEOfJwU8u2ZiOBM2vDpHnYMmy2SPRaYIeYdo1PnmaRJU7Wg28-FoUaIhjoPkN7jLSy-uFR5JMahAfW9Ip9fO0aDcvk5OCHp4/s1600/3pawss.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiClQ1TsSEH3s1I0tnGwXpICVR_VI_rrk9hFNfusoZbDBQheaZQ073X3DQ0IVEMu9drxP58soyu0iaOv2fYBhuZv9YrYmvNQMdI-B1xVpK6LjiOb4Pz5bMz50YAhyphenhyphenUXlHv7qolKz1IB1f8/s1600/friendss.jpg" /></a><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4JdgqfjEXgaDUQZ01k8RLl-N7sdVGF2Ezdxx347Qqu7a5i2hxAOHo-j__m4_lrTaW_Lvm3vxndlXA78IWAU8OXKyF01a1V9rtWa5VSunplkglUbG4_0fDsZic1ozqxTFwX5GQiEc_P_I/s1600/travels.jpg" /></a></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB">Rocco und seine Brüder</span></b></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB">Lausitzer Platz 13, 10997 Berlin</span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><a href="http://www.roccoundseinebrueder.de/"><b>www.roccoundseinebrueder.de</b></a></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<iframe frameborder="0" height="350" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=de&geocode=&q=Rocco+und+seine+Br%C3%BCder,+Lausitzer+Platz+13,+Berlin,+Deutschland&aq=t&sll=37.0625,-95.677068&sspn=37.956457,79.013672&vpsrc=0&ie=UTF8&hq=Rocco+und+seine+Br%C3%BCder,&hnear=Lausitzer+Platz+13,+Berlin+10997+Berlin,+Deutschland&ll=52.5011,13.43078&spn=0.007132,0.01929&t=m&z=14&iwloc=A&cid=7888992141979262288&output=embed" width="425"></iframe><br />
<small><a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=embed&hl=de&geocode=&q=Rocco+und+seine+Br%C3%BCder,+Lausitzer+Platz+13,+Berlin,+Deutschland&aq=t&sll=37.0625,-95.677068&sspn=37.956457,79.013672&vpsrc=0&ie=UTF8&hq=Rocco+und+seine+Br%C3%BCder,&hnear=Lausitzer+Platz+13,+Berlin+10997+Berlin,+Deutschland&ll=52.5011,13.43078&spn=0.007132,0.01929&t=m&z=14&iwloc=A&cid=7888992141979262288" style="color: blue; text-align: left;">Größere Kartenansicht</a></small>
<br />
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<span lang="EN-GB"> </span></div>Itayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08034471312229143799noreply@blogger.com2Berlin, Germany52.5234051 13.411399952.2142546 12.779685899999999 52.8325556 14.0431139tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4066884692504822785.post-78824780578749702022011-11-22T19:46:00.001+01:002011-11-22T20:03:12.286+01:00Berlin's Worst Tourist Trap?<br />
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>East Side Blick - Friedrichshain </b></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Last week, as
I happened to cross the Admiralsbrücke on the way back home, I found myself
stuck in the middle of a loud demonstration of dreadlocked young Berliners.
They were the angry, disenfranchised youth of a city in turmoil. They needed a
well-earned outlet for their anger. But instead of doing something useful like
occupying the Reichstag or Potsdamer Platz, they decided to demonstrate against
the tourists.</span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYt03d_Jdik3_tDXMWbtjrRGWczyVEuS1YFDxPq_mrCpHmBeG7iP3OwfRiDU-e4GdpOvy4emh0b8vhD17DhlGglEIip60T2-DvCvXdgFzvTq6JHjhCKkPA6MSEgs4dliwjzdwcLaH_Whg/s1600/Sign.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="171" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYt03d_Jdik3_tDXMWbtjrRGWczyVEuS1YFDxPq_mrCpHmBeG7iP3OwfRiDU-e4GdpOvy4emh0b8vhD17DhlGglEIip60T2-DvCvXdgFzvTq6JHjhCKkPA6MSEgs4dliwjzdwcLaH_Whg/s320/Sign.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">It may only
be my problem, but why this burning hatred for tourists all of a sudden? True,
I occasionally make fun of lard-assed tourists. I will be the first to frown at
drunken Spaniards vomiting in front of the few available Berliner landmarks
after a night out at Berghain. Moreover, I refuse to go to touristy places and will
always make a point out of showing I actually live here, thankyouverymuch. But
from here to demonstrating against tourists? Why on earth?!</span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCPHKv9LmMNxiKPWnuqUzLfw27s0CW-gSHpi7xy4nSqXiupioytQvipwCWd4Gjyb47hA-ee_jmqL9ku5rWVlwIQguPIuBqarlQN8AfFS3LO4ACwBzLGpvIyWFqVGy3XjK5_9tZyskWocY/s1600/Outside.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCPHKv9LmMNxiKPWnuqUzLfw27s0CW-gSHpi7xy4nSqXiupioytQvipwCWd4Gjyb47hA-ee_jmqL9ku5rWVlwIQguPIuBqarlQN8AfFS3LO4ACwBzLGpvIyWFqVGy3XjK5_9tZyskWocY/s200/Outside.jpg" width="193" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">At the end
of the day they bring in money, experiences and impulses. And we also enjoy
being tourists in other places. The only reason I am here is because I once had
the chance to enjoy this city as a tourist. Imagine what would have happened,
had I landed straight on to an anti-tourist demonstration? Of course, you may
say I have always been a good tourist. I respect the locals, try to embarrass
myself ordering things in their language, I never vomit on the pavement (just
on a cat once, but it was a mistake and it was inside a flat. So there you go).
But this is all beside the point. Tourists have rights too. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">The point is,
however, that tourism changes cities. City centres become appropriated by shops
catering for people who will not be coming back anytime soon. Aesthetics and
quality usually suffer as a result. This often means locals avoid the most
representative parts of their cities, leaving them instead to hoards of people
who buy “My sister went to </span><span lang="EN-GB">London</span><span lang="EN-GB"> and all she got me was this lousy
T-shirt” T-shirts. When was the last time you heard about a Parisian going for dinner
at the </span><span lang="EN-GB">Eiffel</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">Tower</span><span lang="EN-GB">? Or a Berliner going out for a fun
evening at the Brandenburg Gate? You haven’t, not in a long time, and that’s
because these places have been forfeited to tourist-aesthetics and prices. But
isn’t it a pity? Wouldn’t it be nice to dine and simultaneously have one of
these views that are usually reserved for tourists? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNew9eR_hyvyBZp_k9Q0xD630z9zzZNWw-N1rzkMlpD1LF05vK7TIxPl-dUI7C_sNMorS-rH-TkMxMasya09ZIArEJFZzsLDUYDMrx32-RGuHskYW-laWK0UMVj7hUnPeA8o0kfc1FRV4/s1600/Inside.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNew9eR_hyvyBZp_k9Q0xD630z9zzZNWw-N1rzkMlpD1LF05vK7TIxPl-dUI7C_sNMorS-rH-TkMxMasya09ZIArEJFZzsLDUYDMrx32-RGuHskYW-laWK0UMVj7hUnPeA8o0kfc1FRV4/s200/Inside.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">A new
mission thus materialised: to find a spot where locals can feel like tourists
and enjoy a </span><span lang="EN-GB">Berlin</span><span lang="EN-GB"> landmark. For some reason I had the bad idea
to start by testing the East Side Blick on the Spree-bank just next to the Eastside
Gallery. I know, the daft name “East Side Blick” should have sent me a clear
warning. When I entered the place and saw the bored expression on the face of
the girl behind the counter I should have turned on my heel and left. The final
straw should have been the menu (somewhere between a bad canteen and a bad idea
of a restaurant) or maybe just the plastic ambiance? But I stayed nonetheless. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">We should
begin with the positive vibe. On a sunny day, the location actually is as
stunning as </span><span lang="EN-GB">Berlin</span><span lang="EN-GB"> gets. Being on the Eastside-Gallery bank, you
don’t get any of the bleakness of the actual Eastside gallery or the O2 Arena.
You get to sit on the riverbank, look towards a couple of nice buildings in
Kreuzberg and even more importantly: the Oberbaumbrücke in all its glory makes
for a truly pleasing setting.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">And now to
the less positive things. We started with the antipasti (priced at 6.80 €) and
a Kartoffelsalat (for nice 1.60 €). The potato salad might have actually been home
made. The antipasti was nothing but. Take a chunk of frozen mix of antipasti
vegetables (mushrooms, courgettes and the lot), heat them up in a microwave (to
get that extra soggy feeling) and sprinkle soy sauce all over them. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxGMFVqf3a381YGMbxfjzrWLHFwnmqcbQaFT_8f3OCFi3_x2RxAijhA8w1SHZWTtIFqnQX7wlNoUK4RDGOIG4JcjyRvOLStIq-7BSsnsJJF-jHw9n3Tr9E1RNIyh5-51t4MjGfRIvmr5I/s1600/Antipasti.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxGMFVqf3a381YGMbxfjzrWLHFwnmqcbQaFT_8f3OCFi3_x2RxAijhA8w1SHZWTtIFqnQX7wlNoUK4RDGOIG4JcjyRvOLStIq-7BSsnsJJF-jHw9n3Tr9E1RNIyh5-51t4MjGfRIvmr5I/s200/Antipasti.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Antipasti</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFu3lNxo3kEAxZ36yp6M0zlxATJ2Cn0XI27pRJUkutfznaYk3F3XDjmuAIbkJEooVcEhOLTFJ_OV7NsWyfS-Ji0AwYAmPwoi96xfRlF0rWyP-2yyBoDuQ84h2iHrHGQQdpDIg01ISW9Co/s1600/Kartoffelsalad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFu3lNxo3kEAxZ36yp6M0zlxATJ2Cn0XI27pRJUkutfznaYk3F3XDjmuAIbkJEooVcEhOLTFJ_OV7NsWyfS-Ji0AwYAmPwoi96xfRlF0rWyP-2yyBoDuQ84h2iHrHGQQdpDIg01ISW9Co/s200/Kartoffelsalad.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kartoffelsalat</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span lang="EN-GB"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Main
courses? Ahem... they didn’t have any real salmon in stock (the only real main
course on the menu was a salmon-steak. Probably hadn’t found any at Lidl?), so
we ordered one dish of penne with smoked salmon and rocket salad (8.80 €) and
another dish of pasta with shrimps and tomato sauce (8.70 €). The shrimp pasta
was edible. The sauce had come directly out of a can and there were a few
shrimps to be seen lurking in it. The smoked-salmon dish, however, was nothing
less than horrifying. Dried/burnt strips of salmon, a bit of olive oil to make
it sound </span><span lang="EN-GB">Mediterranean</span><span lang="EN-GB"> and lots of dry rocket leaves. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFYAQVJEgdFmJOec9BlF_At7JEdCyfJq7CxnylkTyEQEeATbghd3ltpPQD3syjgrd89Sp0DATmjeYF2IoxV5WAl-C7Icht-cLz-60-0UkKAOLgr-nZFB5YAXlQItYmFAbLdNhQ1hBGktQ/s1600/Pasta+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFYAQVJEgdFmJOec9BlF_At7JEdCyfJq7CxnylkTyEQEeATbghd3ltpPQD3syjgrd89Sp0DATmjeYF2IoxV5WAl-C7Icht-cLz-60-0UkKAOLgr-nZFB5YAXlQItYmFAbLdNhQ1hBGktQ/s200/Pasta+1.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Truly horrid pasta</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlgDMkJhxwuVUl-UYFaE20eOhHcmglDm87IBXECAsQ2_VAM4cj3L1ilRgnTvmQeGIAdvKE0f18VZXPtZv9VegRI2vWJ53BVwi19neb1NHDNvXdGUVVpV2qgQK1hq7Wt-K7q5nrFgUpHk4/s1600/Pasta+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlgDMkJhxwuVUl-UYFaE20eOhHcmglDm87IBXECAsQ2_VAM4cj3L1ilRgnTvmQeGIAdvKE0f18VZXPtZv9VegRI2vWJ53BVwi19neb1NHDNvXdGUVVpV2qgQK1hq7Wt-K7q5nrFgUpHk4/s200/Pasta+2.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bad pasta</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I know, I
should have known. The only place around Eastside Gallery is basically there to
exploit tourists. So why would anyone take advantage of a splendid location and
actually make something out of it? It doesn’t have to be pretentious. It
doesn’t have to be posh. But even basic studenty pasta can be done right, and
if it is done right, it can be enough to make people come and savour the
presence of </span><span lang="EN-GB">Berlin</span><span lang="EN-GB">’s central waterway. Unfortunately, however,
there is no reason to stop at East Side Blick. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Overall Mark:</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnQ23bFzvn6Eowkz-xVWH63bkFMoZck3f-sOKAayyz1d6ZRnflf0eqLFCeoZQYL4yZRYu75fKCAPs72ABx77ORHUoNcgKpO__rgJ9vF6Le50fAKrebHIORh_DeXtHZbIRQXdiLxtcu_Lg/s1600/1paws.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"> <b>East Side Blick</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-GB">Mühlenstraße 70-71, 10243 Berlin</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><a href="http://www.east-side-blick.de/"><b>www.east-side-blick.de</b></a></span><br />
</div>
<iframe frameborder="0" height="350" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=de&geocode=&q=M%C3%BChlenstra%C3%9Fe+70-71,+Berlin,+Deutschland&aq=0&sll=52.506136,13.44669&sspn=0.114099,0.308647&vpsrc=0&ie=UTF8&hq=&hnear=M%C3%BChlenstra%C3%9Fe+70,+Berlin+10243+Berlin,+Deutschland&ll=52.50421,13.44151&spn=0.007131,0.01929&t=m&z=14&iwloc=A&output=embed" width="425"></iframe><br />
<small><a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=embed&hl=de&geocode=&q=M%C3%BChlenstra%C3%9Fe+70-71,+Berlin,+Deutschland&aq=0&sll=52.506136,13.44669&sspn=0.114099,0.308647&vpsrc=0&ie=UTF8&hq=&hnear=M%C3%BChlenstra%C3%9Fe+70,+Berlin+10243+Berlin,+Deutschland&ll=52.50421,13.44151&spn=0.007131,0.01929&t=m&z=14&iwloc=A" style="color: blue; text-align: left;">Größere Kartenansicht</a></small>Itayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08034471312229143799noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4066884692504822785.post-46457762326606055722011-11-11T19:27:00.001+01:002011-11-11T20:03:17.473+01:00Berlin's Only Curry? A Birthday Post<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Sigiriya - Friedrichshain</b></span><br />
<br />
It’s that time of year all over again. It’s cold and damp. People seem to enjoy being rude and grumpy. Leaving work in the dark, sunlight belongs to a distant memory of the past. Oh, the gloom. And yet, the Footprints are in a celebratory mode. Yes, you heard me; you are now reading blog’s 40th post, which also marks a whole year of incessant cyber-ranting about Berlin’s culinary landscape! Yay.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjer-XGTZE41Y_XmjkHcQILtsDA1iF6HG_U7YnAH_2chQ5-59ye9GJGKe15eZQ0FR36kIrdejHKcAM6qP6mEd6A6phNZD0xXGl2WNFSKIgzjKxcmbwGFSiMaTEOEy23C3zO4UZNWKsJg3U/s1600/Sign.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjer-XGTZE41Y_XmjkHcQILtsDA1iF6HG_U7YnAH_2chQ5-59ye9GJGKe15eZQ0FR36kIrdejHKcAM6qP6mEd6A6phNZD0xXGl2WNFSKIgzjKxcmbwGFSiMaTEOEy23C3zO4UZNWKsJg3U/s320/Sign.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
It did not take too much brooding to reach the conclusion that the most appropriate birthday gift to readers would be a recommendation about real curry in Berlin.<br />
<br />
Just to recap – curry in Berlin <b>is </b>a problem. Always has been. I just blame it on the German psyche, which seems to be inherently incompatible with spicy food. Or with anything all too different from home. You are bound to see where this ends: sweet Vindaloos, creamy Daals, Gouda sprinkled over Naans. In other words: curry genocide. Let’s not exaggerate. Worse things have happened in history than expats unable to appease their ever growing hunger for curry. My stomach rarely stays empty (there is enough non-curry food around, as numerous posts here must have proved beyond doubt). I have not yet starved, a blank expression over my face and flies hovering over my head in a street corner somewhere in Marzahn. And yet, curry deprivation is psychologically taxing and should not be taken lightly. Oh, the gloom.<br />
<br />
Yet no more! I come bearing the gift of the first edible curry in Berlin. But let’s not rush things. One step at a time.<br />
<br />
It all started with Sarah’s (who knows her curries) discovery of the Sri Lankan <b>Sigiriya </b>in <b>Friedrichshain</b>. I’ll be frank about it: I found it hard to believe her at first. Add the fact that we were talking about an Indian-style restaurant in the heart of Friedrichshain’s Südkiez, which – for the sake of all fairness – did not help dispel any fears or misconceptions in advance. But it’s hard to doubt a Bradfordian’s judgement about curry. Every possibly edible curry is worth a shot. So there I went.<br />
<br />
The menu’s layout, the overall ambiance and the insistence on putting organic symbols all around the place reminded me of <a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/2011/03/curry-cravings-no-1-sri-lankan-option.html">Chandra Kumari</a> on Gneisenaustraße (which had left me lukewarm at best). I should also add that I am less keen on Sri Lankan/Southern Indian food, as I grew up feeding on Pakistani/Northern Indian deliciousness. But we are in Berlin. We shall not be picky. Or anal. Or stupid. Beggars can’t be choosers. It was time to meet my maker.<br />
<br />
We began with the three starters on the menu: Roles (vegetarian roles with a potato-based filling, 2.50 €), vadai (chick-pea balls served with sweet-sour sauce, 2.70 €) and the elavalu roti (samosa-like coconut-bread dumplings with vegetarian filling, 2.80 €). I’ll have to admit they were not breathtakingly spectacular. Far from it, actually. The roles were nice – the filling was a nicely seasoned, stodgy samosa-like-filling and the dough was thin and light. The vadai was... well... dry. The chick-pea balls were nicely seasoned, but it felt like biting into a piece of dry cardboard. The elavalu was, however, very pleasing. It was perfectly seasoned; the dough was good with just the right touch of coconut. They were quite alright, but not much more. As such, I was still dubious about the next phase.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLjmAP6uHhPjzMgY7aIKz6DfT9XsdlWvETzRJPjbcUfqwLFHop1U6TgyFw1cTwJa78sd-ibV9f9N-MCssqAlyNlEKrFhLaMahV_-HJXyS6ixsz-j2Bh9QweG8qEhiAN-FzvADiFKeOyWc/s1600/Elavalu.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLjmAP6uHhPjzMgY7aIKz6DfT9XsdlWvETzRJPjbcUfqwLFHop1U6TgyFw1cTwJa78sd-ibV9f9N-MCssqAlyNlEKrFhLaMahV_-HJXyS6ixsz-j2Bh9QweG8qEhiAN-FzvADiFKeOyWc/s200/Elavalu.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elavalu roti</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTVgSBI-MgquSklH0XsSDZQZcMVDAdzLGuIzquwm20ugg_LXzxF1Sk4Vs-o_DaM7O9J6cw7DoS32w_ZCBP2gReQzYbzz70U2bz3XukSQrVt8hjWk4a0_i-JUWo2s344KelvESFWWqWyRY/s1600/Vadai.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTVgSBI-MgquSklH0XsSDZQZcMVDAdzLGuIzquwm20ugg_LXzxF1Sk4Vs-o_DaM7O9J6cw7DoS32w_ZCBP2gReQzYbzz70U2bz3XukSQrVt8hjWk4a0_i-JUWo2s344KelvESFWWqWyRY/s200/Vadai.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vadai</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
We then ordered five dishes: Niviti dhal hodhi (vegetarian red lentil curry with spinach, 6.30 €), chicken curry with paripoo hodhi (a dish with both a chicken based curry dish and a daal – red lentil curry – for 8.90 €), chicken curry with wamboutou hodhi (a chicken curry dish with another aubergine curry, 8.90 €), mutton saag (mutton curry in spinach served with an extra raita-bread, 8.90 €) and mutton curry with ratu ale hodhi and sini sambole (a dish of mutton curry, beetroot – coconut curry and caramelised onions, 9.50 €). The first three we ordered “originalscharf” – which is trying to say we wanted it really spicy, and the latter two were ordered “German-spicy”. Which means not spicy at all, which kinda misses the point, but oh well. In addition, we ordered two pol-rotis (delicious coconut bread, 1.50 €).<br />
<br />
The good news is that everything was good. Unlike curries I’ve so far encountered in Berlin, Sigiriya actually uses real spices and not just pieces of “things” swimming in a tasteless, generic curry batches made of blandness and cream. It’s all nicely refined. The bad news is that it’s not Pakistani. I am not sure I am the biggest fan of coconut-based dishes, and Sri Lankan food is big on coconut. But then again, this is my problem, not Sigiriya’s.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv3saO6VgaBFruODDwaDZBpjRxR7PdLl3r0jM-R8tLa5aSx_0lNK-4SY0-rs_-t4BRAPxgxtwribZxZOq4fmodStXtOdqsxQvqPe3CYVuJwmRIp19zLLFcISanpHA-TBNebUQLYCwO1aQ/s1600/Chicken.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv3saO6VgaBFruODDwaDZBpjRxR7PdLl3r0jM-R8tLa5aSx_0lNK-4SY0-rs_-t4BRAPxgxtwribZxZOq4fmodStXtOdqsxQvqPe3CYVuJwmRIp19zLLFcISanpHA-TBNebUQLYCwO1aQ/s200/Chicken.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chicken and daal</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7Dk1iuL5FyDwQ19Q6qr73svUOFZBbtpy8i1A0z6SByJ0923T-XWqEnFAXZXKq7OUBx55NbKhrTFi04erQQ-7KYSc6sVB5oQi7-SNdr7BU8poChCm7XFIN2drLtKlGwNNGXyk3YBLV7-s/s1600/Mutton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7Dk1iuL5FyDwQ19Q6qr73svUOFZBbtpy8i1A0z6SByJ0923T-XWqEnFAXZXKq7OUBx55NbKhrTFi04erQQ-7KYSc6sVB5oQi7-SNdr7BU8poChCm7XFIN2drLtKlGwNNGXyk3YBLV7-s/s200/Mutton.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mutton and beetroot</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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I’ll start with the daals, because we all know daal really is the ultimate test. Both daals were good: rich dishes with a real palette of tastes. I found them a tad too coconutty, but then again, this is only me talking. They had enough spice to have more presence than anything else I’ve found in Berlin, but I did not think they were spicy enough. The daal with the spinach was a tiny bit better than the pure daal. The aubergine curry was perfect. Again, too coconutty for me, but otherwise rich in taste, spicy and quite wonderful. The chicken curries were good as well, with the chicken and the spices taking centre stage together (so different to any chicken-curry you’d order anywhere else in town, where you just get a bland sauce with tasteless pieces of chicken lurking around in it). If only, the sauce was not powerful enough, but it was all in the right direction. The mutton dishes were not bad either. The saag was nicely refined, but I found it lacked a bit of presence. The raita was perfect, however, and compensated for the relative blandness of the dish. The second mutton was a lot better. The beetroot curry was very pleasing and the spicy caramelised onions were quite fantastic: both had just the right presence, well balanced and well spiced. The mutton curry on the same dish was a bit more disappointing. Not spicy enough and tasted a bit more generic than the rest. But still light years away from anything else around.<br />
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Bottom line: Go to Sigiriya. Like... you know, NOW. Compared to curries in Birmingham it might still be lacking in more than one way, but it could still be a fairly good choice on a London scale. On a Berlin scale, which is what we are dealing with a the moment – it may just be the only possible choice.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Overall Mark: </b></div>
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<a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN8SQcRrNtnD1vnSpNdf74-f76MKFHvIuzjcqaRKUULUxgq2E47tXCJvp0aYjLDy27q-u6PJ4ENduWGaPF17Fst85s7W2yeDTSmOQmyAb2JBW2F2rmg0WmcjqWTPVZPBM5RVFH1Q0dmS8/s1600/4pawss.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4BHkJ-pE-o7kOIuyEcGuk9cTkRlugwt8T1-PJlHZgWyKalrK1K5sMiNY9jSxnNn3qh2GS_q9wyroUi0ojt-kr-rYZUUCrhVqHgOC2yGr82Wy7khsEGfmhpTa9YAoVIcDDj01TDYU7WnU/s1600/tears.jpg" /></a><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyLQfCDEPId7X7kD3Av44ZbbsEbj9cDD-bNDtzQU9QrDKHhyQqe0_VQ-5-RcYsNeqDPPEocOhhhpyE45jNX1HIVsU7qYTbFdkhq92LJB9cDcGlWEetTprVumd6mUb4IG4Ks57BL954nIY/s1600/friendss.jpg" /></a></div>
<b>Restaurant Sigiriya</b><br />
<b>Grünberger Straße 66, 10245</b><br />
<a href="http://www.restaurant-sigiriya.de/"><b>www.restaurant-sigiriya.de</b></a><br />
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<iframe frameborder="0" height="350" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=de&geocode=&q=Restaurant+Sigiriya,+Gr%C3%BCnberger+Stra%C3%9Fe+66,+Berlin,+Germany&aq=0&sll=52.521861,13.457909&sspn=0.109045,0.308647&vpsrc=0&ie=UTF8&hq=Restaurant+Sigiriya,+Gr%C3%BCnberger+Stra%C3%9Fe+66,+Berlin,+Germany&ll=52.51146,13.45804&spn=0.013633,0.038581&t=m&z=14&iwloc=A&cid=3427546292488862922&output=embed" width="425"></iframe><br />
<small><a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=embed&hl=de&geocode=&q=Restaurant+Sigiriya,+Gr%C3%BCnberger+Stra%C3%9Fe+66,+Berlin,+Germany&aq=0&sll=52.521861,13.457909&sspn=0.109045,0.308647&vpsrc=0&ie=UTF8&hq=Restaurant+Sigiriya,+Gr%C3%BCnberger+Stra%C3%9Fe+66,+Berlin,+Germany&ll=52.51146,13.45804&spn=0.013633,0.038581&t=m&z=14&iwloc=A&cid=3427546292488862922" style="color: blue; text-align: left;">Größere Kartenansicht</a></small>
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<br />Itayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08034471312229143799noreply@blogger.com1Berlin, Germany52.5234051 13.411399952.2142546 12.779685899999999 52.8325556 14.0431139tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4066884692504822785.post-86519442387273758322011-10-31T19:42:00.000+01:002011-10-31T19:42:14.934+01:00Korean Hipster Bashing<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Kimchi Princess - Kreuzberg </b></span><br />
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I have promised myself not to start another entry with a new report about the weather. Another weather rant would set the seal on my creative ambitions, as it would – justifiably – appear as if I had nothing else to write about. I mean, I would not like to convey the impression my life had no more substance than discussing the weather and watching Downton Abbey (a fine neo-Victorian combination if there ever was one).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAt6QvAzdBAjq77XzXFvKQmuhegG8nw4PpeHwE5eObMAKcsMGCmLfhh_pNG8Fj8ikfE97ogi1ljepej3rgvcxt9xlp8MP_WwF6ESokiO8MbEdCGGEMo3iPc5oFbNCTVLkMZgl8VDS5vIY/s1600/SIgn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="177" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAt6QvAzdBAjq77XzXFvKQmuhegG8nw4PpeHwE5eObMAKcsMGCmLfhh_pNG8Fj8ikfE97ogi1ljepej3rgvcxt9xlp8MP_WwF6ESokiO8MbEdCGGEMo3iPc5oFbNCTVLkMZgl8VDS5vIY/s320/SIgn.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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And thus heavy hearted I realised I had no choice but to opt for the second least original activity after talking about the weather (and procrastinating with Downton Abbey): hipster bashing.<br />
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I usually try to keep hipster bashing to myself. First of all because everyone else around me (especially Two Broke Girls) does it so much more eloquently than I ever will. Secondly it’s because deep inside I really am a failed would-be hipster. And yes, I’ve finally said it: I see all these young people with a trust fund somewhere in their pantry and coolness smeared all over their collars and I get green with envy. Literally. My insides turn with nausea that is not so much hatred as it is pure jealousy. As we all know, the aspiring kind is usually worse than the real thing.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVtXm-NZ1f9lIz8uokfWn-PYQmLRVigpLw0TKSUh3LHtTTXw1yLGsEcdUs53zS_mIvnt0dXYMfnfcB-khoGOb66ZCx-pZpzn_7UIMb5-pFqF_TToR4L9b0G58AjUyuUEJGLNQCP0mDVF4/s1600/Overall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVtXm-NZ1f9lIz8uokfWn-PYQmLRVigpLw0TKSUh3LHtTTXw1yLGsEcdUs53zS_mIvnt0dXYMfnfcB-khoGOb66ZCx-pZpzn_7UIMb5-pFqF_TToR4L9b0G58AjUyuUEJGLNQCP0mDVF4/s320/Overall.jpg" width="163" /></a></div>
The obstacles preventing my metamorphosis into a real hipster are manifold. First, I don’t have the right parents. Meaning – no trust fund to speak of. The only trust my parents ever bestowed on me was a grave talk about the lack thereof as I had taken (my parents used the word “stolen”) my mother’s only ring and given it to a friend back in year one. The second reason for my acceptance of being nothing more than an aspiring cool person for the rest of my life would have to be my aversion of stupid hats and neon colours (beside the fact my hair gets too rebelliously curly when I try coaching it into an asymmetric hipster-do). It’s not that I haven’t tried. I once even walked through Dalston wearing skinny neon-coloured trousers, thick rimmed clear-glasses and a stupid hat with a butterfly on top, but I think it was too obvious I had the wrong hair beneath my hat and that I felt like a court jester in what I was wearing. Not owning your look is probably the biggest deal breaker on the hipster credibility (a.k.a. coolness) scale.<br />
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For a long time being spießig in Berlin had been my refuge. I had been inherently cool by proxy of being an expat in Berlin and inherently free of hipsters because I usually went for good food. This week’s visit to <b>Kimchi Princess</b> in <b>Kreuzberg </b>taught me that the times, they are a-changing.<br />
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So <b>Kimchi Princess</b>, right? I’ve known the place for a while. It was the first credible Korean restaurant in Berlin. It is also – like – designed and stuff. A large space divided into a main space and second floor amidst post-industrial wannabe beams and construction elements. Dimmed lights, nice accessories, the lots. Not only is it all beautifully executed, but they even have a cooler-than-thou <a href="http://www.angry-chicken.com/">club </a>facing Skalitzer Straße. And needless to say, the place is packed. Has been for a while, but this time I was just overwhelmed by the amount of strange neon-coloured hats that greeted me as I had set foot past the threshold. Fortunately enough though, as I had not reserved a table we had to be seated in the crouching corner away from the coolness (where you sit Japanese-style on a higher platform and crouch over a low stool). This way I was actually able to concentrate on the menu.<br />
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The menu at Kimchi Princess has always been quite blissfully manageable. It contains a few starter classics, the usual Korean grills (starting with 16 € per person) and a few Korean classics. We did not try any of the grills, but rather chose to concentrate on the more affordable parts of the menu (knowing that the real Korean test is the holy trinity of the pancake, kimchi and bibimbap).<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWR9wQqTt5XAaescigAwRqVJMbfSNIk5aIOlU1izFyJrUesF9YQBn6ad2yhP8X6p7_U-E6U27YWigZK5xAMDS63gVedkP2T_EYrMW7bE_ktDINEXvOV1qcxZ1VSWR9TOtpaJSb9R8yjC4/s1600/Pajeon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWR9wQqTt5XAaescigAwRqVJMbfSNIk5aIOlU1izFyJrUesF9YQBn6ad2yhP8X6p7_U-E6U27YWigZK5xAMDS63gVedkP2T_EYrMW7bE_ktDINEXvOV1qcxZ1VSWR9TOtpaJSb9R8yjC4/s200/Pajeon.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kimchi Pajeon</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVYu5n5MmUFrVyG2I5A-YD71P0gI3I_H1NTGn8Yn7cg83Yvyq1jeNVdSCfBU4i3PSIRjW2UiVmHS5XdSWJPOmwMCeC8MulqnC2SrtUAtBrleecDXIGimziGV7shpDZS9qqgkXteg46uIA/s1600/Bibimbap.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVYu5n5MmUFrVyG2I5A-YD71P0gI3I_H1NTGn8Yn7cg83Yvyq1jeNVdSCfBU4i3PSIRjW2UiVmHS5XdSWJPOmwMCeC8MulqnC2SrtUAtBrleecDXIGimziGV7shpDZS9qqgkXteg46uIA/s200/Bibimbap.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bibimbap (not yet mixed)</td></tr>
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The starters were the <b>mul mandu</b> (steamed meat dumplings, 4.50 €) and <b>kimchi pajeon</b> (kimchi pancakes, 6.70 €). It was an OK start. The portions were large, the presentation pleasing and the overall quality was high. The dumplings were fairly well executed – just the right texture and moisture, the right size and all. The seasoning was fine as well, but lacked something in order to be perfect. Alright really. The pancakes were good. The Korean softness was there and the entire thing was a fine experience. No complaints. Other than the fact that the kimchi pancakes are supposed to be heavenly (no exaggeration here. My short life has introduced me to a fair amount of kimchi pancakes that made me want to re-enact the entire orgasm scene from When Harry Met Sally and to mean every bit of it). Those were just nice. They tasted too much like pizza and too little like kimchi.<br />
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And so we continued to the main courses: the <b>haemul udong</b> (a spicy noodle soup with seafood and tofu, 10.50 €) and the unavoidably classic <b>bibimbap </b>(a hot pot with rice, beef, vegetables, egg and spicy deliciousness that you get to mix up and enjoy, 10.50 €, also available for 9.50 € in the vegetarian variety). They were both served alongside an impressive selection of sides (these change every time. The only obligatory one is – of course – kimchi. That wonderful, stinky Korean cabbage which really is what Korean heaven is made of. This time it was accompanied by bean-sprouts, anchovies, green beans and green cabbage, all marinated in something rather pleasing).<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCK-OTFzabl81SEIPn57Th7Ggt6bYGNRluAzVcKtYL-bKTduZi8WU_Vy_gop9L8r4Ub9dN4IRwvYgkP9FQmE-ZU8shb69oSoWPz1YEOlS4tgV-Pp5lmKWt2odNj076FKZqU4aWLoqGJ8Y/s1600/Udong.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCK-OTFzabl81SEIPn57Th7Ggt6bYGNRluAzVcKtYL-bKTduZi8WU_Vy_gop9L8r4Ub9dN4IRwvYgkP9FQmE-ZU8shb69oSoWPz1YEOlS4tgV-Pp5lmKWt2odNj076FKZqU4aWLoqGJ8Y/s200/Udong.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Udong</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2VX3imbewvfFcxjKXzh26Itbno73xULHfCL3BVLyrxYc9fRruG4tISNhkleOKL5ZQK2PIVxEMyEhsp8sgaCMPFxApPow0gdY0gq8YaukcQd29iXrLmC5fMw9qo7Co3QulTeTbJTPAb1c/s1600/Kimchi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2VX3imbewvfFcxjKXzh26Itbno73xULHfCL3BVLyrxYc9fRruG4tISNhkleOKL5ZQK2PIVxEMyEhsp8sgaCMPFxApPow0gdY0gq8YaukcQd29iXrLmC5fMw9qo7Co3QulTeTbJTPAb1c/s200/Kimchi.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kimchi</td></tr>
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The soup was alright. The noodles were delicious, one could argue about the amount and quality of the seafood used, but the general size of the dish was impressive and the general taste very agreeable. The best thing about it was that broth managed to be pleasingly spicy and have a strong presence all at the same time. The bibimbap, however, was more than just alright. It was really good. And that’s an improvement. I know I’m supposed to base my reviews on that one evening only, but the reason I had not set foot at Kimchi Princess for a while before that evening was because their bibimbaps had been just alright whereas <a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/2011/02/importance-of-eating-kimchi.html">Madang</a> and <a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html">Ixthys </a>offered superior choices. Well, no more, or partly so. The ones at Madang or Ixthys are still better, but this week’s bibimbap at Kimchi Princess was A LOT better than what it used to be like. The meat was just right, the overall size, taste and abundance of the other vegetables as well as the taste and availability of the spicy red bean paste were very good as well. At last, I managed to actually enjoy a bibimbap at Kimchi Princess without too many ifs and buts. And now to the sides, not any less important here. They were actually all very good. The kimchi, the most important one, was also another sign of improvement – I used to find the kimchi at Kimchi Princess fairly bland. It still isn’t the best in town, but the cabbage had just the right consistency and age, the seasoning was good as well. Definitely enjoyable.<br />
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At the end of the day – Kimchi Princess is a good address. Good Korean food in a very pleasing setting. There may be cheaper and better quality Korean restaurants in Berlin. However, what Kimchi Princess lacks in pure food quality, it compensates with the accessories: service, ambiance, presentation and oh yes, how could I ever forget – coolness.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Overall Mark: </b></div>
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<a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjk6MuizBu4DQIJcCU0oK_Xz_Rq3cM3uUq14f58H1nHDgH1hkcam_B6NeaOK2ttU9MetyKdo9iygNwrWl7MHr4BhbpVTLugydBsTwz9W2oHOYSGndafzlGWgWAGkJXJdgcGdmVNE16vnI/s1600/travels.jpg" /></a><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCCPt5yuOhnbjZR33NfO0VjFDxNzksDVr-qoYyb-Rx0DMwkR9xh2T9VrfoAq7b6L25kJ43DgXDWcOFSEhdVT4Z6VGY3ymCpR_jRnPxjGlyQhGRpYefw0lGajZbpPIVRwUbyjWqN6oi6RU/s1600/friendss.jpg" /></a><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkRoLB42GiS6A5hJLc75UCL94Z86h3WOxO94tdjKHCjZqCNXoSCFcm0co4aueyhb6yd7iikZRcjKYPXBIZIc9mFwxjQ0cTwaKlgU67MpaI-LrrrME4CxXdNpBmHugp-fwQ2IDC_Fqns7s/s1600/parentss.jpg" /></a></div>
<b>Kimchi Princess</b><br />
<b>Skalitzer Straße 36, 10999 Berlin</b><br />
<a href="http://www.kimchiprincess.com/"><b>www.kimchiprincess.com</b></a><br />
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<br />Itayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08034471312229143799noreply@blogger.com0Berlin, Germany52.5234051 13.411399952.2142546 12.779685899999999 52.8325556 14.0431139tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4066884692504822785.post-39946372588478570812011-10-12T17:32:00.001+02:002011-10-12T17:32:39.176+02:00Things to Do With the Last Rays of Sun When Sarah Palin's Already Out of the Presidential Race<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Freischwimmer - Kreuzberg</span></b><br />
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You might not remember it anymore, but last week actually started out as a gloriously balmy one. It showed Berlin at its best: sapphire-blue sky, massive trees shedding their summer green for the sake of yellows and reds, pesky little bees buzzing for the last time. Yes, you heard me, the last time. You can kiss all that goodbye for a few months. <br />
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But before we sink into the usual winter depression (there will be enough time for that, I an assure you that much), let’s take a closer look at the last days of autumn. Actually, I like autumn in Berlin. July and August tend to be wet and horrid, whereas September and October always offer a glimmer of joy. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRMK9VtmxB-Fk4tLP1MpVlYmK9V-X5E5oiAvGHYuun4Yh9MkFewGlryVd4qP2fXBIMYp73GadXQ4x0247AzE4EinC2XJYLiGc-8rsfvn0WbTUoe4Jy1m_W3_yIpvkmLbLyO1VOC5Ytlso/s1600/OVerall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRMK9VtmxB-Fk4tLP1MpVlYmK9V-X5E5oiAvGHYuun4Yh9MkFewGlryVd4qP2fXBIMYp73GadXQ4x0247AzE4EinC2XJYLiGc-8rsfvn0WbTUoe4Jy1m_W3_yIpvkmLbLyO1VOC5Ytlso/s1600/OVerall.jpg" /></a>And as this might have been the last streak of good weather for many months to come, I just decided to make the most of it. First of all, I suppressed the fear of a Eurozone collapse, of a dwindling economy, festering conflicts and few more years with the Tories in power. I tried to ignore my disappointment as the dream of seeing a Palin-Bachmann debate was savagely crushed (OK, there might be a positive spin here, with Palin actually opting OUT of the presidential race). I did all that and just went to the Freischwimmer to enjoy the weather. <br />
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The thing about the Freischwimmer is that I don’t usually think of it as your local restaurant. Up to last week I had been there a countless number of times, but not once had I actually eaten there. I have always thought of the place of just a perfect place for either a coffee or a beer. <br />
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On the other side of the canal from the notorious Klub der Visionäre, the Freischwimmer is probably everything the festering lair of wannabe techno-coolness is not: pleasant, laid back and idyllic (albeit with a bit of techno bits invading the calmness from across the canal). The place makes the most out of its waterside location, offering an inherently urban sensation, which nevertheless manages to ooze a sense of luxurious calmness. It is a bit like what opening a bar on a small side branch of London’s Regent’s Canal would be like, just without the incessant stream of tourists and cyclists. Going back to my political dismay from last week, it is a place Sarah Palin would refudiate as genuinely “un-American” – just like New York, Delaware or Portland (OK, Freischwimmer shouldn’t even be American, being in Germany and all. I just wanted to say refudiate. And maybe also point to the obvious fact it should probably expand and open a branch in Portland). <br />
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But enough with that useless praise! We are here to talk about food. And food is what we went for this time. And the bottom line? Meh. But here I am, jumping ahead of myself. So let’s start at the beginning, shall we? The menu was, well, meh. It had a very limited choice of dishes (not a bad thing in itself), but they were all strangely presented. There were no starters, but rather “small things” that included a soup, olives and chips. We skipped that (deciding that it should probably be ordered just with a beer instead of to open one’s appetite for a real meal) and opted directly for the main courses. This part of the menu offered a small variety of classically German bar-food, from Currywurst to Schweinebraten. Simple dishes that could be either a glowing success or what Grizzly moms would call a shot way missing its target.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji5L4zBG2OedU1OYz19IDzFgkxMCL-L4XZej97n7KUBAXq7xd3LdzjMqvRUQYHZiXcXeZGNkrsZNtnzIHJpCR5-VnSKWjgpVD74NseZV8bsmBTQ_JlaWVUXtEQQmuK4ZMq69BGBDeFp2c/s1600/Goulash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji5L4zBG2OedU1OYz19IDzFgkxMCL-L4XZej97n7KUBAXq7xd3LdzjMqvRUQYHZiXcXeZGNkrsZNtnzIHJpCR5-VnSKWjgpVD74NseZV8bsmBTQ_JlaWVUXtEQQmuK4ZMq69BGBDeFp2c/s200/Goulash.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Goulash</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmsKtlWa55nHoLPQjUDVdaN2kVGk02uNkvZZZYy-hFIciKHUEv_TrMr0z-7yhMPj7Ixva2e7Jkx7Fgrhn4nwTMEdc95k1yXdkjZwKXiRCPhHbxL4Yf7T1lbfshRdbkYlEQnmAur4nnNxA/s1600/Schweinebraten.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmsKtlWa55nHoLPQjUDVdaN2kVGk02uNkvZZZYy-hFIciKHUEv_TrMr0z-7yhMPj7Ixva2e7Jkx7Fgrhn4nwTMEdc95k1yXdkjZwKXiRCPhHbxL4Yf7T1lbfshRdbkYlEQnmAur4nnNxA/s200/Schweinebraten.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Schweinebraten</td></tr>
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We opted for the Szegediner Goulasch (the “Hungarian” variation on German goulash. The Szegediner is always made of pork and sauerkraut. It’s a personal favourite of mine, here for 9.80 €) and the Schweinebraten (pork roast, another German favourite for 10.80 €). The result? Not bad. Just to start with a first gush of criticism, the goulash was fairly small, which ruined the entire “simple and hearty” vibe. It was nonetheless very good. The meat was simple, yet as tender as chunks of cheap pork can get. The sauce was very pleasing in itself with just the right touch of sauerkraut. The pork roast was a tad less convincing. Yes, the sauce was nice and the meat was tender, but it was also too fat. The size of the portion was quite pleasing, making it quite a nice choice of weapons, but still, nothing like anything you’d get down in Bavaria.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJhZnGSPtDw18OqtmnhZsJvY7UXRXrnyGA9p8LqqzFo4EKgKSoFjeMUJVzTs7IioB13N3z1ucrU12BTJRYBrx1efbNQfIGCPQHFbDH2I55_3MVy7zxyOE_1jxlSiF75bRDg2vDFVaD7-k/s1600/Cake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJhZnGSPtDw18OqtmnhZsJvY7UXRXrnyGA9p8LqqzFo4EKgKSoFjeMUJVzTs7IioB13N3z1ucrU12BTJRYBrx1efbNQfIGCPQHFbDH2I55_3MVy7zxyOE_1jxlSiF75bRDg2vDFVaD7-k/s200/Cake.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The cake you should avoid</td></tr>
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We then exasperated the unfriendly waitress by ordering a dessert. It was their chocolate cake de la maison in strawberry sauce and cream (3.70 €, also available without the sauce for 2.20 €). And the result? Yikes on bikes! If the food before had actually managed to convince me that Freischwimmer might have been a fair address for a nice meal out despite the menu’s disarray and the waitress’s attitude, now this was just embarrassingly disappointing. There came a large chunk of chocolate cake which was nice and rich inside and not all too edible on the outside (is the idea of an unchewable crust the new parent-friendly fad so that children will not be able to get to the yummy part inside and give up on chocolate cakes altogether?). In a cake-metropolis like Berlin, is it really that difficult to bake a pleasing chocolate cake? <br />
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Bottom line? No matter how good or bad the food is, Freischwimmer still is a fabulous location. If October is benevolent enough to send us a few more rays of sunlight, take your friends, parents, lovers or tourist-friends and lurk around at Freischwimmer. The food is quite alright at the end of the day as well and if you are hungry, go for it. Just know that for less money, you’ll get the same quality out of a burger at the <a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/2011/08/best-burgers-in-berlin.html">Burgermeister </a>just around the corner.<br />
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<b>Overall Mark:</b></div>
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<div style="color: #660000;">
<b>Freischwimmer</b></div>
<b>Vor dem Schlesischen Tor 2a, 10997 Berlin</b><br />
<a href="http://www.freischwimmer-berlin.de/"><b>www.freischwimmer-berlin.de</b></a><br />
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<br />Itayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08034471312229143799noreply@blogger.com0Berlin, Germany52.5234051 13.411399952.2142546 12.779685899999999 52.8325556 14.0431139tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4066884692504822785.post-74286753294949714332011-09-30T18:32:00.000+02:002011-09-30T18:32:05.490+02:00JWD deliciousness in Treptow<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Treptower Klause - Treptow</b></span><br />
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Where would you start if you wanted to provide a list of the best YouTube phenomena? Well, there is Rebecca Black’s <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_BI0szjpxJs">worst song ever</a>, Southpark’s <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s0lmWx2Rqig&feature=related">In the Butt</a> (a worthy classic if there ever was one despite the fact it’s about YouTube stardom rather than actually being one), the undoubtedly magnificent <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kHmvkRoEowc">Leave Britney Alone</a> and that’s just the absolute tip of the iceberg. Same as reality TV, YouTube has enabled the creation of yet another category of stardom, which is basically all about people whose exhibitionist streak is just enough to get other people excited on their tiny screens for about half a minute of their precious time. Germans call this sort of excitement fremdschämen – to feel embarrassed for someone else. Getting people to fremdschämen for you seems to be a perfectly reliable shortcut to stardom.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiZVlL9K5FwkuFJCZbmUcdPYRFwt9ZX18CdWSjJg-Mafdf0i62f84Bj13i2neE_gE3oQMVEC8lgQt_ZeJGZQjjUjtUP1fr3BlaVck7_7kgPHgHUfgkYaOQUzkbuU0DbkEq6vYPvnMhplQ/s1600/Klause.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiZVlL9K5FwkuFJCZbmUcdPYRFwt9ZX18CdWSjJg-Mafdf0i62f84Bj13i2neE_gE3oQMVEC8lgQt_ZeJGZQjjUjtUP1fr3BlaVck7_7kgPHgHUfgkYaOQUzkbuU0DbkEq6vYPvnMhplQ/s200/Klause.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
And speaking of YouTube stardom, embarrassment and me explaining new German words for you: Do you remember <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fgeAHx5Zo2Q">Marina Orlova</a>? You know, the Russian tarty looking blonde who teaches Russian words in short artsy films (one word per film, that is). The art is – of course – all in the eye of the beholder and consists mostly of the validation of any Western stereotype about how well tarty Russians pat their lips and bat their eyelashes between nauseating attacks of giggles. Needless to say, she’s my idol.<br />
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For a long time now, I have been considering imitating Marina Orlova, just with German. I would be making videos of my tarty self explaining random German words to the great YouTube community (without being German myself, but then again, nobody’s perfect). There will be important words like Ohrwurm, Zeitgeist or Fremdschämen, but I think my debut video will have to be something local. I’ll have to start with a Berlin word. Like the entire Berlin dialect, it will have to be rude, displeasing and not entirely devoid of self-irony. And I have the perfect word in store: JWD.<br />
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JWD (pronounced yot-veh-deh) is an expression, in itself the initials of “janz weit draußen”, Berlin dialect for “ganz weit draußen”, which is German for “bleeding far away”. If you took the expression at face value, it would have to relate to the unattainable outskirts of Berlin (and as Berlin occupies a massive chunk of land, they are far, FAR away). But then again, most people use it just to describe the district adjacent to their own, as most Berliners need a pistol pointed at their heads in order to even consider travelling out of their “Kiez” (another Berlin word, which would vaguely translate into “hood”).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw8u9hLhRKblZbQNmYU6GL01qCjChrIIQ-JwBUIgq9rQwgbfBsWWT_06hMTwX8sOnn-W44Ba65h6MVxKEvpaNx29ubonlAtr3aPEEC2nncuApGwKsuwXY-F9dF-nkpUdLROThec95xZI4/s1600/Sign.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="131" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw8u9hLhRKblZbQNmYU6GL01qCjChrIIQ-JwBUIgq9rQwgbfBsWWT_06hMTwX8sOnn-W44Ba65h6MVxKEvpaNx29ubonlAtr3aPEEC2nncuApGwKsuwXY-F9dF-nkpUdLROThec95xZI4/s320/Sign.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I’ll put my cards on the table and admit I also find it difficult to venture too far out of my comfort zone. Which was one of the reasons I was very proud of myself for going to Treptow for the sake of this entry. Treptow is what I have considered for a long time as true JWD, despite the fact it’s the next district to both Kreuzberg and Neukölln. Maybe it’s due to the fact that the area just seems to be synonymous with its massive park, which (with all my love for green spaces) is not what pops into your mind when catering to bustling urban communities.<br />
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Which is why I am glad to (partially) make amends for my mistake. I have heard rumours of Karl Kunger Straße becoming a new epicentre of something, but have been to lazy to actually go and check things out for myself. Which is a pity, because it is a fairly pleasing street altogether with a sense of unpretentious, down to earth Berlin vibe (or whatever that means. I start to sound like a walking Lonely Planet). This week, however, two friends of mine dragged me to Treptower Klause, which from the outside looks like a filthy Eckkneipe (another German word! We’re full of those today. It just means a neighbourhood pub, but a foul one of that), albeit with a handwritten menu that reeked of posh.<br />
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The latter impression was confirmed inside. It was one of these heavily wooden spaces with dim lights and minimalist furniture, all done in perfect taste with attention given to just about every detail. This is usually the moment where Berlin offers the possibility to chime in with an objection about the low quality of service. But the Treptower Klause was kind enough to spare us that. Even the service was friendly, accommodating and professional.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrUJ0kUPYv4m2Kjt2yBLLkGTJAouqifZINpa5jdX0RKOdAuEoqotB_HO8Erm0M05WBCR1Hl_ySa9LBQk5icn9TnhDH0rQ7AFQZg7MCHVvvZIY1FpVzL_t5UzD4MvAQmp25dHa642aFfvc/s1600/Mussels.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrUJ0kUPYv4m2Kjt2yBLLkGTJAouqifZINpa5jdX0RKOdAuEoqotB_HO8Erm0M05WBCR1Hl_ySa9LBQk5icn9TnhDH0rQ7AFQZg7MCHVvvZIY1FpVzL_t5UzD4MvAQmp25dHa642aFfvc/s200/Mussels.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mussels</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJBeXNvi_Y6q6nyGKnNcuKZYym7ccNlZo7Lk7jfKrzaDYW2vWrLbICXRRf8RIqq7aHD6F7gb94shqlVp5mXK41lX47QwYW1ktIs__FoKF1OvFMS5GgETBT1aLWMQ3TV2SH6VNzAo9CY8c/s1600/Cod.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJBeXNvi_Y6q6nyGKnNcuKZYym7ccNlZo7Lk7jfKrzaDYW2vWrLbICXRRf8RIqq7aHD6F7gb94shqlVp5mXK41lX47QwYW1ktIs__FoKF1OvFMS5GgETBT1aLWMQ3TV2SH6VNzAo9CY8c/s200/Cod.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cod</td></tr>
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The menu (of the changing variety) offers a limited choice of dishes that do not seem to have too much in common other than sounding vaguely nice (the main courses were mostly local, whereas the starters were from all over the European scale. I was grateful for not spotting anything based on curry powder, though). The starters we went for were a dish of mussels (served in a tomato-garlic sauce, 6.50 €) and a goat cheese-bell pepper terrine (for 5.50€, served with pine nuts and a small salad). They were both good. The mussels were excellent – good quality, nice quantity, perfectly well executed (I usually think mussels are better off without tomatoes, but that’s a matter of taste, and these were quite perfect regardless), not to mention good value. The terrine was fairly pleasing, but not inspiring. It had a good texture and the goat cheese made for a refreshing dish together with the peppers, the presentation was nice as well, but here, alas, the value was less convincing. For the price it lacked a more indulging taste.<br />
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We continued with osso buco (cross-cut veal shanks, served with polenta for 14.50 €) and a filet of cod (served with potato-gratin, spinach and mustard sauce, also for 14.50 €). Again, they were both tasty and both offered perfect value. The osso buco was even very good. The meat quality was impressive, the dark sauce was as refined as much it was tasty and the polenta was the perfect choice of sides for that very sauce. The cod was also good. The fish was convincing: Well done, yet fantastically juicy. The sides were fairly pleasing as well. The only problem was the sauce – it wasn’t bad – but it was no grand success either. It was too watery and the mustard was not well incorporated – somehow it was just bitter without conveying its actual mustardy-deliciousness.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUDPuQ_qsBjM5iPCoFU2lFqEau7SNG_ax4_kQrBvMA0b4qp0os9xnSNGZiTB83xsO3pmAudQBbQH66vnV1Vi8eKkmxXP6g7OlXDgYGvNacgzvt6tJZbpp6nx5Z0TMR5qXxKrAnXmx91Og/s1600/Ossobuco.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUDPuQ_qsBjM5iPCoFU2lFqEau7SNG_ax4_kQrBvMA0b4qp0os9xnSNGZiTB83xsO3pmAudQBbQH66vnV1Vi8eKkmxXP6g7OlXDgYGvNacgzvt6tJZbpp6nx5Z0TMR5qXxKrAnXmx91Og/s200/Ossobuco.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ossobuco</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO9xP9GQLO1gMulNFbFXexz_K10KUFCYkBD3ACjXJ6zye_Gxmar66D1UD3ui039ryYIhZYM6kzuzT8by0-zuaFGDHLe6MHK2xrQUmd6N8nD5pQaiRgrtqUATc2H1N42-kiezw6RX4XH5w/s1600/Mousse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO9xP9GQLO1gMulNFbFXexz_K10KUFCYkBD3ACjXJ6zye_Gxmar66D1UD3ui039ryYIhZYM6kzuzT8by0-zuaFGDHLe6MHK2xrQUmd6N8nD5pQaiRgrtqUATc2H1N42-kiezw6RX4XH5w/s200/Mousse.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Atrocious mousse</td></tr>
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So far - even with the minor critique - Treptower Klause would have been able to be short-listed for a five print mark if it hadn’t been for the dessert. I ordered the mousse au chocolat with a pear marinated in white wine (a miniscule portion of two minor balls of mousse served alongside a pear served for 5.00 €). After the initial size-related disappointment, I found myself relieved it had not been any larger. The pear was nicely marinated and fairly pleasing (or as pleasing as a marinated pear can be). The mousse, however, reminded me of the supermarket variety my mother used to buy in the 80’s. Unfortunately, not all childhood memories are positive. I still cannot get how on earth Treptower Klause managed to recreate the same taste without using chemicals instead of chocolate and let the end-product lurk around inside a plastic container for a few weeks.<br />
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But still, odd mousse or no odd mousse, go to Treptower Klause. It is a perfectly enjoyable spot with perfectly enjoyable food. Besides, going to Treptow will make you feel adventurous!<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Overall Mark:</b></div>
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<div style="color: #660000;">
<b>Treptower Klause</b></div>
<b> Karl Kunger Straße 69, 12435 Berlin</b><br />
<a href="http://www.treptower-klause.de/"><b>www.treptower-klause.de</b></a><br />
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<small><a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=embed&hl=de&geocode=&q=Treptower+Klause,+Karl-Kunger-Stra%C3%9Fe+69,+Berlin,+Deutschland&aq=0&sll=52.49292,13.44497&sspn=0.00682,0.01929&vpsrc=0&ie=UTF8&hq=Treptower+Klause,&hnear=Karl-Kunger-Stra%C3%9Fe+69,+Berlin+12435+Berlin,+Deutschland&ll=52.492761,13.444976&spn=0.007133,0.01929&t=m&z=14&iwloc=A&cid=5150039863004040793" style="color: blue; text-align: left;">Größere Kartenansicht</a></small>
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<br />Itayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08034471312229143799noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4066884692504822785.post-77649536411447251012011-09-27T12:16:00.001+02:002011-09-27T12:16:49.978+02:00Haunted Addresses: Vietnamese à la Central Europe<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Chez Dang - Kreuzkölln</b></span><br />
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Returning to Berlin after a long holiday always involves a moment of reconciliation with the local greyness. Even after all these years, I still find the vast empty spaces, the dimly lit streets and the general scruffiness surprisingly daunting, if only for a short moment. Then there is the second post-holiday impression I have to cope with. It usually relates to a new venue that as a sign of sheer rudeness decided to open its doors in my short absence. There is always some element of visible change inherent to the city, even with holidays that do not exceed three weeks.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHD2hwwe6Do5WkhuzbogSJzL3h3A_Ngm3gNi8pS1xuqS6uwPGOURTiKx6m73YfZ3lYpU3PmlYmmwZUMrG7QGs8W6DGdAWsTJrFPsRCU2KfJIWjSfJkOnKAgqzf3qVtPQZNJEEWk8kAgSE/s1600/Overview.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHD2hwwe6Do5WkhuzbogSJzL3h3A_Ngm3gNi8pS1xuqS6uwPGOURTiKx6m73YfZ3lYpU3PmlYmmwZUMrG7QGs8W6DGdAWsTJrFPsRCU2KfJIWjSfJkOnKAgqzf3qVtPQZNJEEWk8kAgSE/s200/Overview.jpg" width="163" /></a></div>
It’s not like you haven’t heard it all before. Berlin is all about change and many areas have transformed senselessly, entirely reinventing themselves in the last few decades, with Neukölln being the latest of a long list. We all know the main stories – Prenzlauer Berg transformed from a run-down-post-socialist-ruin into yummy-mummy-paradise or Kreuzkölln exchanging its old rugged Berliners for international wannabe hipsters. Yet these are made of a fair number of smaller stories. Some of them are clear success stories of venues establishing themselves as clear institutions. Some just get by. Whereas a tiny few just seem to be cursed.<br />
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I don’t know whether Friedelstr. 31 is an example for such unlucky address, but truth be told – it has already seen three different venues come and go in the last few years. True, the first restaurant was a success story, it was the pan-Mediterranean Kantina von Hugo, which after a few years decided to expand and move to a better address in Kreuzberg just on the other side of the canal. It was then replaced by Hellgrewe, which was ludicrously expensive for local standards and failed to establish itself as Neukölln’s new rising posh star. In fact, it did not as much as survive a year on the ground before it had to fade away to restaurant heaven and make way for <b>Chez Dang</b>.<br />
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And so we decided it was about time to pay our tribute to <b>Neukölln</b>’s latest newbie. Chez Dang would be the second Vietnamese restaurant on the street (with the relatively canonised institution Jimmy Woo being the usual alternative at no. 24), so it needed to find an identity of its own. Strangely enough, even though three inherently different restaurants have occupied the same spaces, the general atmosphere has not changed much since the Kantina’s first heyday: The restaurant is composed of a single, large and white space with dark wooden tables, agreeably dim lights and a mildly posh (and mildly sterile) feeling to it. The space has an inevitable Central-European vibe to it, which is not what you’d expect of a Vietnamese restaurant. Chez Dang seems to embrace and own that feeling, which is always a nice thing. I can only approve of any place that makes an effort to confront old clichés.<br />
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Chez Dang’s menu goes along the same line. Even though the dishes are clearly of the classically Vietnamese variety, the menu’s structure felt “Westernised”, if not plainly Germanised: A selection of random starters followed by a random selection of fairly balanced main courses, albeit with an endearing twist, allowing dishes with names like “pig fought tiger and lost” to take the centre stage. The pricing was very humane with most main courses around 6.50 € and the service earned rare points for professionalism and niceness.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3_QafuXyqZ0Yb41B_E1AZL75IEl9fYpynPJBPXC-Sqf2tOEk28PtpDse33y3rcwk_aV-KKRBeMS6Wful2twqYmboewLFGFbFgFDXsvEE8LxsMYLJnNiYnQQ9w0izSiIh5bT31GYPnFE8/s1600/Tempura.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3_QafuXyqZ0Yb41B_E1AZL75IEl9fYpynPJBPXC-Sqf2tOEk28PtpDse33y3rcwk_aV-KKRBeMS6Wful2twqYmboewLFGFbFgFDXsvEE8LxsMYLJnNiYnQQ9w0izSiIh5bT31GYPnFE8/s200/Tempura.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tempura Temptations</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZCjWfyjygJbBohyT5sLevSvhh_uXNaTv_5KHAMN-4O96cbPMp2L65KPWoIWZBLcnn3U6U3-98JLsCa4I5UphefnnVTF8kk-h39i6tdj6yluWYiXRvPifK9aMWVRN1Sae-3uv6DIBS0us/s1600/WanTans.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZCjWfyjygJbBohyT5sLevSvhh_uXNaTv_5KHAMN-4O96cbPMp2L65KPWoIWZBLcnn3U6U3-98JLsCa4I5UphefnnVTF8kk-h39i6tdj6yluWYiXRvPifK9aMWVRN1Sae-3uv6DIBS0us/s200/WanTans.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lucky Bags</td></tr>
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Which brings us to the actual food. We started with the “<b>lucky bags</b>” (fried wan tans with chicken filling, 4.50 €), “<b>tempura temptations</b>” (vegetable tempura, 5.50 €, also available in the shrimpy version for 6.50 €) and the “<b>coconut thrill</b>” (coconut-milk based soup with chunks of chicken for 3.60 €). The bags were mainly fried. They weren’t “bad”, but were too bland to be “good” either. The vegetarian tempura was a bit more amusing with different kinds of vegetables from aubergines to broccoli involved in the endeavour, but hey, it wasn’t too exciting either. Both fried dishes came with a sweet-and-sour-sauce that appeared directly out of my 80’s childhood. The soup, however, was a lot more pleasing. It was no revelation, but it delivered fairly well on the taste front: it was nicely spicy, thick without being ridiculously coconuty and its pricing was fairly perfect.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIBIB2784EnIorLz2a3DRLRzs2P1yw9R8Cum9xJXO9yKuqf3HQXVHc8V-hQG5SsINgJdSug1Gq-NScwyd9Y0K2QFSPUcLd21D5zts-2WacD3cofHGnihcFMMRgcf6AHknmKaUiubkBZ5g/s1600/Pho.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIBIB2784EnIorLz2a3DRLRzs2P1yw9R8Cum9xJXO9yKuqf3HQXVHc8V-hQG5SsINgJdSug1Gq-NScwyd9Y0K2QFSPUcLd21D5zts-2WacD3cofHGnihcFMMRgcf6AHknmKaUiubkBZ5g/s200/Pho.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pho</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIIm6NH1HrN5L8g6KHoBeOH32pavMYJL-Ol5zd2vF_Lcl3v_kjhuosCB-a_NKfYog5XcIwnCBcGtP-ieZR1WotkDxdKTzXKq_b8viW5a4QIr8dut5Rkjgj3ypsn0by1vBkoUsC00fSSPk/s1600/Bamboo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIIm6NH1HrN5L8g6KHoBeOH32pavMYJL-Ol5zd2vF_Lcl3v_kjhuosCB-a_NKfYog5XcIwnCBcGtP-ieZR1WotkDxdKTzXKq_b8viW5a4QIr8dut5Rkjgj3ypsn0by1vBkoUsC00fSSPk/s200/Bamboo.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bamboo Me Baby</td></tr>
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The main courses continued along the same lines. We ordered the <b>pho </b>(the one true Vietnamese must-have, which is just clear broth with stuff in it, it was available with different sorts of meat, but the waitress recommended the beef, so beef it was. 6.70 €) and two more dishes from the self proclaimed “evergreen” section: the “<b>dark side story</b>” (vegetables and beans with chicken in thick soy sauce, served with rice for 8.50 €) and “<b>bamboo me baby</b>” with beef (sautéed bamboo with chilli, garlic and stuff for 8.30 €). Both evergreens proved to be nice and average. The names promised a lot more than the actual dishes delivered. They were pleasingly large, yet lacking on the inspiration front. Don’t get me wrong: there was nothing foul about them. They were not bad. They were probably an alright quality for the money and they tasted, like, nice. A bit like what Chinese restaurants in the 80’s in Britain felt like – nice. The pho was also nice, but on an entirely different level. It was actually savoury, amusingly thick and strangely familiar. But wait a minute, familiar? Oh yes, wait a minute, it felt like facing my Polish grandmother’s chicken broth. It had this Central European gratifyingly stodgy je-ne-sais-quoi. Which is nice. And healthy. But not necessarily appropriate. A pho is actually a fairly refined soup. The broth should not be heavy and should allow a light mixture of different flavours to toy with one’s sense of taste. So again, nice, but this was one niceness gone too far.<br />
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At the end of the day, Chez Dang is not bad. The ambiance is accommodating, the service is excellent and the pricing is perfect. And the food? It wasn’t bad. It was rather just… nice.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Overall Mark:</div>
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<a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiRXoxd5W5Su49Gn6flpoRPJpCqRUt7HUXA4betVs7CDt2ORTMCtqO3nzOph_cNtEqEZnLZCIIpXKHb5bHjkR25Hbgxoa5IIy0cPeq7xEWXEG6IKJF__Cld67viWXoiK3LPCsI6qu_lXg/s1600/travels.jpg" /></a><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGAVjEDbsamf9u3XOF8chu-l5suUwqwkGJXwAeXORKzhzEqFwvFpOGeroxDQjanJXZBqRVu9RduOxytsRdiEzIMTw1BenmOzbNvelqeyi8SPaMm5nm18ZddPfQOu-gAZab6-EgEMsC_Uc/s1600/friendss.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="color: #660000;">
<b>Chez Dang</b></div>
<b>Friedelstraße 31, 12047 Berlin</b><br />
<a href="http://www.chez-dang.com/"><b>www.chez-dang.com</b></a><br />
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Itayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08034471312229143799noreply@blogger.com1Berlin, Germany52.5234051 13.411399952.2142546 12.779685899999999 52.8325556 14.0431139tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4066884692504822785.post-17159219014660174842011-08-19T17:06:00.000+02:002011-08-19T17:06:17.841+02:00The Best Burgers in Berlin?<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Berliner-Spezial No. 2: A Burger Showdown </b></span><br />
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Better late than never, I welcome thee to the second Footprint-Berliner-Spezial, and this time it’s about burgers. Burgers, you may ask? Why burgers? The reason is partly because I can and partly because they have become an integral part of Berlin’s fast-food identity.<br />
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It all began a few years ago, I am not sure exactly why, but it (rather conveniently) happened just around the time How I Met Your Mother had aired its classic burger episode. To those of you who do not know How I Met Your Mother: I’ll just have to shake my head in disbelief and say I’ve expected more of you. HIMYM is an American sitcom about five friends living and struggling through the Big Apple. As much as a great deal of the series is about the American obsession with dating as a way of life (more on that some other time), other parts of it are just about what makes New York the Greatest City in the Universe (a HIMYM quote, not necessarily the Footprints’ opinion). <br />
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Back to the Burger Episode, twenty minutes in which our five main characters run around New York in search of the perfect hamburger. They race between holes in the wall, rant about how burgers used to be better in the past and groan an awful lot (apparently the natural reaction to a really good burger). After watching it, I felt like groaning as well, but at the time, the only hole-in-the-wall in Berlin dedicated to burgers was the Kreuzburger. You could still find good – albeit pricier – burgers in real restaurants, but the very idea of running around in town looking for the best piece of meat in a bun seemed unattainably absurd. <br />
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Which is, needless to say, not the case anymore. Holes-in-the-walls dedicated to serving greasy burgers for humane prices have been popping up in Berlin like mushrooms after an autumn shower. If Berlin had its own proper HIMYM (Gute Zeiten, schlechte Zeiten, anyone?*), one could think of shooting a classic burger episode even here. <br />
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But until that happens, you will have to be satisfied with Footprints in Berlin rising to the challenge of providing you with a basic guide to burger-holes-in-the-wall in Berlin. Over the last week, I have tried out seven burger institutions all around the city (with the main criterion being price/accessibility – these are NOT restaurants, but burger stands, the Low-Cost of burgers). They were then ranked according to the burger quality (I tried out the cheeseburger and the wedges in each hole-in-the-wall in order to have a fix parameter for comparison). The ONLY real criterion for the ranking was the burgers’ quality (and value). Other factors (like ambiance, service and variety) will be described, but I will try to keep their influence on the actual ranking to a minimum. Now enough chatter. Let’s get down to work: Where can you find the best burgers in Berlin? <br />
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<i>Overall Rank: </i><span style="font-size: large;"><b>7</b></span><i>: Burgers Berlin, Friedrichshain</i><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq55BVin1jsMDnzzKTUuAGLvqAwkiwj2HJdwVWPPYF1x1ls71WNsanQQg-b55ey9vC4fFHWO4kZdPtedKIZcauBvueFBEX5Ai8IYeFaCRyJBV1vWTo9bkxxBC5tvnR1GWJQFeClKEO3p8/s1600/BurgersBerlin1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="111" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq55BVin1jsMDnzzKTUuAGLvqAwkiwj2HJdwVWPPYF1x1ls71WNsanQQg-b55ey9vC4fFHWO4kZdPtedKIZcauBvueFBEX5Ai8IYeFaCRyJBV1vWTo9bkxxBC5tvnR1GWJQFeClKEO3p8/s200/BurgersBerlin1.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicnuesWKe4MMDPfS385_ZmSxwbww6JrJf5gEHGJO11qPl8r5ThAX1RVMOiA0EgZfU1kWs7akcccPalc_h7TsTTCofUtQJRsEV6MVyek-TKqNgj5W3NHeIzBM8pXl9f4TEcwACcyuheCnE/s1600/BurgersBerlin2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="111" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicnuesWKe4MMDPfS385_ZmSxwbww6JrJf5gEHGJO11qPl8r5ThAX1RVMOiA0EgZfU1kWs7akcccPalc_h7TsTTCofUtQJRsEV6MVyek-TKqNgj5W3NHeIzBM8pXl9f4TEcwACcyuheCnE/s200/BurgersBerlin2.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
If this Berliner-Spezial gave any credit for ambiance, Burgers Berlin would definitely be a bit further ahead. The inside is quite nice (considering the fact it is just a hole-in-the-wall), with neon-aesthetics well combined with a wannabe-diner look. The burgers are alright. They’re the bog-standard variety with a rather small chunk of meat (which wasn’t that exceptional to begin with). It is not bad, but something about their burger just felt an awful lot like McDonald’s, which will – unfortunately – have to place them at the very bottom of the list. <br />
<br />
<b>Prices</b>:<br />
Regular Burger: 3.20 €<br />
Cheeseburger: 3.40 €<br />
Chips: 1.20 €<br />
Wedges: 1.40 €<br />
<br />
Why <b>Ja</b>? An actual diner-like place, onion rings. <br />
Why <b>Nein</b>? Putting the bog in standard.<br />
<br />
<div style="color: #660000;"><b>Burgers Berlin</b></div><b>Sonntagstraße 2, 10245 Berlin</b><br />
<br />
<iframe frameborder="0" height="350" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=de&geocode=&q=Burgers+in+der+N%C3%A4he+von+Sonntagstra%C3%9Fe+2,+Berlin,+Deutschland&aq=0&sll=37.0625,-95.677068&sspn=35.768112,77.695313&vpsrc=0&ie=UTF8&hq=Burgers&hnear=Sonntagstra%C3%9Fe+2,+Berlin+10245+Berlin,+Deutschland&ll=52.50469,13.4677&spn=0.006713,0.018969&z=14&iwloc=A&cid=11245677106586914967&output=embed" width="425"></iframe><br />
<small><a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=embed&hl=de&geocode=&q=Burgers+in+der+N%C3%A4he+von+Sonntagstra%C3%9Fe+2,+Berlin,+Deutschland&aq=0&sll=37.0625,-95.677068&sspn=35.768112,77.695313&vpsrc=0&ie=UTF8&hq=Burgers&hnear=Sonntagstra%C3%9Fe+2,+Berlin+10245+Berlin,+Deutschland&ll=52.50469,13.4677&spn=0.006713,0.018969&z=14&iwloc=A&cid=11245677106586914967" style="color: blue; text-align: left;">Größere Kartenansicht</a></small><br />
<br />
<i>Overall Rank: </i><span style="font-size: large;"><b>6</b></span><i>: Burgermeister, Kreuzberg</i><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq1wCvc3r9jq1ewwesmpvWw6rYLgaUVNTZvNC3OPWEuAqtCr7VUrhLXm4KdrBb8MbzorfWrsz3oAO_eh4Z4_U4bQ6roR1vAv3IBqDVihz-dTEzz7ddNGg4WvAKbdJmbtcQQdJJSwZoTBY/s1600/Burgermeister1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq1wCvc3r9jq1ewwesmpvWw6rYLgaUVNTZvNC3OPWEuAqtCr7VUrhLXm4KdrBb8MbzorfWrsz3oAO_eh4Z4_U4bQ6roR1vAv3IBqDVihz-dTEzz7ddNGg4WvAKbdJmbtcQQdJJSwZoTBY/s200/Burgermeister1.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp0LQqJpsKbQjQz_y5EZ6lrEE7T3E0_W08BjmFwa-NXzb-UKSfkhLJ_14gHoLNUuCCi9pC6mgwPkl7QeCA-6QBjhsKazriKc8lSJa95mxfP99klJ_gX99PtendCd3Sot3YIGvuJUzdCBk/s1600/Burgermeister.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp0LQqJpsKbQjQz_y5EZ6lrEE7T3E0_W08BjmFwa-NXzb-UKSfkhLJ_14gHoLNUuCCi9pC6mgwPkl7QeCA-6QBjhsKazriKc8lSJa95mxfP99klJ_gX99PtendCd3Sot3YIGvuJUzdCBk/s200/Burgermeister.jpg" width="114" /></a></div>This is not just me being contrary here, but it’s about time somebody said admitted that Burgermeister ain’t as good as everyone says it is. Sorry. True, the location is a stroke of genius: under the U-Bahn railings in a turn of the century-art-nouveau-look-alike public lavatories’ structure. It really is quite brilliant. Their number system is also a bit more customer friendly than anywhere else (they’ve actually got an electronic display, unlike other places where they just shout something into thin air). Maybe it’s the fact that you have to queue for too long a time and that it doesn’t take long to gather enough material of a hipster-bashing blog entry. Maybe it’s the fact that the buns we got could have been mistaken for charcoals and that the meat was fairly dry, but I just can’t really see why people go on raving about the place. And yet, if you make it through the queue: the sauces are good, the wedges are excellent and it’s the only place in town where you can get a Teutonic version of chips-and-cheese! <br />
<br />
<b>Prices</b>:<br />
Regular Burger: 3.40 €<br />
Cheeseburger: 3.70 €<br />
Chips: 1.50 €<br />
Wedges: 1.60 €<br />
(Cheese-fries: 1.90 €)<br />
<br />
<br />
Why <b>Ja</b>? Perfect location, good number system, their bacon-cheese-fries (that grease galore is worth every pound you gain in weight), good selection of burgers. <br />
Why <b>Nein</b>? Horrible service, long queues, dry meat, burnt buns.<br />
<br />
<div style="color: #660000;"><b>Burgermeister</b></div><b>Oberbaumstraße 8, 10997 Berlin</b><br />
<a href="http://www.burger-meister.de/"><b>www.burger-meister.de</b></a><br />
<br />
<iframe frameborder="0" height="350" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=de&geocode=&q=Burgermeister,+Oberbaumstra%C3%9Fe+8,+Berlin,+Deutschland&aq=0&sll=52.5058,13.46765&sspn=0.006387,0.018861&vpsrc=0&ie=UTF8&hq=Burgermeister,+Oberbaumstra%C3%9Fe+8,+Berlin,+Deutschland&ll=52.501076,13.442336&spn=0.026854,0.075445&z=14&iwloc=A&cid=7792055640729160722&output=embed" width="425"></iframe><br />
<small><a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=embed&hl=de&geocode=&q=Burgermeister,+Oberbaumstra%C3%9Fe+8,+Berlin,+Deutschland&aq=0&sll=52.5058,13.46765&sspn=0.006387,0.018861&vpsrc=0&ie=UTF8&hq=Burgermeister,+Oberbaumstra%C3%9Fe+8,+Berlin,+Deutschland&ll=52.501076,13.442336&spn=0.026854,0.075445&z=14&iwloc=A&cid=7792055640729160722" style="color: blue; text-align: left;">Größere Kartenansicht</a></small><br />
<br />
<i>Overall Rank: </i><span style="font-size: large;"><b>5</b></span><i>: Hamburger Heaven, Kreuzberg</i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYscBIcN1_j1ByKnsyEDkJjraGJlpCT1KIYn_-LaiLPnO5lVG_wHr0M0Y0YoIaaiNGh3_qSCvrdOG_j_ylZkk8PyBUupLnGpzDYjPTDSi_XsbP0o3KA_Rv9posqVAD04SiyZIt8FC0CQM/s1600/HamburgHeaven.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYscBIcN1_j1ByKnsyEDkJjraGJlpCT1KIYn_-LaiLPnO5lVG_wHr0M0Y0YoIaaiNGh3_qSCvrdOG_j_ylZkk8PyBUupLnGpzDYjPTDSi_XsbP0o3KA_Rv9posqVAD04SiyZIt8FC0CQM/s200/HamburgHeaven.jpg" width="200" /></a>True to its location, the burger-stand on Graefestr. is all about friendliness and organic-vibes. Everything is clean and nice, not to mention this being the only place where they offer two degrees of organic meat: “Freiland” and “Bio”, with the difference being that the Bio-animals had been fed organically themselves, whereas the Freiland-cows might have roamed freely through the green meadows of Northern Germany, but their nutrition was based on Lidl produce. Be it as it may, take the “Bio” burger if you come around, the difference is fairly rewarding. The less rewarding elements are the waiting time (there was no real queue and we still managed to wait for nearly 40 minutes out in the cold), the buns (they don’t fall apart, but they’re not tasty either) and the home-made sauces. As the place is all about being organic, they make their own ketchup, BBQ-sauce and the rest. It might sound good (and to be fair, it also tastes good inside the burger), but I’ve rarely been so frustrated as while trying to get some of their thick and sour tomato-spread (AKA home-made ketchup) on top of my chips (home-made as well, yet very good). <br />
<br />
<b>Prices</b>: (add 0.50 € for Freiland and 1.00 € for Bio)<br />
Regular Burger: 3.50 €<br />
Cheeseburger: 4.00 €<br />
Chips: 2.00/3.00 €<br />
<br />
<br />
Why <b>Ja</b>? Very rich burgers, good quality meat, real cheese in the cheeseburger, good chips, nice service, the place also serves steaks for those who could not be bothered taking a burger. <br />
Why <b>Nein</b>? No seating arrangements inside in case it gets either cold or rainy (as in 90% of the time), long wait, home made sauces, an overriding impression of trying too hard to be healthy.<br />
<br />
<div style="color: #660000;"><b>Hamburger Heaven</b></div><b>Graefestraße 93, 10967 Berlin</b><br />
<a href="http://www.hamburgerheaven.org/"><b>www.hamburgerheaven.org</b></a><br />
<br />
<iframe frameborder="0" height="350" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=de&geocode=&q=Hamburger+Heaven,+Graefestra%C3%9Fe+93,+Berlin,+Deutschland&aq=0&sll=52.504206,13.442631&sspn=0.026854,0.075445&vpsrc=0&ie=UTF8&hq=Hamburger+Heaven,&hnear=Graefestra%C3%9Fe+93,+Kreuzberg+10967+Berlin,+Deutschland&ll=52.495295,13.419677&spn=0.006715,0.018861&z=14&iwloc=A&cid=447977992807988066&output=embed" width="425"></iframe><br />
<small><a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=embed&hl=de&geocode=&q=Hamburger+Heaven,+Graefestra%C3%9Fe+93,+Berlin,+Deutschland&aq=0&sll=52.504206,13.442631&sspn=0.026854,0.075445&vpsrc=0&ie=UTF8&hq=Hamburger+Heaven,&hnear=Graefestra%C3%9Fe+93,+Kreuzberg+10967+Berlin,+Deutschland&ll=52.495295,13.419677&spn=0.006715,0.018861&z=14&iwloc=A&cid=447977992807988066" style="color: blue; text-align: left;">Größere Kartenansicht</a></small><br />
<br />
<i>Overall Rank: </i><span style="font-size: large;"><b>4</b></span><i>: Kreuzburger, Kreuzberg.</i><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm4-OZCeuFV1RkHMOBj2wavxgHWj00xMM6L3e0Ufd7hxh0b8jlEPHfEuTdJi9ObrrGZoLRwu4KCLs-fHxDHusq3x3JfxA9EM2jMlajoZmHIDFNcqViIRO7kdh_xYcGK2MPsozyuDT9saY/s1600/Kreuzburger2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm4-OZCeuFV1RkHMOBj2wavxgHWj00xMM6L3e0Ufd7hxh0b8jlEPHfEuTdJi9ObrrGZoLRwu4KCLs-fHxDHusq3x3JfxA9EM2jMlajoZmHIDFNcqViIRO7kdh_xYcGK2MPsozyuDT9saY/s200/Kreuzburger2.jpg" width="200" /></a>Tradition has to be rewarded in some way. The original Kreuzburger on Oranienstraße can be crowned as Berlin’s original burger-hole-in-the-wall. The space inside is much bigger than in most other places and is therefore also more suitable for winter escapades. Just keep in mind it’s fairly gritty – and not always the nice way. The burger variety is quite impressive, assuring that just about anyone will be able to find something. Their burgers are fairly standard, but the good way: the meat is good (their organic meat is even better), the sauces are just fine and their selection of chips is great. Just keep in mind that their “home fries” are fairly massive pieces of potatoes, whereas what you mean when you order “wedges” anywhere else would have to be their “country fries”. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggSeLF0egVDpclNK392w-TMFGBbcLVCQ6Cw1Jbv1AvWUnzNdCXclEdJAqnBWvuXyMug8uKLPCt9a-dgD3WjTGA_pQ6g4ZCWKSfOHdCctMiuN_5_1bhRpHJizmi0NfR0Pmwptn37EW6MdI/s1600/Kreuzburger1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggSeLF0egVDpclNK392w-TMFGBbcLVCQ6Cw1Jbv1AvWUnzNdCXclEdJAqnBWvuXyMug8uKLPCt9a-dgD3WjTGA_pQ6g4ZCWKSfOHdCctMiuN_5_1bhRpHJizmi0NfR0Pmwptn37EW6MdI/s200/Kreuzburger1.jpg" width="118" /></a></div><b>Prices</b>:<br />
<br />
Regular Burger: 2.70 € (3.90 € for large/ 3.40 € for organic)<br />
Cheeseburger: 3.10 € (4.40 € for large/ 3.90 € for organic)<br />
Chips: 1.60 €<br />
Wedges: 2.50 €<br />
<br />
Why <b>Ja</b>? Good quality; standard burgers; large variety of burgers; good chips that come in more than one shape. <br />
Why <b>Nein</b>? Not the nicest atmosphere.<br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: #660000;">Kreuzburger (Kreuzberg)</span></b><br />
<b>Oranienstraße 190, 10999 Berlin</b><br />
<a href="http://www.kreuzburger.de/"><b>www.kreuzburger.de</b></a><br />
<br />
<iframe frameborder="0" height="350" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=de&geocode=&q=Kreuzburger,+Oranienstra%C3%9Fe+190,+Berlin,+Deutschland&aq=0&sll=52.496081,13.419671&sspn=0.006715,0.018861&vpsrc=0&ie=UTF8&hq=Kreuzburger,&hnear=Oranienstra%C3%9Fe+190,+Kreuzberg+10999+Berlin,+Deutschland&ll=52.50041,13.422266&spn=0.006387,0.018861&z=14&iwloc=A&cid=7060803146547160269&output=embed" width="425"></iframe><br />
<small><a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=embed&hl=de&geocode=&q=Kreuzburger,+Oranienstra%C3%9Fe+190,+Berlin,+Deutschland&aq=0&sll=52.496081,13.419671&sspn=0.006715,0.018861&vpsrc=0&ie=UTF8&hq=Kreuzburger,&hnear=Oranienstra%C3%9Fe+190,+Kreuzberg+10999+Berlin,+Deutschland&ll=52.50041,13.422266&spn=0.006387,0.018861&z=14&iwloc=A&cid=7060803146547160269" style="color: blue; text-align: left;">Größere Kartenansicht</a></small><br />
<br />
<i>Overall Rank: </i><span style="font-size: large;"><b>3</b></span><i>: Burgerium, Friedrichshain</i><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9NaSHVjmUHEMH9_ZEhU4XD-9_zjbXIHyd3YWhc13Tul1bBZ93yfnkymrcnTR5oBr7KwaTMLLqkaXU8ww8NWrqYVVGeZF3SE5fX0aL1FgQwXuPsvgB6X7oD8F2IIAqHeND3drS1IrotXY/s1600/Burgerium1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9NaSHVjmUHEMH9_ZEhU4XD-9_zjbXIHyd3YWhc13Tul1bBZ93yfnkymrcnTR5oBr7KwaTMLLqkaXU8ww8NWrqYVVGeZF3SE5fX0aL1FgQwXuPsvgB6X7oD8F2IIAqHeND3drS1IrotXY/s200/Burgerium1.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>Surprisingly enough, not one of Berlin’s well known burger institutions, but the hole-in-the-wall on Revaler Straße that seems to be there purely for the sake of large groups of drunken tourists on a stag-night tour of Berlin (i.e. who would be satisfied by just about anything, as long as it’s greasy enough) managed to get to the top three. Don’t let the place’s appearance blind you to their burgers: We’re talking about large, juicy burgers with tasty sauces and great chips.<br />
<br />
<b>Prices</b>: <br />
<br />
Regular Burger: 2.90 €<br />
Cheeseburger: 3.30 €<br />
Chips: 1.80 €<br />
Wedges: 2.00 €<br />
<br />
Why <b>Ja</b>? Good burgers.<br />
Why <b>Nein</b>? There would be a fair chance to find oneself in the fire range of someone’s vomit in case you decided to sit outside.<br />
<br />
<div style="color: #660000;"><b>Burgerium</b></div><br />
<b>Revaler Straße 8, 10245 Berlin</b><br />
<br />
<iframe frameborder="0" height="350" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=de&geocode=&q=Revaler+Stra%C3%9Fe+8,+Berlin,+Deutschland&aq=0&sll=52.507759,13.451364&sspn=0.006386,0.018861&vpsrc=6&ie=UTF8&hq=&hnear=Revaler+Stra%C3%9Fe+8,+Berlin+10245+Berlin,+Deutschland&ll=52.507759,13.451364&spn=0.006713,0.018861&z=14&iwloc=A&output=embed" width="425"></iframe><br />
<small><a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=embed&hl=de&geocode=&q=Revaler+Stra%C3%9Fe+8,+Berlin,+Deutschland&aq=0&sll=52.507759,13.451364&sspn=0.006386,0.018861&vpsrc=6&ie=UTF8&hq=&hnear=Revaler+Stra%C3%9Fe+8,+Berlin+10245+Berlin,+Deutschland&ll=52.507759,13.451364&spn=0.006713,0.018861&z=14&iwloc=A" style="color: blue; text-align: left;">Größere Kartenansicht</a></small><br />
<br />
<i>Overall Rank: </i><span style="font-size: large;"><b>2</b></span><i>: Marienburger, Prenzlauer Berg </i><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIbxR6M4Tq8WyBF-HmWPcHcOGH-9Yqu4mc6L2GxwkbmIKbKieeG3VsW7TXUdBCKFwLUVtQyFQGMrREhQmhInSOSMdYGFyLiqROhvMz30CmNYSpmyCu-JOGUH3DJnL6GHh1Vsq2VxVowXk/s1600/Marienburger.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIbxR6M4Tq8WyBF-HmWPcHcOGH-9Yqu4mc6L2GxwkbmIKbKieeG3VsW7TXUdBCKFwLUVtQyFQGMrREhQmhInSOSMdYGFyLiqROhvMz30CmNYSpmyCu-JOGUH3DJnL6GHh1Vsq2VxVowXk/s200/Marienburger.jpg" width="200" /></a>If I handed hamburger-footprints for service, Marienburger would win by a large margin. The ladies at the till were inherently nice in a way you rarely see in Berlin’s holes-in-the-wall. As it is the only good burger institution in Prenzlauer Berg, expect a long queue due to parents and children negotiating matters of high importance at the till, usually followed by the same parents trying to calm down these same children once they start crying after the first “no”. The space inside is minimal. In summer, hope to get a seat outside, seeing how the street is actually quite pleasant and all. And the most important bit? Yes, the burgers. They’re great. Really. The standard burgers are already massive and the meat is good quality. The topping is otherwise quite minimal (with the buns, gherkins, onions and the usual sauces), but it still managed to be just right. The only problem was that I found the cheese to be quite horrid (they use the worst kind of American melted “cheddar”), but I know some people who actually enjoy an injection of radioactive chemicals into their burger and find cheeseburgers should be served without any real cheese. And yet, try out their Marienburger (double cheeseburger with slices of bacon), it’s a chunk of pure, greasy joy for the mere price of 5 EUR.<br />
<br />
<b>Prices</b>:<br />
<br />
Regular: 3.50 €<br />
Cheeseburger: 3.80 €<br />
(Marienburger – double + cheese + bacon: 5.00 €)<br />
Chips: 1.40 €<br />
Wedges: 1.50 €<br />
<br />
Why <b>Ja</b>? Great burgers; good meat; nice service; the Marienburger.<br />
Why <b>Nein</b>? Long wait; horrid cheese.<br />
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<div style="color: #660000;"><b>Marienburger Imbiss</b></div><b>Marienburger Straße 47, 10405 Berlin</b><br />
<b><a href="http://www.marienburger-berlin.de/">www.marienburger-berlin.de</a></b><br />
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<small><a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=embed&hl=de&geocode=&q=Marienburger+Imbiss,+Marienburger+Stra%C3%9Fe+47,+Berlin,+Deutschland&aq=0&sll=52.5093,13.45263&sspn=0.006713,0.018861&vpsrc=0&ie=UTF8&hq=Marienburger+Imbiss,+Marienburger+Stra%C3%9Fe+47,+Berlin,+Deutschland&ll=52.53534,13.423319&spn=0.026833,0.075445&z=14&iwloc=A&cid=4749039816179054017" style="color: blue; text-align: left;">Größere Kartenansicht</a></small><br />
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<i>Overall Rank: </i><span style="font-size: large;"><b>1</b></span><i>: BBI – Berlinburger International, Neukölln</i><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTkh9ojcPL1PQqRP6_NZO91qZX1s_q8iGaQs0MK9obzyHMZTBLVkEllylJ7nKx_3vs0-v0SFLtSwpndXaqnNi5C68rk_hUMaARAHWB5rtdoEl6NkqXSIxZI77h-JGPnTppHipQBEQZaHA/s1600/BBI+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTkh9ojcPL1PQqRP6_NZO91qZX1s_q8iGaQs0MK9obzyHMZTBLVkEllylJ7nKx_3vs0-v0SFLtSwpndXaqnNi5C68rk_hUMaARAHWB5rtdoEl6NkqXSIxZI77h-JGPnTppHipQBEQZaHA/s200/BBI+001.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPJL1ihhW8MQLYoN5WIdsfkH9yFuFs-J-wEkOuZK7wSeX4TjCRq1WLt-gWbRu5bZbpsqSoe4x5UJiwI1cD4lfrbPVf_lr8zbvmHrwTsgjhO6gbECP-p3Z4KFeYxd08gIiY6aI9BsFlcuo/s1600/BBI+002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPJL1ihhW8MQLYoN5WIdsfkH9yFuFs-J-wEkOuZK7wSeX4TjCRq1WLt-gWbRu5bZbpsqSoe4x5UJiwI1cD4lfrbPVf_lr8zbvmHrwTsgjhO6gbECP-p3Z4KFeYxd08gIiY6aI9BsFlcuo/s200/BBI+002.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
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The best burger joint in Berlin is actually a den. Or a pigsty, you choose. I reckon it’s appropriate, as we are talking about Newkölln and most people around would not be caught dead in anything less cool (or without the obligatory swanky moustaches and thick-rimmed glasses). The interior space is tiny and stuffy and the tables outside are just... well... not the nicest place on earth. However, go there. It’s worth every cent. The regular burgers are already massive (even though you can also order the “Nimmersatt” version for an additional 2.80 € and probably stuff your face with enough meat to keep your stomach busy for a week) and not always easy to get into a normal person’s mouth (mine is larger than most, so I am usually spared the need to cut things into smaller slices). But the main point is that the meat is great and the topping together with that lamb’s-lettuce is quite amusing. Even if you’re not the type who likes dens in Neukölln, you should try their burgers. <br />
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<b>Prices</b>:<br />
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Regular: 3.90 €<br />
Cheeseburger: 4.40 €<br />
Chips: 2.00 €<br />
Wedges: 2.00 €<br />
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Why <b>Ja</b>? Great burgers, period.<br />
Why <b>Nein</b>? Not the best space ever; their chilli-cheese-fries are quite strange (a layer of chips, covered with a slice of cheese, covered with nice, yet bland chilli con carne).<br />
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<div style="color: #660000;"><b>BBI - Berlinburger International</b></div><b>Pannierstraße 5, 12047 Berlin</b><br />
<a href="http://www.berlinburgerinternational.com/"><b>www.berlinburgerinternational.com</b></a><br />
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<small><a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=embed&hl=de&geocode=&q=BBI+in+der+N%C3%A4he+von+Pannierstra%C3%9Fe+5,+Berlin,+Deutschland&aq=0&sll=52.538466,13.423576&sspn=0.026833,0.075445&vpsrc=0&ie=UTF8&hq=BBI&hnear=Pannierstra%C3%9Fe+5,+Berlin+12047+Berlin,+Deutschland&ll=52.48642,13.4312&spn=0.006389,0.018861&z=14&iwloc=A&cid=10691343772423073469" style="color: blue; text-align: left;">Größere Kartenansicht</a></small>Itayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08034471312229143799noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4066884692504822785.post-29296778728561844342011-08-11T17:56:00.000+02:002011-08-11T17:56:30.627+02:00On Expats, Crocs and Breweries<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Brauhaus am Südstern - Kreuzberg </b></span><br />
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Last week I found myself sitting in my kitchen with an older American lady and her over-developed sense of entitlement, wondering what to do for food. The conversation became truly impossible when her dark passenger came into the picture and she ended up twitching compulsively, grinding her teeth and growling “<i>ethnic!</i>” every time I suggested anything resembling German food.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4OKsGg1hb4RiTb84N3eC-qU2-L9F37qNY2GSfjEGzb3PSyW_Nm9jK0zGViBvL3z94FUpFdLkL7QPLnGAhMbELkFfJnpluv2881VkA8W6ChVeSFg25EQN3wNjj61IvAE8vfGvo8JVh75U/s1600/Beers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4OKsGg1hb4RiTb84N3eC-qU2-L9F37qNY2GSfjEGzb3PSyW_Nm9jK0zGViBvL3z94FUpFdLkL7QPLnGAhMbELkFfJnpluv2881VkA8W6ChVeSFg25EQN3wNjj61IvAE8vfGvo8JVh75U/s200/Beers.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>Needless to say, I felt like punching her in the face. There is nothing worse than booing on an ex-pat’s attempt to present their country-of-choice’s culinary treats. I may have an interminable list of grievances relating to every annoying facet of the Teutonic way of life, but at the end of the day, I am still in Germany. Alive, kicking and paying taxes. Moreover, with visitors from abroad lurking around my Kreuzberg flat, I suddenly find myself getting strangely sensitive about the topic. I cannot seem to fend off the notion that I have to defend my choice of residence and forget everything I find so infuriating about the place. <br />
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As that lady was a tad older and made a whole speech not being able to walk unless carried or chauffeured, I ended up explaining to her that all “ethnic” restaurants were too far away and that if we wanted to avoid walking too much, the only choice we had was between German and Italian restaurants. She grudgingly accepted to try out German food, as the horror of forcing carbs down her throat (the Italian way) seemed to give her spasms she could not quite wrap her finger around. She then stashed her sense of entitlement into her handbag while changing her vile Crocs into less comfortable, yet equally vile shoes in order to go and check out <b>Brauhaus am Südstern</b> on <b>Hasenheide</b>. <br />
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Now there is nothing better than taking a random visitor from abroad to a brewery in order to do German food. The Brauhaus am Südstern brews its own beer (a <b>dunkler </b>and <b>heller Stern</b>, both for 3.40 € a pint. Definitely better than the local poison otherwise known as Berliner Pilsner/Kindl) and serves a large selection of bog standard German dishes from schnitzel to Bratwurst. It has a large balcony facing the street and another garden facing Hasenheide park in the back (luckily the small chunk of it that is still relatively unaffected by drug dealing of all sorts). The interior space is vast and is neither particularly inviting nor disturbing in any way. Teutonically standard would have to fit the bill even here. <br />
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It was a chilly evening and we started our meal with two soups: the <b>ungarische Gulaschsuppe</b> (Hungarian goulash soup, 3.40 €) and a <b>Rote-Beetesuppe</b> (beetroot soup for 3.30 €). They were both pleasingly substantial. The beetroot soup was thick and sourish with a touch of tomato. It was not very refined, but it had a strong presence and was overall one of these perfect dishes for a quiet evening. The goulash soup was a nice chunk of Germanness altogether: it was thick and stodgy, meat galore with a taste that was neither too overwhelming nor in any way bland. Again nothing close to an orgasm of refined quality, yet it was a dish was all the more pleasing for its no-bullshit value. It was inexpensive, large and filling.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4grCFFN3ARmMJPQWnVJVldEUTYzvpozuQEWPd2G6ZObkNE6fsr5CkvOIHYlUws_LlSDWy3f6BW8CHGDcSHFqOBhCDyL74pzKtOijK4mosuthGQdKBCpUUpR463EHzVbjgSoZn0yG1PO8/s1600/Beetroot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4grCFFN3ARmMJPQWnVJVldEUTYzvpozuQEWPd2G6ZObkNE6fsr5CkvOIHYlUws_LlSDWy3f6BW8CHGDcSHFqOBhCDyL74pzKtOijK4mosuthGQdKBCpUUpR463EHzVbjgSoZn0yG1PO8/s200/Beetroot.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beetroot soup</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLgZ4tSZH0-dy1z0JADt5_vpiLENONI91lssj1WSRc6kaPTUPxxf0-T9GSZ35H4JHnff8W0q4t9zVq9vMiQxhQm6h0rmTMd96MsOmQrZFn9UFP5wUv_oQAEwnSVmgNMygdj7HAhPj1QAw/s1600/Biergulasch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLgZ4tSZH0-dy1z0JADt5_vpiLENONI91lssj1WSRc6kaPTUPxxf0-T9GSZ35H4JHnff8W0q4t9zVq9vMiQxhQm6h0rmTMd96MsOmQrZFn9UFP5wUv_oQAEwnSVmgNMygdj7HAhPj1QAw/s200/Biergulasch.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beer goulash</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
We continued to order stews: the <b>Deftiges Biergulasch</b> (beer goulash with Semmelknödel and red cabbage, 9.50 €) and the <b>Boeuf Stroganoff</b> from the menu of the week (for those who do not know what a beef stroganoff is, I’ll just have to describe it as slices of beef in creamy and mushroomy gravy, here it was served with a side of potato rösti and a salad for 12.50 €). The goulash was great. It was simple and hearty. The beer gravy was thick and pleasing and the meat was tender and fun. The Semmelknödel (bread dumplings) were just right – crispy outside and flavoursome inside. The cabbage was a bit bland, but then again, it was only a side of red cabbage. The Beef Stroganoff was – again – fun. It was a well-executed stodgy dish for a cold evening. It was not refined as the ridiculously French version of its name or the higher price might have suggested, but it was good quality for good value. The sauce was good (one often gets creamy sauces that are just creamy without any flavour to them, here it was just right) and the meat’s quality was more than satisfying. The rösti was more of a large potato pancake, but it was pleasant enough and gave the dish the Russian touch it would have otherwise lacked completely. We left so full that we could not even fit a dessert down our throats.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidFB85ozJe_Q6prTbRephDxkk10nSQNBuMt0p0vRadx0mXobknFXrNplfe2JMlMedy4UowndNxnmAIbkNfswdUwfHwXZ7E-sUrZPQsSBV03lgCqhNMnp4qQV_pMJDiMHc9-vJYK4hrct4/s1600/Gulaschsuppe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidFB85ozJe_Q6prTbRephDxkk10nSQNBuMt0p0vRadx0mXobknFXrNplfe2JMlMedy4UowndNxnmAIbkNfswdUwfHwXZ7E-sUrZPQsSBV03lgCqhNMnp4qQV_pMJDiMHc9-vJYK4hrct4/s200/Gulaschsuppe.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Goulash soup</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx2lCpyYnvBA3IARouaaQSVhXWZhnQROejYey89Q_cD91Q33zucKOng1XkoX5Ksq7wOEWk-1zSMQT3P4RQyALHcYX5wE5UkryzJ6DhbehUWoU1A8F9T_IHBeU6cp52yQBPw2RJhFvuNEw/s1600/Stroganoff.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx2lCpyYnvBA3IARouaaQSVhXWZhnQROejYey89Q_cD91Q33zucKOng1XkoX5Ksq7wOEWk-1zSMQT3P4RQyALHcYX5wE5UkryzJ6DhbehUWoU1A8F9T_IHBeU6cp52yQBPw2RJhFvuNEw/s200/Stroganoff.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beef Stroganoff</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
At the end of the day, I can only recommend Brauhaus am Südstern. It may not be a culinary experience that will swipe you off your feet, but it does offer nice, hearty food for very affordable prices. If you happen to be around Südstern and feel like having a goulash, don’t be a stranger!<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">Overall Mark:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinn46I5QghYx48F6mAk8gWDUFrgWIG9Vigyk7MxTENrQ1d1u1IrznBsHylhLPbQ3ccjls1gjvIYwKRygGCq_sHUmYJSRs7i1yjNBZauhNWYj7TNcRdJjw0e7aBHhiyzFPXiycaVHeOEXg/s1600/4pawss.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiixb-7K-juplquSLBYV1Fz8bHU6mnl4pGAWwLhmxzC8WmoozCvZtaV1mo8M7-saiuoqkW1DftL95c3VqqIzVugdZCh5-O8wVodMOZiH3mfD_yOK5WZ0L-bASZFDbc2tLWcyKNzbBQWNMY/s1600/tears.jpg" /></a><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiTX3zSBU1W4J63eqk4KvKfqKlbyTdLAhEbwA5GhuRIVuBXoX1FNOdVO7nPwL-bEwoipCs8O1fLweVF54gjHZLdDBPMJrUfXYQJTfn398kQcEifc6bDIq9W7f5ZRciyeE_sqoJgxTl444/s1600/travels.jpg" /></a><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoAfeayQf5Vy4ZwlVQEISLmrMM_M2TV1qRfecngXbJ_hwJT-zgGLGkEfnWe2ASOca_G7WhU1gqPmB__2JKEufc23jrz23ZekBx8RTcBwkS0o3zkfMJA4BdhK2nkUVYzf1NeHyFIp4BtOM/s1600/friendss.jpg" /></a><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQFk_C2J1vm4YVRYm-speTwk5QzTAGOijPUrjphtAKquAxZdmslycIepb3ifxoGLdrWCXY8DsNiJJT6TrpWhF9vxIkgIxtZEcMvmpkPatalgPxSmIRAbucxfeY-bt4zTnlrP2o_8zK6lI/s1600/parentss.jpg" /></a></div><div style="color: #660000;"><b>Brauhaus Südstern</b></div><b>Hasenheide 69, 10967 Berlin</b><br />
<div style="color: black;"><a href="http://www.brauhaus-suedstern.de/"><b>http://www.brauhaus-suedstern.de</b></a></div><br />
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Itayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08034471312229143799noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4066884692504822785.post-70130487936029962912011-08-05T16:57:00.000+02:002011-08-05T16:57:54.583+02:00A Show of Savoir Vivre in West Berlin<span style="font-size: large;"><b>La Cocotte - Schöneberg</b></span><br />
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<i>Das Auge isst mit</i> is a German saying translatable with „the eye takes part in the eating.“ Its point is the usual “presentation matters,” which we all know. Most people would (most probably) not like to eat anything that looks like troll excrements or a squashed frog. So far so good. But what about different sorts of presentation? Let’s say more theatrical ones?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH-gAwaehAti5CveGgMtvyW6F0bcFcZ7hNemg_oc8UuN0jL7efxdi_SKHDNtUVZ2jK5Rg8cp6FebvnwXMALF5hrExKKXfAkY4bFYtko-ZHlpZR9J-pTdLIl7jZkSSEsUKyudl_wX63NlY/s1600/Bar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH-gAwaehAti5CveGgMtvyW6F0bcFcZ7hNemg_oc8UuN0jL7efxdi_SKHDNtUVZ2jK5Rg8cp6FebvnwXMALF5hrExKKXfAkY4bFYtko-ZHlpZR9J-pTdLIl7jZkSSEsUKyudl_wX63NlY/s320/Bar.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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The element of show involved in owning a restaurant had not bothered me in the slightest before Tom and Jamie, two London acquaintances of mine, decided to venture into the world of culinary service and open a café in East London. As London’s all about added value and exclusive identity, Tom and Jamie needed a concept and they needed it fast. They came up with the idea of an “entertainment café,” which would move its focal point from the banal idea of coffee into the value of its owners’ exquisite company and their ability to entertain their customers. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdqn33LA8sMeph-2ihmGdfyRmHEbS_DKMgB8SPEMYENFjMYXOowh7jEFd3wUVDec7XUj0h0wMydpfeT0y-tdlTViArlXS5OiHZeUa6IWnqOKcvt_dkvjtbb9TplMJ5Fhsf09ncRMJVyjE/s1600/Terasse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdqn33LA8sMeph-2ihmGdfyRmHEbS_DKMgB8SPEMYENFjMYXOowh7jEFd3wUVDec7XUj0h0wMydpfeT0y-tdlTViArlXS5OiHZeUa6IWnqOKcvt_dkvjtbb9TplMJ5Fhsf09ncRMJVyjE/s200/Terasse.jpg" width="165" /></a></div>I found the idea utterly ludicrous. Call me old-fashioned, but I get the urge to punch people in the face if they happen to be trying to entertain me while I’ve got a chunk of quiche stuck down my throat. Tom and Jamie actually never got the opportunity to prove me wrong (as the entire business proved to be more expensive than what they had had in mind), but with time, I realised every restaurant had an element of showbiz attached to it. It can be the loud kind, like the 90’s classic Beverly Hills 90210’s obnoxiously annoying Brenda metamorphosing into the Southern Laverne just to keep her customers’ complaints at bay, or it can be the French kind, as I discovered last week in <b>Schöneberg</b>’s <b>La Cocotte</b>. <br />
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The restaurant seems to be a West Berliner institution of sorts. It enjoys the best location Schöneberg can offer on <b>Vorbergstraße</b>, a pleasant side street off the cute (and slightly overrated) Akazzienstraße. It has a charming garden outside, but fate so wished and we found our way there on a cold and rainy summer evening, which induced the discovery of La Cocotte’s interior space. And a discovery it was. Not because it was all too well designed. It wasn’t even that pretty. Yes, it had daft homo-erotic art works on the walls and the lightning was quite nice, but it was a bit drab with its dirty-grey walls. And then there were these tables crammed up on top of each other so that you got the feeling you couldn’t escape eavesdropping on your neighbour.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjDWGio95MSp6J0WS3WGk5oRMBJmBZEJ0YA4AQzacyQYdyJMAsUjwfCRDaM8heSO0YTx0aPaa6SIcKjxzYTkjw-qMLHfYspncjeiSpheVaAjUSMDlepRNcnEkW0picBAOTrWQDTQuuX50/s1600/Overall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjDWGio95MSp6J0WS3WGk5oRMBJmBZEJ0YA4AQzacyQYdyJMAsUjwfCRDaM8heSO0YTx0aPaa6SIcKjxzYTkjw-qMLHfYspncjeiSpheVaAjUSMDlepRNcnEkW0picBAOTrWQDTQuuX50/s200/Overall.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>But wait a minute, a French restaurant with grey walls, filthy loos and narrow seating arrangements? Gosh, it sounds a bit like actually being IN France. Which it really was. Bit by bit, I realised La Cocotte was just one big show. It was all about recreating an authentic French restaurant in West Berlin. It doesn’t have the <i>je-ne-sais-quoi</i> feeling of posh aloofness attached to the traditional British or German perception of French culinary institutions. No trace of that perfect ambiance from an imagined utopia of beautiful things. This one is what the real stuff is made of. <br />
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And last, but not least, one could not recreate a credible impression of France without speaking to everyone in French and visibly expecting them to follow suit. I didn’t mind the bonjours and voilàs and the general underlying francophone snobbery, but then again, it can come across as intimidating (which some of the waiters clearly enjoyed in a fair number of cases). Quite unnecessary, at the end of the day.<br />
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And yet, going through all this effort to create a French Disneyland would not have done any good without the appropriate food quality. The menu was quite promising to begin with. It was not regional, like most restaurants in France would be, but it did make a point out of living up to the restaurant’s name and serving lots of casserole-based dishes (cocotte is – surprisingly enough - French for casserole) and a couple of unavoidable French classics like steak tartar or bouillabaisse.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFovMlyy4fKNA73Ll-qoMueCLu2sD2w5wy5AYT2h2y0aVmFtPBXyYFZYNa40JY3RIxV8v3yNIIeIaSB_rWsdl31q6H3C7GeybUAmAUtlf3Ppz5fc0vWxj1GLApiiRkHJG9cJAQYlo89WE/s1600/Pissaladiere.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFovMlyy4fKNA73Ll-qoMueCLu2sD2w5wy5AYT2h2y0aVmFtPBXyYFZYNa40JY3RIxV8v3yNIIeIaSB_rWsdl31q6H3C7GeybUAmAUtlf3Ppz5fc0vWxj1GLApiiRkHJG9cJAQYlo89WE/s200/Pissaladiere.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pissaladière</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpPE45JAxAwjcKwyIODuwzA_2T1Jehq54nJpNQTmnsxF7wt1w5ldV3wu0XkTCCkxiaZzt27Im4cQoC6b1zD_074f1GlOsMgH5DqUJIrkEbFqJvpB-B3oZIxM8XAgmBsiKE-iAkearXMOo/s1600/Terrine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpPE45JAxAwjcKwyIODuwzA_2T1Jehq54nJpNQTmnsxF7wt1w5ldV3wu0XkTCCkxiaZzt27Im4cQoC6b1zD_074f1GlOsMgH5DqUJIrkEbFqJvpB-B3oZIxM8XAgmBsiKE-iAkearXMOo/s200/Terrine.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Terrine de Crustacés</td></tr>
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We started by ordering two relatively simple starters (we decided to leave the likes of foie gras, noix de St. Jacques or escargots for another occasion, as they all cost between 7.50 and 9.50 € and we decided we could just as well stay below 6 € with the starters): the <b>terrine de crustacés</b> (shellfish terrine, 5.90 €) and the <b>pissaladière </b>(a Provencal onion confit with tomatoes, anchovies and black olives on a thin layer of bread-dough, 4.90 €). Both portions were well presented and large for the price (and for the fact it was a French place, where you know the chef actually has an excuse to keep the portions miniscule). The pissaladière’s quality was quite good with the only complaint being too little anchovy-olive presence. The terrine was harder to comment, as it was just perfect. Everything about it was just right: it was delicious with the exact right taste of sea; its texture was smooth and pleasing and even the rouille that was served on the side was a perfect match. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpYM8Q76J0ZC5_C6DJtts_6Hd3R21Ot-_6ivYPOvBQsBc_nCzCSrcuAz5oDhWPnVnI7KNHJeNTF1EgPmq9loejduQmbaKSGILq8cVpVFu01GdwlFn50cIHFReB7YoCGtuCXwCecOPiYtY/s1600/ourguignon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpYM8Q76J0ZC5_C6DJtts_6Hd3R21Ot-_6ivYPOvBQsBc_nCzCSrcuAz5oDhWPnVnI7KNHJeNTF1EgPmq9loejduQmbaKSGILq8cVpVFu01GdwlFn50cIHFReB7YoCGtuCXwCecOPiYtY/s200/ourguignon.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bourguignon</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrgUaMV3C8mOWDhQRHH9UvWCg5LFlRA7i2wx4Ilv0sR59rg-U_W1r4gvqzUm36VXd7u7BYwZ3CgGx9YcEmstl1FAKfNINI4lp5eCf57zcAXMmoNNFtXOLzxBosjiwRjIFachH3xdHcC6Y/s1600/Creme.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrgUaMV3C8mOWDhQRHH9UvWCg5LFlRA7i2wx4Ilv0sR59rg-U_W1r4gvqzUm36VXd7u7BYwZ3CgGx9YcEmstl1FAKfNINI4lp5eCf57zcAXMmoNNFtXOLzxBosjiwRjIFachH3xdHcC6Y/s200/Creme.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crème Brulée</td></tr>
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If the starters were enough to teleport us to France, then the main courses were nothing less than a stroke of joy. We ordered the <b>bouillabaisse </b>(a fish and shellfish soup from Marseilles, served with croutons, rouille and cheese, 17.90 €) and the boeuf <b>Bourguignon de joues </b>(a Bourguigon made of veal cheeks, 13.90 €) together with a side of potato-olive-rosemary mash (for an additional 1.90 €). As both dishes came in their black, steamy iron casseroles, we could not help noticing that the quality was impressive even here. The bouillabaisse might not have been the best one I have ever had, but it was generous and refined. A Marseillais might frown a bit at it, but it was more than pleasing for our local Berliner circumstances. The Bourguignon was even more exciting. The meat was perfectly tender and the sauce was perfect. It was strong and refined at the same time – not originally so, Julia Childe wouldn’t mind eating it either. <br />
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What’s left? Oh, desserts. We went for the <b>crème brulée</b> (5.90 €) and the <b>tartelette au citron</b> (4.50 €). Both were no-bullshit-cookbook-standard desserts, which means they were not too original. And yet, both were perfectly executed, being perfectly tasty. The same applies to just about anything about La Cocotte – it is a standard French restaurant with all the froglike knots and bolts. If you can handle the French show aspect and want good-quality, to-the-point and in no way overpriced French food, La Cocotte’s team of squeaky waiters are waiting with just what you’re looking for!<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><b>Overall mark:</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnUsqoryvaYNEwKhGE3zITkETika3MbOsUlC3QgTQ4sTwt_vFFWnLfcTyz4tNtARUdbbzWpK09QSFN7AWwk7bC3VaapNfulkvppj2xTdmC1JqRvDfbzYckRbUfWVdE1zgCxQYzWj9wjeg/s1600/5pawss.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEign-2FobkNGrnId1GDUPNeU2Yzfpdc4-qF6A_hva3Jd5b8xN_P9pWzIKCxDhXKlaRcEwpgnElCZauQHDXdeEnI0W5YbmeWJl_5Z26bkxwjecB7gXFm1YY9jS8QKDolAMvK31pXxRCixoE/s1600/travels.jpg" /></a><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6QbnNsKjQqJux6SgP9d73ZIVp8lQQvHIUNbDA2FWsxBmUxe8G0K_noKBNHfVcZRBA4bkAe0mDPdPUIGNRa1aNKAC9znGt18naIGgBTWXgEP9oKI0kuiXHmvVqan5t10fdhddFmZdH3V0/s1600/parentss.jpg" /></a><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWlGAX352Dndh-8vCzasXsQrcMp3338sBDgLjECVhoD9tzHxfYWyE_TUGhsE2CaZsZso-yFjmD1B8MobzpIvbtVWtCf_9VtdTqozp71umn-Ny6EwFBOa92zYs9tiDuiTU6sxGrnbrrJt4/s1600/romances.jpg" /></a></div><div style="color: #660000;"><b>La Cocotte</b></div><b>Vorbergstraße 10, 10823 Berlin</b><br />
<b>http://www.lacocotte.de</b><br />
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<small><a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=embed&hl=en&geocode=&q=La+Cocotte,+Vorbergstra%C3%9Fe+10,+Berlin,+Germany&aq=t&sll=52.487589,13.337402&sspn=0.10223,0.300751&ie=UTF8&hq=La+Cocotte,&hnear=Vorbergstra%C3%9Fe+10,+Berlin+10823+Berlin,+Germany&ll=52.48906,13.35429&spn=0.006716,0.018797&z=14&iwloc=A&cid=8132857146619408172" style="color: blue; text-align: left;">View Larger Map</a></small>Itayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08034471312229143799noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4066884692504822785.post-39779657877806333652011-07-24T18:21:00.000+02:002011-07-24T18:21:53.337+02:00Comfort Week or Berlin's Mexican Spring<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Maria Bonita - Prenzlauer Berg </b></span><br />
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Every now and then, when everyone around me allows themselves to wallow in Berlin-nostalgia about those times before Berlin became hype and rents started rising, I like thinking of my first year in Berlin. It was ex-pat paradise. Everything was new, exciting and affordable. And Berlin was good to me. The peak of that year would probably have to be my obligatory ex-pat-romantic crisis, which I – together with two friends whom we shall call Sarah and Maura – exaggerated into oblivion in 7 days of the most exhilarating self pity otherwise known as Comfort Week. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju4tGvU5pbgZe3ZnFsabgBoAKtn2xWASYvAGSNaUpeFTn-Pq0dPDz_d30MjG0ZLuS_YigY8h6rxCuhtenZgM-6azMuwdcCsZ8zzfxAO7B0sI2-1EjaNEibfSn0QGfEcpsLzNLtdFfZDV4/s1600/Overall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju4tGvU5pbgZe3ZnFsabgBoAKtn2xWASYvAGSNaUpeFTn-Pq0dPDz_d30MjG0ZLuS_YigY8h6rxCuhtenZgM-6azMuwdcCsZ8zzfxAO7B0sI2-1EjaNEibfSn0QGfEcpsLzNLtdFfZDV4/s200/Overall.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>Why all three of us felt the need to seek solace in each other’s problems is beside the point. We all thought we had romantic issues that were greater than ourselves and enjoyed the drama involved in the combination of tears and ice cream. It was absolutely fantastic: we played Cowboys and Indians in the Tiergarten shooting plastic arrows at happy looking couples (while screaming “Die, Motherf%&ckers, Die! Another neurosis that will have to remain beside the point), we stuffed our face with buckets of ice cream, drank champagne in the middle of the day and decided we had to leave the country (which ended in a coach ride to Copenhagen and a hung-over half-marathon upon returning to Berlin). In one week, we did everything we wanted to without thinking of any ramifications, consequences or small hurdles in the way of acting on any of our young ex-pat whims. <br />
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This was the best of being an ex-pat in a city that offered you the cover of anonymity and the luxury of affordability. We discovered the downsides merely a week later. Maura was having a home sickness breakdown and it felt like we needed to console her with something she actually missed. Being a Southern Beauty, what she missed most was her car, apple pies and Mexican food. The latter had actually developed into an obsession. Maura would be able to work herself into rage tantrums because she had not had any guac and beans for any period of time. <br />
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So we tried to find a Mexican place. It was a mistake. Mexican restaurants in Berlin of yore were Teutonic variations on greasy meat and thick dough. None of them had ever heard of real avocados or spicy sauces. There were always mounds of Gouda and cream and a couple of bland beans on the side. If any, it only seemed to enhance Maura’s home sickness. <br />
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With these experiences etched deep into my memory, I could hardly believe it when American friends of mine recommended trying Maria Bonita on Danziger Straße, saying it was “just like in New York.” So there I went. <br />
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The place definitely looks like a typical hole-in-the-wall you would find in New York. The space is tiny and the only seating arrangements are a couple of bar stools inside or a few ramshackle picnic tables outside. The menu was one promising page of Mexican joy, the prices just right for the ambiance and for the area. <br />
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We started with a large guacamole (for 5 €, also available for half the price if you happened to crave the small version) and totopos (refried beans, 2.5 €). Both dishes were very generously served with copious amounts of corn chips. The guac was good. It was not the best one I have had in my life, but definitely the best I have tried in Berlin: made of real avocados with good seasoning. The totopos, on the other hand, were a bit dull (yet still a lot better than the usual excuse for beans you get in other so called Mexican places in Berlin).<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Starters</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnsyByfRFiIci7nn1AuKjJKnypxXoi4C5D7XAcr3kzv5mswPB6arhqcmmzv2tWtqcBe6ec5tUp5n0CwCEzp84RGSLEOSWwvkiNH_VhU1QOvtHHL65w9vTG2y_gNuxGbzp7Q-Sg1aNjvnk/s1600/Quesadilla+pollo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnsyByfRFiIci7nn1AuKjJKnypxXoi4C5D7XAcr3kzv5mswPB6arhqcmmzv2tWtqcBe6ec5tUp5n0CwCEzp84RGSLEOSWwvkiNH_VhU1QOvtHHL65w9vTG2y_gNuxGbzp7Q-Sg1aNjvnk/s200/Quesadilla+pollo.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Quesadilla de pollo</td></tr>
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We moved on to a burrito puerco especial with extra cheese (with marinated pork, guacamole, red salsa and chipotle cream for 7 €), a veggie quesadilla (with melted cheese, sheep cheese and chipotle cream for 6 €) and a quesadilla de pollo especial (with melted cheese and tinga de pollo for 7 €). The burrito was great fun. True, it was greasy and over laden with just about everything that can be subsumed under the title “too heavy”, but isn’t that exactly the purpose of eating a burrito? It was well seasoned (albeit could use a bit more spice) and really did feel like New York (yet not like the best ones in New York and not nearly anywhere close to California or down South, let alone Mexico). The quesadillas were fun as well, but not as good as the burrito. The veggie quesadilla was one big pile of melted cheese in-your-face, which can’t be bad, but did not much taste of anything else other than melted cheese (and left you with the sick feeling you get after inflicting unnecessary levels of pain on your stomach). The chicken quesadilla was slightly better, as it had more “stuff” in it, but it was still too blandly cheesy to be truly pleasing. This being said, it probably still is the best quesadilla in town.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggWIZPyV1B-d7mI5iZqeEkZaQk6Tv-wcq5cmZKFT8jtmn2IaXqDMuTSBueh5zWDf83bBmX-mxx04kterL2lito1ocety2qd4vuYU6rpbH4zE1vX-h_caHe8Dy5QN-UkdWek4oasG_wrTo/s1600/cheesequesadilla.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggWIZPyV1B-d7mI5iZqeEkZaQk6Tv-wcq5cmZKFT8jtmn2IaXqDMuTSBueh5zWDf83bBmX-mxx04kterL2lito1ocety2qd4vuYU6rpbH4zE1vX-h_caHe8Dy5QN-UkdWek4oasG_wrTo/s200/cheesequesadilla.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Veggie quesadilla</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn_12FnxExIMqVOgKU87lKvQZtBnreMtwvm7j1DnH24cjekJ5X9barsd2FQ3DRzn2_XAcQq-hpjYEUegjeTrGq0BR11ge6GNvsgHruZSjwsbBvLmhIIH_qlkl4pps5d25EyBtEG-DLl50/s1600/Burrito.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn_12FnxExIMqVOgKU87lKvQZtBnreMtwvm7j1DnH24cjekJ5X9barsd2FQ3DRzn2_XAcQq-hpjYEUegjeTrGq0BR11ge6GNvsgHruZSjwsbBvLmhIIH_qlkl4pps5d25EyBtEG-DLl50/s200/Burrito.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Burrito</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Maria Bonita is not the best Mexican in the world. I’m not sure I’d return there any day. But at least it’s a start. I would have given a lot to have it around six years ago, and I’m sure Maura would have done the same. Having a place that serves real guacamole would have saved our little ex-pat group serious pain and tears. Nonetheless, it will have to live with mere three prints. Being (probably) the best Mexican in Berlin is not all too difficult at the moment, and most of all, it still has work to do on improving that menu. More spice and more taste are required. A wee-bit of refinement might be an idea as well. <br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">Overall mark:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU2YYeAgD1FMspjCYqunCLMPykLKjFOEMv0xIKI9zPH5hqFwj5yLklRnDOzAZnMB6eVI-Ef8OynEfHKmmMbukL-ew_bv_Uu2WTf49nZNknzP87b90WZtPZSBU-oOPsHnSCZR1oCu5uPlA/s1600/3pawss.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_iTiwWz-40Jg9TsyynoFa9W31CEoEsY2xv6twadtomzYBqprLGUEWEBqRAkaWSqEKIL3NJOS1vdyip16wYyt3dsmBFbJvNlSx-n419WgnPrSHbTTLpRZhp2CyuV4bhDkRHHJpLU85bAs/s1600/friendss.jpg" /></a><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA9eL83s70b3mv54kLz4v-bEA8UFiN8RNMMxfI_3JfEbAqI0Raw-SDRd7mAbUWCEv4hQ9D2DmlwtmUkglYMQzlzSUbfThjA6HaxDKmdSRK3uYJEqP3xrOtF7ljydicHJtVTAT1CgMzW_U/s1600/tears.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<b style="color: #660000;">Maria Bonita</b> (not to be confused with its spin-off venue, <i>Maria Peligro</i> in Kreuzberg)<br />
<b>Danziger Straße 33, 10435 Berlin</b><br />
<b>http://www.lasmarias.de/bonita/home.html</b><br />
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<small><a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=embed&hl=en&geocode=&q=Maria+Bonita,+Danziger+Stra%C3%9Fe+33,+Berlin,+Germany&aq=0&sll=37.0625,-95.677068&sspn=37.819897,79.013672&ie=UTF8&hq=Maria+Bonita,&hnear=Danziger+Stra%C3%9Fe+33,+Berlin+10435+Berlin,+Germany&ll=52.54062,13.41808&spn=0.007099,0.01929&z=14&iwloc=A&cid=2546043006760572142" style="color: blue; text-align: left;">View Larger Map</a></small>Itayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08034471312229143799noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4066884692504822785.post-80141796346646051722011-07-19T16:15:00.000+02:002011-07-19T16:15:20.002+02:00Ace of Base Go Tapas<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Manuela - Neukölln</b></span><br />
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Do you remember the 90’s? I must say I rather liked the time. Everything was so nice and fuzzy back then. From the fall of Communism through the fall of the Tories all to the Peace Process in the Middle East, the world that surrounded me seemed to be under an unbreakable spell of optimism. It is hard not to miss a decade that produced wonders on the calibre of Belle & Sebastian, Fiona Apple and the grand Ace of Base... Oh, Eurotrash. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4p-GcXURwZS5zzhf_oaP51oDIXiaTGyBlaEYLKsYAuAc_CnmwLxXKkktk7CWBylQ8xc94h2PFPPH0k0ttFq8AofL6Ez5UwKvcaHNjT3Az4mFwo_IX0Om2yS6qLp7G4MhyVuUWoO4sf50/s1600/Sign.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4p-GcXURwZS5zzhf_oaP51oDIXiaTGyBlaEYLKsYAuAc_CnmwLxXKkktk7CWBylQ8xc94h2PFPPH0k0ttFq8AofL6Ez5UwKvcaHNjT3Az4mFwo_IX0Om2yS6qLp7G4MhyVuUWoO4sf50/s200/Sign.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>But the unmaking of the 90’s was sown with the very seed of their success. For those who looked hard enough (or for those – like myself – who take a moment and look back at their adolescent years with the intellectual tools acquired during hours of discussing Foucault, handbags and more Foucault on the benches of any faculty for cultural studies/history of art), signs predicting the downfall of capitalistic optimism were all around: Britney Spears, New Labour, tapas. <br />
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Tapas, you may ask? Well yes, tapas. Those jovially Spanish selections of small dishes. Take a hard look back at the end of the 90’s. What is it you’ll see, flickering there in front of your eyes at every street corner? Tapa bars, tapa meals, tapa everything. The fashion suddenly was about minimising dishes for maximising profits. Getting people to feel all Spanish by paying a fortune for potatoes in aioli. But let’s cut the political ball breaking crap for a second. This is a restaurant blog and not a stage for me to rant about the woes of modern capitalism. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5n-dqcy9k9yfY5uGdHYXGN59SJtc6zh4gSj3oV1HqxiyZg8u7HMLA9Mh5n-HvUVB3hsfRrS6pRNjPKwUKrBqb4zOjFRSOy3ZLcqYgh-gkcNR495I8jsUVDNhlPxf9UFeZvzQW98yp0tk/s1600/Overall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5n-dqcy9k9yfY5uGdHYXGN59SJtc6zh4gSj3oV1HqxiyZg8u7HMLA9Mh5n-HvUVB3hsfRrS6pRNjPKwUKrBqb4zOjFRSOy3ZLcqYgh-gkcNR495I8jsUVDNhlPxf9UFeZvzQW98yp0tk/s200/Overall.jpg" width="88" /></a></div>Yet the fact remains that I find it hard to take tapas seriously just because I cannot help thinking about them as a relic, a culinary fad from the 90’s. Every time I see a tapas bar, my brain gets me back to Bill Clinton saying “I did not have relations with that woman” with Ace of Base singing The Sign in the background. But tapas can be brilliant. At the end of the day, the problem is not tapas, it’s me. So trying to exorcise my tapa-demons, I decided to go to <b>Manuela</b>, a modern looking Spanish restaurant-café on <b>Friedelstraße</b>, Kreuzkölln’s culinary heart. <br />
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We sat outside on a balmy summer’s evening and were therefore unable to comment the music (even though I couldn’t blame them even if they did play Ace of Base. The Sign is one ace piece of music). Yet from the frequent walks to the toilet and to the bar, I can say the (surprisingly large) interior space is nicely done, walking on that line between a restaurant and a café with colours and furniture cosy enough to sit on, but comfortable enough to eat in. The service was friendly and the Spanish barwoman (who was also responsible for the tapas) had the ubiquitous Spanish mullet. <br />
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I ordered a glass of the red house wine (3.50€, bitterly heavy) and turned to look at the menu. It offered a fair choice of Spanish food, starting with tapas, moving to soups, Catalan meat dishes and sharing-classics along the paella lines. The menu’s size was just right, with enough choice for it to be interesting, yet not so much to make it less trustworthy. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8WMNYxebYPxxVEq6Tp88arV1iKRklIOMQsCvBRJV4p07jubBpMK50Qy-t30UK95F8mOXtJRlhicWtqeQJVOUGliULSaCJ2IBhhJSBGpTKZiKmaR1PwhGsiuYafAWWRmnjQP1M0KVWK4w/s1600/Tapas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8WMNYxebYPxxVEq6Tp88arV1iKRklIOMQsCvBRJV4p07jubBpMK50Qy-t30UK95F8mOXtJRlhicWtqeQJVOUGliULSaCJ2IBhhJSBGpTKZiKmaR1PwhGsiuYafAWWRmnjQP1M0KVWK4w/s200/Tapas.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tapas</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEOSUqLha_r45diMdP77J5eMBD59hcqdY5d4NrGI_Uo3rlvUykj5NlbwyCVTH2N0wO9T9XlFgUALXAszlT_XVxNsjzFiEm9RWx6YqPPeueQdXDf8EJtK8UqiY-NDLo7rogVGAK8wdxsCk/s1600/Pork1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEOSUqLha_r45diMdP77J5eMBD59hcqdY5d4NrGI_Uo3rlvUykj5NlbwyCVTH2N0wO9T9XlFgUALXAszlT_XVxNsjzFiEm9RWx6YqPPeueQdXDf8EJtK8UqiY-NDLo7rogVGAK8wdxsCk/s200/Pork1.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lomo Adobado</td></tr>
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The tapas are neatly priced at 2.60 € a unit, 5 units for 12 € and 7 units for 16 €. We were greedy and thus ordered the seven deal. We chose the chorizo, a courgette tortilla, salchichia, mushrooms with bacon, Catalan spinach, Catalan chick peas and meat balls. They were served promptly on a tray that was aesthetically pleasing and seemed fairly promising. The quality did not oscillate much between the dishes, all being fairly nice, but not downright inspiring. The meat balls were the best choice with a sweet tinge and a curiously appealing overall taste. The chorizo and the salchichia were both alright, with OK sausage quality and nice presentation. The chick peas and the spinach were both fairly good, served with a pleasing mix of vegetables. The champignons were well executed (no fuss involved) and last, but not least, the tortilla was very good: it was light (for a tortilla) and flavoursome.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv7ZRy-XN7vp7W5LnEG_eX5ci2m4UzU1yxzbALRU-Y1QSdn6OhazFqSECvP7R-O3w4VbcOXuwxOnymGDydMOVWX1i4waSYzCF_w1NXpPcIfGJgn3Nk4Hg6Bb9GY1NdWwvXYUg02hV1hNw/s1600/Pork2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv7ZRy-XN7vp7W5LnEG_eX5ci2m4UzU1yxzbALRU-Y1QSdn6OhazFqSECvP7R-O3w4VbcOXuwxOnymGDydMOVWX1i4waSYzCF_w1NXpPcIfGJgn3Nk4Hg6Bb9GY1NdWwvXYUg02hV1hNw/s200/Pork2.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Manuela Teller</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOoN1KHN2Y0RRrqPQ_Z7LwjTr2UIT0chJvEmLG7vWhGkakGCHbJs3p1QocXoEwsuqY-kXru7-hFkbdPddcf4GWmMrW3TC404j8RUpOR5ZQYHILsu9gQKFKv4_co8ivq0q8kp6T0L9IFSA/s1600/Crema.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOoN1KHN2Y0RRrqPQ_Z7LwjTr2UIT0chJvEmLG7vWhGkakGCHbJs3p1QocXoEwsuqY-kXru7-hFkbdPddcf4GWmMrW3TC404j8RUpOR5ZQYHILsu9gQKFKv4_co8ivq0q8kp6T0L9IFSA/s200/Crema.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crema Catalana</td></tr>
</tbody></table>We then continued to Manuela’s “Catalan Classics” and ordered the lomo adobado (pork loin, served with tomato jam, apple-cabbage salad and cerdanya – a version of rough mash with Savoy cabbage and ham, 8.90 €) and the Manuela plate (lomo adobado and smoked pork chop served with date and bacon skewers, apple-raisin compote, potatoes and red cabbage in red wine, 9.50 €). Both dishes were fairly similar: simple meat you don’t mind, but that you wouldn’t otherwise consider inspiring, served with intriguing, well presented and high quality sides. The ceradya with the tomato jam in the one dish and the date/bacon skewers with the apple raison compote in the other actually managed to turn dishes based on fairly boring slices of pork into a pleasing experience. We ended the meal with a crema catalana (the Spanish equivalent of a crème brulée, 3.70 €), which was large and well presented with the perfect balance between vanilla and that lemony tang, but alas, too watery. <br />
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Overall, Manuela was fun. It was a thoroughly decent experience, with well executed (and well priced) simple food with ups and downs. Some of the dishes had an edge to them that was both pleasing and promising. It would be nice if Manuela followed that edge and developed it into something even more satisfying, but even at the moment (and with the current prices, ambiance and service), it’s worth a visit. <br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">Overall Mark: </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoDfZTggV7knzjpmDO6fn-PyuKtl1dIWMSvpARsXFemEdyeV4nc3cQXaFp5Sqxs6Q3s2nKzihGmD9rUeiOyPyMXuVJj3i4peyS7TCKuyzOZMP1SSSmlLZyd01DQ51_WbhBoX0uusPihPY/s1600/4pawss.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1ELqELZbt_eg315dNncXMd4wEmnrHHmF8cB_hJ9ct4kmtguhETCSO7NHT27EHkKA4kAiwwQTUi00wfACJyY6_NTEqJbMrVDftnYhZu05nO5N7GqzgeNK-jO7gMal1wcGAt4LNaH3bGyo/s1600/friendss.jpg" /></a><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcY86XGKP7htFfG43C8Wy6bLxu1cou0NFZewcvtdwc3kWD4n1CaAcLfZF2CFZHWrLgVrV8-LpIxUyqI9VpnMrviPIbruJlYbuuOUxunTgMx8LSllTA7JqISJQDxBbe7iXOSFmDqUryDJA/s1600/travels.jpg" /></a><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9iylLZefN7ecCOKL70MiE-ZqVrZQhrQsv29DLg7ADczf7_CWYJRs_GYef5W3kTxsiMBg_h4KcUzpj9V_WXHwVf97TdcEIUAwPQI_kOD5K2QgcRqHzeFiZ0QfGffFBS8ijj7Qie4qdtCI/s1600/romances.jpg" /></a></div><div style="color: #660000;"><b>Manuela - Tapas</b></div><b>Friedelstraße 34, 12047 Berlin</b><br />
<b>www.manuelatapas.com</b><br />
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<iframe frameborder="0" height="350" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=en&geocode=&q=Manuela+Tapas,+Friedelstra%C3%9Fe+34,+Berlin,+Germany&aq=t&sll=37.0625,-95.677068&sspn=37.819897,79.013672&ie=UTF8&hq=Manuela+Tapas,&hnear=Friedelstra%C3%9Fe+34,+Berlin+12047+Berlin,+Germany&ll=52.493246,13.427948&spn=0.007107,0.01929&z=14&iwloc=A&cid=13390234497808340498&output=embed" width="425"></iframe><br />
<small><a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=embed&hl=en&geocode=&q=Manuela+Tapas,+Friedelstra%C3%9Fe+34,+Berlin,+Germany&aq=t&sll=37.0625,-95.677068&sspn=37.819897,79.013672&ie=UTF8&hq=Manuela+Tapas,&hnear=Friedelstra%C3%9Fe+34,+Berlin+12047+Berlin,+Germany&ll=52.493246,13.427948&spn=0.007107,0.01929&z=14&iwloc=A&cid=13390234497808340498" style="color: blue; text-align: left;">View Larger Map</a></small>Itayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08034471312229143799noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4066884692504822785.post-52057441928467031612011-07-02T20:39:00.001+02:002011-07-02T23:19:56.976+02:00Old Traditions Die Hard<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Altes Europa - Mitte </b></span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEqSz0jgw62H3r7pyqcRFwfpbiU1MZXm2L36wUbNSN1aTsnyptcRTKllQWxv80zg8UN4imsxMX2X4NC3Wmeu-xMq45-u6f7M3wdIc1YdSkQT_bOAOe7I5vHT4F-aPMH10b-ZtqU907vgQ/s1600/Outside.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="143" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEqSz0jgw62H3r7pyqcRFwfpbiU1MZXm2L36wUbNSN1aTsnyptcRTKllQWxv80zg8UN4imsxMX2X4NC3Wmeu-xMq45-u6f7M3wdIc1YdSkQT_bOAOe7I5vHT4F-aPMH10b-ZtqU907vgQ/s320/Outside.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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Considering the fact my life in Berlin is heavily based on lurking around in cafés and consuming copious amounts of cake, this blog has so far not been appreciative enough of one of the pillars of Berlin’s food culture: restaurant-cafés. Cafés with a real kitchen that serve real food. They are open all day long with most customers not necessarily showing up for the food, but rather for the coffee, cake and ambiance. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzzHgI-q_e_1rGrSCFBotF85PSqknkYCTt_UFayon7JmQtwjFq6SAlEqRkn6OsEJQhEMCMW937mB14aEHwpnpXdJSwjYSGaqEXAXJl3mioG-USBVVzwPE1uVeSiB7N6Bza6hmAnRprT4Q/s1600/Vibe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzzHgI-q_e_1rGrSCFBotF85PSqknkYCTt_UFayon7JmQtwjFq6SAlEqRkn6OsEJQhEMCMW937mB14aEHwpnpXdJSwjYSGaqEXAXJl3mioG-USBVVzwPE1uVeSiB7N6Bza6hmAnRprT4Q/s200/Vibe.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>One such place is <b>Altes Europa </b>on <b>Gipsstraße</b>. With the years it has become one of my favourite institutions in Mitte (mainly facilitated by the fact I had discovered it in my first year in Berlin and it has remained literally unaltered since). The café is one of the nicer, more accessible and less pretentious spaces one can still find in Mitte, with nice cake, good coffee, and pleasingly appealing ambiance. The furniture is dark with ornate wooden chairs and random marble tables, all aiming for a second-class vintage feeling. The walls are directly painted on with naff pictures pertaining to various aspects of the European nature, my favourite being a rough brush work of a (blondly European) couple fornicating over a table. <br />
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Ever since I discovered it on a dreary February afternoon, I have considered Altes Europa to be more or less the only acceptable option for a caffeine-laden tryst around Mitte. Yet over the years I have constantly failed to sample the café’s culinary end, and strangely enough not for lack of wanting. With lunch and dinner menus changing on daily basis and a selection of intriguing German/local cuisine, I’ve always wanted to check out what Altes Europa had to offer beyond its espresso machine. And so, after years of waiting, one of many coincidences made me find my there way on a Sunday evening last week.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGZ9rswq50klPQcW-tuWdcDW_8GT0bb2b1DSLnkx2rFeyIv5GEryiO5MxQAdDg3ZsOtp6XoNsASyVTG0DsBV9bwVATfPdL4kOUPzF1zRSXA_olKNATCvwQrhjdH_XRLM6_3G0uWB7A1nU/s1600/Inside.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGZ9rswq50klPQcW-tuWdcDW_8GT0bb2b1DSLnkx2rFeyIv5GEryiO5MxQAdDg3ZsOtp6XoNsASyVTG0DsBV9bwVATfPdL4kOUPzF1zRSXA_olKNATCvwQrhjdH_XRLM6_3G0uWB7A1nU/s200/Inside.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>The evening menu was shabbily written on a piece of xeroxed paper handed in to us by the bitter waiter. The selection of dishes was fairly limited, and we started by ordering the only real starter on the menu, which was the Suppe von jungen Karotten mit Sesam und Koriander (carrot soup with sesame and coriander, 3.50 €). A large portion of a fairly delicious luquidy substance with tiny bits of carrots in it, it was both aesthetically pleasing as well as tasty. <br />
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We then continued with the Riesen-Pffiferlingsravioli mit Spitzkohlgemüse und Gruyère überbacken (large chanterelle-raviolis, baked with pointed cabbage and gruyere for 7.90 €) and an entrecote (made of what was supposed to be Argentinean meat with avocado paste and rocket salad and sweet-potato mash for 14.50 €). I have to say I did not like the sound of either dish. The baked raviolis sounded like a random “look what I’ve got left in the fridge” ordeal and the avocado paste together with that sweet-potato mash sounded like something that wanted to be pretentious, but fell short of getting anywhere near high brow. The raviolis were what they sounded like: random. They reminded me of the good old “beggars can’t be choosers” days in Berlin, when restaurants came up with the strangest ideas of the most disturbing mixtures that usually tasted the same: two things that didn’t work together (in this case chanterelles and pointed cabbage) strewn with cheese and baked in some random oven. It looked like an alien on a plate. And yet, everything covered by cheese is good, and it’s even better when it’s cheap. The steak was surprisingly far better. The meat was decent, that Northern European version of guacamole was pleasing (don’t even try to compare it to the real thing, but you can’t really whinge too much when you get something made of real, fresh avocados) and the sweet-potato mash was downright delicious. Somehow I ended up not minding that bizarrely mind-boggling combination.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0yeTWmsJa97BueMviqlwHILWSA2Q1NG_71xX57q8yfckQKONK4JTEayBUMYEnnrXlQYeRxpYgODXASq-reqm_0hNW6nM4CUKOTEgJKSJRn-pgN9pl0Q4EkIvx0XiTfwzZDgGf9jS02N0/s1600/Soup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0yeTWmsJa97BueMviqlwHILWSA2Q1NG_71xX57q8yfckQKONK4JTEayBUMYEnnrXlQYeRxpYgODXASq-reqm_0hNW6nM4CUKOTEgJKSJRn-pgN9pl0Q4EkIvx0XiTfwzZDgGf9jS02N0/s200/Soup.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Soup</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzUNeZCK4Nbu_xbxXjUQqUCa7olNrQyXHPiXOYEhF54Kmt-Y4pHsZGsD7kLqvOcO-Do3FrN_7eq7CYIyXN91holDg14qon3ESreObGgnAdFALH7K5nAdfWMaNOvILwshL2DLzIw2WfEhc/s1600/Ravioli.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzUNeZCK4Nbu_xbxXjUQqUCa7olNrQyXHPiXOYEhF54Kmt-Y4pHsZGsD7kLqvOcO-Do3FrN_7eq7CYIyXN91holDg14qon3ESreObGgnAdFALH7K5nAdfWMaNOvILwshL2DLzIw2WfEhc/s200/Ravioli.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alien looking ravioli</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
The finale was the only dessert on the menu: Mango-yoghurt mousse with pistachios and grilled pineapple (for the price of 3.90 €). Another strange combination, I agree. We’ll start with the fact I absolutely despised gilled fruit. I find it to be a perversion I will never understand. But if you like grilled fruit and large desserts, you will like this one as well. The mousse was more than decent for the price and the pineapple was strangely juicy despite it being grilled.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNi9c28lHMHLM5he24CCq844z3v_FJs5MSPCwsvsrPHJe9Y_Zt3HrbLlADbQCtgVp9MfDaLd9aY0_HcW3at6OK_KMkzcVhsMzFtGVT0UqmIoCdjRq1VFvOGG6iWitqhR9rRErRElNYgtk/s1600/Entrecote.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNi9c28lHMHLM5he24CCq844z3v_FJs5MSPCwsvsrPHJe9Y_Zt3HrbLlADbQCtgVp9MfDaLd9aY0_HcW3at6OK_KMkzcVhsMzFtGVT0UqmIoCdjRq1VFvOGG6iWitqhR9rRErRElNYgtk/s200/Entrecote.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Entrecote</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidw_WNm_k7zkmZjJ-efWdt6KsxGYRY8lERkdHEBNRlhv9OtlEunSir88DWXCbb_V_In6pa44P9u2MkTDRrOfOYapbOsZO5ObBCzR8Sn7-hya0eNR91JHeGILma93ciTAQwKVFEB9YQQkI/s1600/Mousse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidw_WNm_k7zkmZjJ-efWdt6KsxGYRY8lERkdHEBNRlhv9OtlEunSir88DWXCbb_V_In6pa44P9u2MkTDRrOfOYapbOsZO5ObBCzR8Sn7-hya0eNR91JHeGILma93ciTAQwKVFEB9YQQkI/s200/Mousse.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mousse</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Bottom line: Altes Europa is a really nice place. The uninspiringly random dishes were well executed and the pricing was more than humane. I am not a fan of the menu selection, which would have otherwise left the place with solid three prints, but the pricing and the high quality of its ingredients (not to mention the place’s atmosphere) all convinced me to wiggle out a generous fourth.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">Overall mark: </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk89gTTJ1SwTigt2WalW_WLWThgLCjYvv1oWD09QVYdmOAkYNYZUQfIp-j_-km7dqcEXHBsAzzm4lrEbw61_yuGhNTiyqYFtS0pptklFdXcELq8-tBlzT7eLN4RgUwEJdlCvkh_4bPb8c/s1600/4pawss.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYjJZ6eDXPadbEPVwKjRN6DxR_Xt-nmPwnoxJe_PpgYT41vtN_BQR8fRbIozco2nzHTNjG5nqA4NkB1xeLd1locjwtQTvn01lY5rtzHbpy7fPQ_mGjeAGVn8mfFdBH289a0jFgvpqDVic/s1600/romances.jpg" /></a><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPRHc6_JeyTgxnLpqXfKAv6lMm_sH6il_6YTQCz10sqKKNTBSBWW9FuDAfN9sCCRYCFlP85KSZ3aX56HleG_OWcRJ4gGk-RCMCQ0yMyKur8w5-du3lXIsVSwgJcbyz49qaGbAw2Ht2Mzo/s1600/friendss.jpg" /></a><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifmccwc86viZx-d6sJGAgud1YPEopT8OyGYa2_t6cNYFbPs_lgiYebtCrQD-a2pUuR-14JWwc7qe7WmRkM6lXerpFXcdVMKEDKGkJ2nU3_Zs1tFNXHNj1MkArJ1Cf_m41tK5GxQEq3em0/s1600/travels.jpg" /></a><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJh-jt9Hypzr7VNILXOTwU4SyZ410n8retuovNucmNRSpPiC5g60hQfL20DrvtmD_iouaPpkJ2QWrqghBmHg_n8fX9OiH0_FIJpiPROiiTjd4DRaGOG_cSYnjSn6a3emwnF4V5uUvw66I/s1600/parentss.jpg" /></a></div><div style="color: #660000;"><b>Café Altes Europa</b></div><b>Gipsstraße 11, 10119 Berlin</b><br />
<b>Tel: +49 (0)30 2809 3840</b><br />
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<iframe frameborder="0" height="350" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://maps.google.com/maps?oe=utf-8&client=firefox&ie=UTF8&q=altes+europa+berlin&fb=1&hq=altes+europa&hnear=0x47a84e373f035901:0x42120465b5e3b70,Berlin,+Germany&cid=0,0,250620012190960933&ll=52.52649,13.40099&spn=0.006295,0.006295&iwloc=A&output=embed" width="425"></iframe><br />
<small><a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?oe=utf-8&client=firefox&ie=UTF8&q=altes+europa+berlin&fb=1&hq=altes+europa&hnear=0x47a84e373f035901:0x42120465b5e3b70,Berlin,+Germany&cid=0,0,250620012190960933&ll=52.52649,13.40099&spn=0.006295,0.006295&iwloc=A&source=embed" style="color: blue; text-align: left;">View Larger Map</a></small>Itayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08034471312229143799noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4066884692504822785.post-55168396780688218032011-06-24T21:03:00.000+02:002011-06-24T21:03:18.365+02:00Kreuzberg's Generalissimo<span style="font-size: large;"><b>La Tierra Colombiana - Kreuzberg </b></span><br />
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Germany is a do-it-yourself sorta place. If you can get something done on your own with half the costs (yet maybe double the pain), why would you ever take it to a specialist? And so, every time I hand in my bike to the bike shop with a flat tire, I find myself apologising for not being able to repair it myself. In restaurants, I’ve often found myself fending off criticism along the line of “sowas hätte ich selber kochen können” – I could have cooked that myself. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsWD033jEcBDQm2gz5aO50czyb3VL6FMhCdmhBPSxW04umyaQYDmefKJWDooer6obpZy0QIlBd7_OkHCyH5asomr0f4iIfoddNCWD1tXxu6Hcjw07FOcUlnqxcV5N8kp-f9eP81lNm8Wc/s1600/Overall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsWD033jEcBDQm2gz5aO50czyb3VL6FMhCdmhBPSxW04umyaQYDmefKJWDooer6obpZy0QIlBd7_OkHCyH5asomr0f4iIfoddNCWD1tXxu6Hcjw07FOcUlnqxcV5N8kp-f9eP81lNm8Wc/s200/Overall.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>To be fair, being able to cook as well as what you get at any restaurant is NOT the point. With all due humility, I am able conjure up just about anything as well – if not better – than a fair share of the places around. But going to a restaurant is not about what I could do, but rather about what someone else does for me. It is about not needing to shop for groceries, stand in the kitchen for hours, get your finger chopped off (strangely enough not something that happens to me too often), clean up and do the dishes. Someone else is supposed to do all this for me, treat me nicely and serve me brilliant food in good ambiance. Restaurants are to food like what bike shops are to bikes. If you want to slave around your bike and repair it yourself, be my guest, but isn’t it a lot nicer to pay a bit more and get someone else to get their hands dirty for you? <br />
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I don’t necessarily mind the “saving costs” concept. It has allowed me to learn how to do things myself. And yet, I often find it being one of the many root causes of the problem called Service in Berlin (or lack thereof). Because you see, if everything is so do-it-yourself friendly, then why on earth pay that extra buck for something called “service”? This way, the only thing that counts is the product, whereas friendliness and helpfulness find their way into the rubbish bin of history. <br />
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So far so good. We have all ranted about the abysmal quality of service found in Berlin and we have all braced ourselves countless numbers of times and accepted grudgingly the fact that we would never be able to change any of it. I, for once, know I have accepted the rules. I’ve stopped ranting about bad service. I just frown at horrible waitresses and cringe quietly in my seat. <br />
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And yet, what I experienced last week was far beyond the usual drab service Berliners have grown accustomed to. To be fair, and this may appear naïve to experts, I actually expected friendly and hearty service at <b>La Terra Colombiana</b> on Mittenwalder Straße, just between Gneisenaustraße and Mehringdamm. The place is a cross breed between a shop for South Americans who miss their dulce de leche and a small restaurant for all the rest of us. Like a fair number of venues around that area, it is situated in a basement level shop, which would be perfect for winter, but probably not the best choice for a sunny evening. <br />
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As we entered the restaurant, we were greeted by the landlady’s brisk “hola”. It did not take us long to see she reigned over her kingdom with an iron fist and after a few minutes we decided there were many similarities between her demeanour and what we had all heard of South American generals. Generalissimo did not smile, did not answer questions (“could you please tell me what bandeja paisa means?” “It is all written on the menu!”) and generally speaking – had an impatiently militaristic attitude towards the entire concept of service. It seemed to be the same case in Spanish with a group sitting at the next table. Justice be done, though, she was very professional – just not all too pleasant. <br />
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After the first service shock, we turned to scrutinise the menu, which was as promising as it was “exotic”. Even though most of the dishes were fairly simple, I soon realised Columbian cuisine was one of the few I had known absolutely nothing about. It seemed to be heavily based on meat (and heavily fried pork-belly), beans and a root called maniok. My only problem was that I had very little to compare it to.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJNFrbhE0lBJHTbHq9vEvMHsVXDVf1k0HnGynVNH862o87VeJ5SX-dc90ZZmfAhpbSfJJREPkzknQ86MA7UTDVivFsGM1qXUq7VtYjUBl4f0ZJ00jxJzJKf6mGvG7c_ArKBHWyXTApeGw/s1600/Starters.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJNFrbhE0lBJHTbHq9vEvMHsVXDVf1k0HnGynVNH862o87VeJ5SX-dc90ZZmfAhpbSfJJREPkzknQ86MA7UTDVivFsGM1qXUq7VtYjUBl4f0ZJ00jxJzJKf6mGvG7c_ArKBHWyXTApeGw/s200/Starters.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Starters</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBZyGeW6bRaPLZcidW0oibhgGze3MzdYF3U2z_UCdSyPxS_nSibtTkekGt4P09tDOS0MUq7Odv8jEvtOcYMMwKi-e8w-o1T3sgKR3kB2O6OQOuKiOi7SIKC-s2C0iENkKwlanb-IAw7f4/s1600/Soup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBZyGeW6bRaPLZcidW0oibhgGze3MzdYF3U2z_UCdSyPxS_nSibtTkekGt4P09tDOS0MUq7Odv8jEvtOcYMMwKi-e8w-o1T3sgKR3kB2O6OQOuKiOi7SIKC-s2C0iENkKwlanb-IAw7f4/s200/Soup.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sancocho paisa</td></tr>
</tbody></table>We started with the <b>picada mixta</b> (mixed starters’ platter for 12.50 €). The presentation was visually appealing and the quality was not too bad either. It contained empanadas (with and without meat) which were alright, the ubiquitous fried pork-belly, which was fine for what it was, maniok with its dip, which was interesting (maniok tastes of a mash-up between a potato and a root with more fibres than flesh) and a chorizo, which was frankly quite divine. I have rarely enjoyed eating sausage that much. The platter was a promising start. <br />
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We then continued with a <b>sancocho paisa</b> (a potato-based soup with chicken, plantain and maniok, 8 €) and a <b>bandeja latina </b>(a mixed meat platter with chunks of meat of pork, chicken and beef, pork belly and chorizo accompanied by more maniok with dip, 14.90 €). The soup was simple, but hearty and rich. The ingredients worked well together and the seasoning was thoroughly pleasing (with an overriding taste of coriander). The meat platter was a bit more disappointing. Even though we tried to ask the generalissimo whether it would be a good choice, she did not provide any information, which in its turn happened to lead to ordering a main course not all too different to the starter. The chorizo was still divine, the pork belly was still amusing, the maniok still interesting. The chunks of meat were alright, but far from exciting. For the price of just about 15 €, the quality could have been a tad more convincing.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCDxYv0DQoB_GAT-JuPchrJx9SHJZgeCWn1LIRu3DFwJnUxQOEm98LXu3ZH4rOj29ZT8o9MCH3hdFsKJ4LenHXRJpCdncjdYukvcWEuF3n_TEC9S_OMcOUtKYDam82kq0JTDzRl4fWggI/s1600/Meat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCDxYv0DQoB_GAT-JuPchrJx9SHJZgeCWn1LIRu3DFwJnUxQOEm98LXu3ZH4rOj29ZT8o9MCH3hdFsKJ4LenHXRJpCdncjdYukvcWEuF3n_TEC9S_OMcOUtKYDam82kq0JTDzRl4fWggI/s200/Meat.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bandeja latina</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnZ2cYAPRODoMQRi8Ncp6y4N3AFU0OsdgUsLerSRwC9lCGH5564GJjlIrVh6zGkXyIN2ZHyfFdh03GKCWypceMlPcXMDsbmqd-6Smgb806qwq3p60H_x11C2hKaLD8vKQraBbIJvFdsEg/s1600/Dessert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnZ2cYAPRODoMQRi8Ncp6y4N3AFU0OsdgUsLerSRwC9lCGH5564GJjlIrVh6zGkXyIN2ZHyfFdh03GKCWypceMlPcXMDsbmqd-6Smgb806qwq3p60H_x11C2hKaLD8vKQraBbIJvFdsEg/s200/Dessert.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fig, cheese, arequipe</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The dessert section was pretty manoeuvrable, as all possible desserts were based on varying combinations between three elements: fig conserve, cheese and arequipe (a sort of dulce de leche). We decided to take all three for the price of 3.90 €. The fig was sweet, the cheese was utterly tasteless and the arequipe was yummy. The mixture was fairly nice, but not very inspiring, considering all three elements had just made their way from a box directly onto the plate. I guess a Columbian ex-pat would see it differently, but as the dessert did not trigger any warm memories of places on the other side of the Atlantic, it was all less than convincing. <br />
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The bottom line: <b>La Tierra Colombiana </b>is a tough case for an assessment. The overall quality was not bad and the food presentation was definitely pleasing. Not being very familiar with Columbian food, it had that added value of discovering something fairly new to me. And yet, the service was problematic to say the least and the prices too high for the quality (especially the meat). It is one of these places one should check out at least once, but not necessarily return to. <br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">Overall mark:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJbwupIBGKTSrnszE2gk9wM4WlD9wfT0Jk4_515OFtiI-zXOrSoSC1wqQUs1M-rQ1uRMYbbos0i6KswKmT__ouAlRMFJ5VUnO_cOrINplaLGxgjZvyhXVWURgMn6dDN9oaDVcwjQpeTq4/s1600/3pawss.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBgFcfQWClvQa2DdZcEmgX_2ug9yK6GBZk5Wm3vsuYymi8g62wUyPzt7Tcgr7EKJpKO2NQnXc4xNggKmZZTkn7MeTsMyHZceLsc2FArj0sTP8Cqu6-ggiJ5VkDfZj-3Bhh7n09pXv3lQg/s1600/friendss.jpg" /></a></div><b style="color: #660000;">La Tierra Colombiana</b><br />
<b>Mittenwalder Straße 27, 10961 Berlin</b><br />
<b>www.tierra-colombiana.com </b><br />
<br />
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<small><a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=embed&hl=en&geocode=&q=la+tierra+colombiana,+mittenwalder+stra%C3%9Fe+27,+berlin,+deutschland&aq=&sll=37.0625,-95.677068&sspn=34.038806,76.640625&ie=UTF8&hq=la+tierra+colombiana,&hnear=Mittenwalder+Stra%C3%9Fe+27,+Berlin+10961+Berlin,+Germany&ll=52.490221,13.395971&spn=0.006295,0.006295" style="color: blue; text-align: left;">View Larger Map</a></small>Itayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08034471312229143799noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4066884692504822785.post-28150940603706430632011-06-10T17:11:00.000+02:002011-06-10T17:11:08.538+02:00Turkish Delight<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Mercan - Kreuzberg </b></span><br />
<br />
Parents are strange creatures. And stranger still is how often we can anticipate each and every one of their reactions. And yet, the strangest of all is how we – after dozens of years around them – still let these reactions get to us. My father is easiest to anticipate in restaurants. He has very clear tastes and preferences. They start and end with the word “simplicity”.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpLvauY3Y2LEJSnnxayWyI_3Jygr-O5cj4_GDAMr-a4HffNZnafBaaWQ5J4cKM9bOtEJKyXN6tK2HBtUMcnZoFW0MzSgdSDM5CFSNn08jpqi2HeiKfNFiE0WFQbMq-61ADan7GCsZ0Okk/s1600/Garden.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpLvauY3Y2LEJSnnxayWyI_3Jygr-O5cj4_GDAMr-a4HffNZnafBaaWQ5J4cKM9bOtEJKyXN6tK2HBtUMcnZoFW0MzSgdSDM5CFSNn08jpqi2HeiKfNFiE0WFQbMq-61ADan7GCsZ0Okk/s200/Garden.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>Everything that is not “simple”- which might mean dimmed lights, a structured menu and superfluously agreeable design - is quickly branded with the annihilating Hebrew umbrella term “faltzany”, which literally translates to the adjective form of “farting through one’s teeth”. For the sake of transgenerational fairness, I should state that this is a fairly modern word (unlike the rest of my father’s Hebrew vocabulary, which usually remains a relic from the jolly 1970’s, when Israelis still wore khaki trousers and wrote songs about peace). The only thing is that my dad uses it generically to slag off whatever he might dislike or consider as too middle class. <br />
<br />
My own interaction with my father is usually based on feeble attempts to hide the fact I have become an espresso-drinking-blog-writing-twat who likes working in cafés – unmistakeably middle class to the bone. Making it work requires the right background, which is to take him to places he’d like: family owned cheap restaurants with good and hearty food. Plastic flowers and strip lights are only an advantage set in place to put him at ease. And yet, even with Berlin’s abundance of Eckkneipen, finding a down-to-earth place that actually serves good food is quite a challenge. <br />
<br />
Which is why I was bound to end up at <b>Mercan </b>on <b>Wiener Straße</b> at some point. Never has there been a place so perfect for a father-son talk as Mercan. It is one of the few accessible places left in Kreuzberg that remind you the place had originally been a Turkish neighbourhood. The space inside is generous, with over two rooms decorated with the best colourful overdose of oriental kitsch you’d find in living rooms of the likes of my aunt (whose porcelain dole collection epitomises her life’s work). It all seems to be just right – the bright lights, the plastic flowers, the mirrors and the colours. It is just right.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqhU43lhBFiAz2Wo7vYGJQFbwr7rhuySo2EeUasMn4Zk4pD815X9XwcmrDoD4WeN-bYWiSWNOv0wdY3LF5_G1VRdpUCB7X01EBeWRdcDhSqRN8p7qcexVGq0XwOhDRrsWio8zeqYqFiMc/s1600/Flowers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqhU43lhBFiAz2Wo7vYGJQFbwr7rhuySo2EeUasMn4Zk4pD815X9XwcmrDoD4WeN-bYWiSWNOv0wdY3LF5_G1VRdpUCB7X01EBeWRdcDhSqRN8p7qcexVGq0XwOhDRrsWio8zeqYqFiMc/s200/Flowers.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
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It was a warm summer’s evening though. We chose to sit in the improvised garden outside and went inside to order. Dinner is based on a fixed-rate menu of <b>6 €</b> that includes one main course to be chosen from a collection of promisingly steamy pans, a side of either rice or bulgur and another small dish from the display case, which can be either a salad (tomato salad or yoghurt dip) or a dessert (either sütlac, kompot or revani). Any additional element costs one Euro. Now that’s a pleasingly simple system.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4RMzJuYFAy4DMNRc-B3Cv3IuhlH7eRRS7XtxwPHFGTRHYv2B3jjGq3CJI-J3e8MC8u5UtCubO2yS6DLw91zASbYKCH1VrBmaPPZBXR3-gjBAh3pkxgoBM3IEzxfEtitv5Ga8q99H4cU4/s1600/Aubergine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4RMzJuYFAy4DMNRc-B3Cv3IuhlH7eRRS7XtxwPHFGTRHYv2B3jjGq3CJI-J3e8MC8u5UtCubO2yS6DLw91zASbYKCH1VrBmaPPZBXR3-gjBAh3pkxgoBM3IEzxfEtitv5Ga8q99H4cU4/s200/Aubergine.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aubergine</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPI5o65UXGyueOVkp5cbuEGgM51dRFqws_k2SKkk9CWcts58NKy7Ev0nHLatifG-SKviCZmQq2HwWvrVXfoSRjsGXlG51-Cq38tZqXe5UUhsw-r1Dw1pdpZCaSEji8-lNDBT7GwpL9QrY/s1600/Meatballs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPI5o65UXGyueOVkp5cbuEGgM51dRFqws_k2SKkk9CWcts58NKy7Ev0nHLatifG-SKviCZmQq2HwWvrVXfoSRjsGXlG51-Cq38tZqXe5UUhsw-r1Dw1pdpZCaSEji8-lNDBT7GwpL9QrY/s200/Meatballs.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Meat balls</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Our main courses were meatballs in yoghurt sauce and a stuffed aubergine, both with a side of bulgur. We then had a tomato salad, a revani (sweet semolina cake drenched in rose water) and a sütlac (rice pudding) for dessert. Everything had a pleasingly high quality. The meatballs were tasty and the yoghurt sauce was rich and savoury with a touch of spiciness that enriched its general taste. The aubergine was good as well: soft and juicy with flavoursome filling. The sütlac was good, assuming the person eating it was into it (I personally think that rice pudding is one of the most repulsive inventions made by man, but I was assured by my partner in crime that it was good quality Turkish rice pudding, which is generally softer than the Greek or German ones). I enjoyed the rivani very much as well. It was soft and pleasing and it kicked the sugar level in my blood up to levels I do not wish to imagine. <br />
<br />
Next time my father finds his way to Berlin I will have to take him to dinner at Mercan’s. The food was basic and far from being a revelation, but it was a throroughly pleasant experience with high quality, firendly service and stuffed bellies as a result. It felt like the right place to appreciate Turkish food.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">Overall mark: </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIvsZxRSM3wvMLefsqm8PyHkufVYrJtqjwsP3fbVRKUX82WRBaKsFG1Nq6zs3NUb7aNOAvyWLNc1078XRL2PTfAM2YiKH6IChScxpOwVWugoG_M7UJGhNyt2iNtV4PpF-4-CLSrzcxGDY/s1600/4pawss.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFxaOR0mnTwf7TPr7NbULMgmxLj_OcQC_3pdg2Bba0qXtezGSF2BXcQglD7Qk6dCnLMXneEacqUoWGb89iQR2SPBHAwOZ7XHpjwmEo-KhtsCIY3i9HL8Rw2Mjf2bLtcUxvd2VD-EF39q0/s1600/tears.jpg" /></a><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP1kg0-iVS0kt9pnFP24GiYCqhXsQ7Iaa-72nh2Jsyd89WOEQiMR-Pnl2CsqSbrMWtja1BhfvRzA9hOnBBNuAZfyQtvuwrGx-UaE6_JGCy3YqR1ljjPKiq9jPLpFF6U7eIDGQPDoKxVCw/s1600/friendss.jpg" /></a><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj57a7W_9-0APHkZJxwRo8-zieEpGSr_OWY5nkmgSfkJaN5vuUvdbnnttePSgbd7ro2XAXjaDjUon_7HY7PfYCNwJYL4T_dJZknp3Qdct_77wDZQ-RLWhZT99MV5JEYzHwgPgD1Q-JKR2Q/s1600/travels.jpg" /></a></div><div style="color: #660000;"><b>Mercan</b></div><b>Wiener Straße 10, 10999 Berlin</b><br />
<b>Tel: +49 (0)30 612 85841</b><br />
<br />
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<small><a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=embed&hl=en&geocode=&q=Mercan+Restaurant,+Wiener+Stra%C3%9Fe+10,+Berlin,+Deutschland&aq=0&sll=37.0625,-95.677068&sspn=36.315864,79.013672&ie=UTF8&hq=Mercan+Restaurant,&hnear=Wiener+Stra%C3%9Fe+10,+Berlin+10999+Berlin,+Germany&ll=52.4985,13.42787&spn=0.006295,0.006295" style="color: blue; text-align: left;">View Larger Map</a></small>Itayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08034471312229143799noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4066884692504822785.post-42167321025380626382011-06-03T14:00:00.001+02:002011-06-03T14:07:25.822+02:00Knowing Nina (Greek Galore)<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Ousies - Schöneberg</b></span><br />
<br />
Studying in Paris, I got acquainted with a number of characters I would not have met otherwise. Amongst them was a young man who always scribbled down the word “Prince” under the field “profession”, a girl who often arrived in tears because her parents would not allow her to employ more than three cleaning ladies for her 700 square meter flat (which they had maliciously bought for her in a posh suburb rather than in the city centre) and then there was Nina. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHjzp6LqEMykRCeebzG8-C8GEAVFyx8102dG7EBRhnGWSuxRHhfNXiUwgQI5n06HDJE2UXWSduKXoN1l4Xt6mol4hfYb8Hzi4mYewOuXe8i08oHC6SayelyPCP88ujWvg4uaOfqyyo4Xw/s1600/Overall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHjzp6LqEMykRCeebzG8-C8GEAVFyx8102dG7EBRhnGWSuxRHhfNXiUwgQI5n06HDJE2UXWSduKXoN1l4Xt6mol4hfYb8Hzi4mYewOuXe8i08oHC6SayelyPCP88ujWvg4uaOfqyyo4Xw/s200/Overall.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>She was a mousy girl; quiet, timid and fairly introvert. Being Greek, she spoke French with an accent most of our fellow students frowned at. It was not entirely simple to become friends with her, yet I liked her and we got along very well from the very beginning. It did not take a genius to realise we had grown up in different circumstances and with different values. We were interested in different things and reacted differently to just about every possible situation. And yet we did not enquire too much into each other’s backgrounds. Knowing she had come from a very sheltered home was more than enough.<br />
<br />
I learned more about her on a spring day after an excruciating set of exams and presentations. We needed a walk in the polluted Parisian air to get over the day’s traumatising start and we began by wandering aimlessly between some of Paris’s most expensive shopping streets. On more than one occasion, Nina would see a shoe she fancied in one of the shop windows and without blinking would then step decisively into the shop and come out two minutes later with a completed transaction and a colourful bag in her hands. I did not ask how she was able to afford any of it, as my mother had told me it was not polite to talk about money. Every now and again, however, Nina would murmur an undecipherable sentence about her father needing to wire her shoe money. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_O3PBeO4FuJPLEZtoMp8kqL5VgLgYlFdyZ1t85R1jaoP_joZhIu__QvFBEUUyruPeQ9k3_pJt0VDNdUr1W1G28O70EzT9PgIvxkQbY7xMejW2hyBtdT_yCZKP3jpkcbX1wMR1aPtvH_Q/s1600/Window.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_O3PBeO4FuJPLEZtoMp8kqL5VgLgYlFdyZ1t85R1jaoP_joZhIu__QvFBEUUyruPeQ9k3_pJt0VDNdUr1W1G28O70EzT9PgIvxkQbY7xMejW2hyBtdT_yCZKP3jpkcbX1wMR1aPtvH_Q/s200/Window.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>As the day came to a close and we were both getting hungry, Nina suggested food and asked me whether I knew a nice place. I proposed an Indian restaurant I knew behind Gare du Nord and we began making our way northwards in silence, which was not our usual state. A few minutes later it was Nina who broke it by saying she had never before been anywhere around Gare du Nord and that she was afraid. “Is it dangerous? Are there any... you know... strange people over there?” <br />
“It’s alright,” I shrugged. “I’ve never had any problems over there.” <br />
“Oh, OK,” replied Nina, not too sure about whether to trust me or not. “But I heard there were Arabs up there.” <br />
I shrugged again. I did not like these conversations and could do without another one of her lectures about why Greeks felt unsure around Muslims and why I should not put her in danger. We had already had that same conversation a few times before. The girl should grow up, I thought. My sense of conviction did not seem to put her at any ease though. A few minutes later she asked whether Indian food was hygienic. <br />
“You see,” she began, “I’ve never had any of it before.” <br />
“Oh... it’s fine. It will be an experience.” Which it was. Upon entering the place Nina wanted to turn on her heel and run away as fast and as far away as possible. Her eyes balls seemed to want to pop out of their holes and every little muscle on her body twitched in utter panic. I made her stay though, as she kept staring at the mainly Indian crowd sitting around us. <br />
<br />
But she liked the food. She kept on nodding in pure amazement, whispering she would never have imagined she could like it. <br />
“You see,” she said, “I’ve never liked anything besides Greek food.” It was my turn to stare at her in pure amazement. Thinking she had lived in Paris for such a long time and that she had been able to afford buying pairs of shoes for a few thousands of Euros in one afternoon, it did not strike me finding good food in Paris would be all too difficult. <br />
And yet, to her it was. It turned out she was a billionaire’s daughter. She had lived in a sheltered Greek paradise with access to every shoe brand on the face of the planet, but food diversity had never been all too high on her shopping list. To be fair, she did not enjoy discovering new food stuff. She just liked the homey feeling Greek food gave her. <br />
<br />
After this evening, as more and more of our conversations turned to the subject of food, Nina would spend more and more time describing the wonders of the Greek cuisine. I was not always convinced, but these long stories about the abundance of meat served in a friendly atmosphere she obviously missed in Paris made me think of Greek food as a potentially utopian thing. As I later realised most Greek restaurants in the countries I lived in were of the greasy-and-bland type, I started recalling Nina’s descriptions ever more often as an alternative for the actual unspectacular quality I was otherwise confronted with.<br />
<br />
And then last week, I was time to try out a new restaurant with a friend from Paris which somehow evoked the memory of Nina. The bizarre association called for trying out a Greek restaurant and we opted for Ousies on Grunewaldstraße in Schönberg, having heard it was a lot better than the <a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/search/label/Greek">average Greek experience</a> in Berlin (little birds usually whisper in a cacophony, the place is always crowded. Reservation recommended). <br />
<br />
We sat outside, which was nice in itself, but even if we had decided to sit inside, it would not have been any worse, as the usual columns and Zeus figurines are pleasingly absent from the large indoor space. Instead, the restaurant looks like a scene from a retro film about 1960’s Italy with pink walls, light tables and endearingly overused tablecloths.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbqhF-ASj4mjId5c59rbBMrPJRwsh1BYN0_y8gTBCj33R_EBuBHYm8KeYw3bfyf4HbyT3OFhscxsuw2RHgwBnHr9wlfC45NyUiMXYP9rOz1Cf0SZtXuVpFezYw1Nuh9k6QyCA17MeAUKA/s1600/Starters.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbqhF-ASj4mjId5c59rbBMrPJRwsh1BYN0_y8gTBCj33R_EBuBHYm8KeYw3bfyf4HbyT3OFhscxsuw2RHgwBnHr9wlfC45NyUiMXYP9rOz1Cf0SZtXuVpFezYw1Nuh9k6QyCA17MeAUKA/s200/Starters.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Starters</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCcLhBPAjDEdRKEOm1Jod4rQcdXz-4sXptAcsQsf_4JrJefQDwXpRBvP8ZZPfp0lA4N0k6mnreS5ax14OWxa6RtKqIN5u9IrUujTa5kbVxgu0zvr4XvGRC9pbMp4K5xYOzmfuxsYB_nhU/s1600/Beans.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCcLhBPAjDEdRKEOm1Jod4rQcdXz-4sXptAcsQsf_4JrJefQDwXpRBvP8ZZPfp0lA4N0k6mnreS5ax14OWxa6RtKqIN5u9IrUujTa5kbVxgu0zvr4XvGRC9pbMp4K5xYOzmfuxsYB_nhU/s200/Beans.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beans and sausage</td></tr>
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The two of us were soon overwhelmed by a menu long enough to keep an army eating for a good week. Moreover, it was more expensive than most Greek restaurants in Berlin. This called for a clear strategy and we decided to order a number of “representative” dishes. The starters we opted for were the eleosalata (slices of tomatoes covered with olive paste and a slice of goat’s cheese, 5.00 €), dolmadakia (those stuffed vine leaves, served warm for 7.30 €) and gigantes me loukaniko (large white beans in tomato sauce with slices of Greek sausage, 6.50 €). All were very good quality. The vegetarian starter was fresh, the dolmas had the right consistency and a very distinct taste and the beans were just beans with very good chunks of sausage. And yet, it felt like paying a lot of money for what was – at the end of the day – just very simple food.<br />
<br />
The main courses went along the same line. We ordered mousakas (a dish based on layers of minced meat, potatoes and aubergines, 13 €) and a bifteki gemisto (a minced steak with a cheese-pepper-tomato filling served with a side of potatoes, 12 €). The mousakas was very authentic – it was a simple, hearty dish with the right seasoning and the right amount of grease. The bifteki was too heavy to be pleasing, but the meat was well seasoned. The side of potatoes was utterly dry and not very appealing.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguEIhXMHR04KUfmh3TuuIJbWSs2HALgyPyLEhR0Nk5awXcEkVwYZ75w5OYsP_W5jGF5RSMuH2BcTN8RUZmdSMPQozpVYiWJuv2dF7Ty3M9SekZHKHSF1ZjKWHPeKtYynyyElOqzna3mCM/s1600/Mousaks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguEIhXMHR04KUfmh3TuuIJbWSs2HALgyPyLEhR0Nk5awXcEkVwYZ75w5OYsP_W5jGF5RSMuH2BcTN8RUZmdSMPQozpVYiWJuv2dF7Ty3M9SekZHKHSF1ZjKWHPeKtYynyyElOqzna3mCM/s200/Mousaks.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mousakas</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIrMYROH671IUVJ77p6XBnsk6hv5WmBMyvm5joNr8IRSWBOSDWXSKVKCvOshJXnEcCoU4elJx-uPgUaESQcyodlNrp_BcbxJbrH6-sIZgHyZuE9SVXKzd1O3R-p6yw7MiCNl63CFC2R34/s1600/Bifteki.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIrMYROH671IUVJ77p6XBnsk6hv5WmBMyvm5joNr8IRSWBOSDWXSKVKCvOshJXnEcCoU4elJx-uPgUaESQcyodlNrp_BcbxJbrH6-sIZgHyZuE9SVXKzd1O3R-p6yw7MiCNl63CFC2R34/s200/Bifteki.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bifteki gemisto</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
We left with bloated bellies and mixed feelings. Generally speaking, the food quality was pretty impressive compared to every other Greek restaurant I’ve been to in Berlin. And yet, the otherwise well known Berliner pattern of excellent starters and less inspiring main courses repeated itself even here. Moreover, even though the quality was definitely a bit better than anywhere else, the prices were also a lot higher, which was not necessarily justified by the fact that the food was not yet “amazing” or “inspiring”. If you are like Nina and crave Greek food in big portions – Ousies is probably one of the best choices around. If not, there are other things to get through an evening.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">Overall mark:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwHVTwozDm4QG_CaysESAMhqoYuFn4PXnGc0TC-DjFbHSM3x3J-rkqBrTIcT8ejPhXHqdhvKC9WJSlUBE_Rx6zBDw_-eNvaWe8Tzvi7lN9he8OAtU80GW8rbHJhsv5ULV602UhLrf-0vs/s1600/3pawss.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYCuea_OIN4FptGBX9rzIXZbpqWuBgqJDZ8zs23rMCQYeTnDQ47dthqmCSBlpiPA7DfIOgQ-eEDaz_3tp8U62_4lOzaS5W8K7_LK3zm8Hu0x8i9Lvj5UZVdrAVqiKlHZt-ttxDUQzHzTA/s1600/friendss.jpg" /></a><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieeGc038h2QlWK27FjNWhvCPeXhniNFbBhcMRB23jdomo8oSf9ZXQZgTuS90OPAWxtHjJAhGNHpkXf0YsR6KVaB_U1r5j2LEt5FeJbrn6BpATHvW4jcd84DIIUf1p0Z4yjiHfn305Ywdc/s1600/parentss.jpg" /></a><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBkqZcdxFNeNPA9QYcp7XMy1bhP-7T7-u68OeWpxD8bow2ND30RBamnRkpqc4_7BUAUJyJJMuYJoY20haskSpjDdd46sssa_hpAH4dw-zeDovy38QE7-r_vBEZ4trTgoZnTmnxOAtJxJw/s1600/tears.jpg" /></a></div><div style="color: #660000;"><b>Restaurant Ousies</b></div><b>Grunewaldstraße 16, 10823 Berlin</b><br />
<b>www.taverna-ousies.de </b><br />
<b>Tel: +49 (0)30 216 7959</b><br />
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<iframe frameborder="0" height="350" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://maps.google.com/maps?oe=utf-8&client=firefox&ie=UTF8&q=ousies+berlin&fb=1&hq=ousies&hnear=0x47a84e373f035901:0x42120465b5e3b70,Berlin,+Germany&cid=0,0,9655664065910324608&ll=52.489976,13.353395&spn=0.006295,0.006295&iwloc=A&output=embed" width="425"></iframe><br />
<small><a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?oe=utf-8&client=firefox&ie=UTF8&q=ousies+berlin&fb=1&hq=ousies&hnear=0x47a84e373f035901:0x42120465b5e3b70,Berlin,+Germany&cid=0,0,9655664065910324608&ll=52.489976,13.353395&spn=0.006295,0.006295&iwloc=A&source=embed" style="color: blue; text-align: left;">View Larger Map</a></small>Itayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08034471312229143799noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4066884692504822785.post-8866496863873396752011-05-24T18:54:00.001+02:002011-05-24T19:04:04.796+02:00A Spring Diatribe <span style="font-size: large;"><b>Jäger und Sammler - Schöneberg</b></span><br />
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„<i>Veronika, der Lenz ist da</i>“ is probably the most accurate representation of Berlin’s quirkier side to this date. It became a hit in 1930 when the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JRP1XAOM-nQ">Comedian Harmonists</a>, the first ever German boy-band (who had to flee the country for the bonus of being Jewish) started performing it: A spring serenade to a certain Viktoria about phallic asparagus growing in pre-war Berlin. Oh, springtime!<br />
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To be fair, the world that produced the Comedian Harmonists is long gone. Viktoria is probably dead, as are most of Berlin’s Jews together its pre-war flair. What’s left is that pure joy and excitement that never fail to arrive alongside the first day of spring, when everyone suddenly becomes nice, accommodating and flirtatious. The sour faced cashier at the supermarket who had grunted resentfully at the very sight of a customer just a day earlier suddenly winks suggestively as she licks her upper, voluptuous lip and asks the first male customer she spots whether he’d already seen their fresh Spargel. Spargel? Really? Now, that’s another example for the Comedian Harmonists’ legacy.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg92-hF-VHqSKUtor1l0VuxFY78KpTSbva6LXOJrF0mGOt410ovbIz2-DA7WrV9BtnobaxIB0K8DP8yUBLgvP1a_ZLoMwy2ZUrFCpY-LQDeDsAo77xa9fWADtJmWPu1jnEcerydR0ugALA/s1600/Outside.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="169" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg92-hF-VHqSKUtor1l0VuxFY78KpTSbva6LXOJrF0mGOt410ovbIz2-DA7WrV9BtnobaxIB0K8DP8yUBLgvP1a_ZLoMwy2ZUrFCpY-LQDeDsAo77xa9fWADtJmWPu1jnEcerydR0ugALA/s320/Outside.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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Spargel, or white asparagus, is the local spring obsession. During the asparagus season, every place in town - including Chinese, Indian and Mexican restaurants - will offer a bland asparagus menu for double its weight in gold. Inquisitive TV shows will screen special reports about this year’s Spargel-consumption and greedy farmers will erect half legal stands selling organic Spargel to those who can afford it. If it weren’t for the fact I found white asparagus completely useless, I would find it all quite amusing.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK3LJamVumpE5o5ElVbDtS7v9_MWPEtrcSIQ1tnGQj-W_JEWmt4AWoFMueN8dY3be-43IeebPYljCISBkZAsQGtRWBY_b-kK40wTBYJBD6hel9rnOAIFWny3L3L6eS2WcPNYeC1jo40No/s1600/Bread.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK3LJamVumpE5o5ElVbDtS7v9_MWPEtrcSIQ1tnGQj-W_JEWmt4AWoFMueN8dY3be-43IeebPYljCISBkZAsQGtRWBY_b-kK40wTBYJBD6hel9rnOAIFWny3L3L6eS2WcPNYeC1jo40No/s200/Bread.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>I grew up knowing that green asparagus was a delicacy, whereas white asparagus was used to feed the hogs. And I fully agree. White asparagus’s phallic form might be appealing to some, but it still has the consistency of sperm, being rubbery, stringy and mushy all at the same time. Before this diatribe takes me to places we all should avoid, I really should say I don’t mind white asparagus. I just do not see the point of serving it absolutely EVERYWHERE. What I find even more baffling is the fact people here actually eat Spargel as a main course with only potatoes as a side. To each his own, but I find that particular combination a tad too much. <br />
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And thus I was looking for a spring feeling without too much Spargel and decided to go and try out <b>Jäger and Sammler</b> (Hunters and Gatherers) in <b>Schöneberg</b>. It was one of the first sitting-outside-evenings of the year, and we decided to make the most out of it despite the fact that the interior was remarkably attractive. We soon discovered the place had a very limited seasonal menu, which suited us just fine. The only problem was that the only starter was a (Spargel) soup on a warm day, so we decided to just share the “spring risotto” to kick start the evening (risotto with beans, asparagus and spring onions, 10 €). And what can I say? The dish was perfect. Risotto is a tricky one. Especially in Berlin it can be either extremely bad or perfectly endearing with very few middle-ground compromises. This one managed to get everything just right with a perfect texture and a pleasingly light taste.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo0rWq0-1_kVu-VwF2RWTFU5OGtsO0Iswty8dmNl_3EvlVXv6y0znJzm8ieZCJaGemG4lR3C0Nhdo_ZNVoY7Awc00YEcog6mN1vT9a6pHeNEjFu6B-gk84PbABDai4z2v0mRfx8GRRKFQ/s1600/Risotto.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo0rWq0-1_kVu-VwF2RWTFU5OGtsO0Iswty8dmNl_3EvlVXv6y0znJzm8ieZCJaGemG4lR3C0Nhdo_ZNVoY7Awc00YEcog6mN1vT9a6pHeNEjFu6B-gk84PbABDai4z2v0mRfx8GRRKFQ/s200/Risotto.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Risotto</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijup-ePbRrcdUIJUTvGtL3kI_fHItK3kvkj5ZSsikd8pHMvkHKcK1MfsagFKDTZSXAqP9QEXCtSme7krIHSvgt7L2hd5dtikJ4d2jZeH0IGWArgXi1qfoH59OaoH7Ns_7a0bNTRTmgQ-I/s1600/Scholle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijup-ePbRrcdUIJUTvGtL3kI_fHItK3kvkj5ZSsikd8pHMvkHKcK1MfsagFKDTZSXAqP9QEXCtSme7krIHSvgt7L2hd5dtikJ4d2jZeH0IGWArgXi1qfoH59OaoH7Ns_7a0bNTRTmgQ-I/s200/Scholle.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flounder</td></tr>
</tbody></table>We continued to the main dishes, which were the Finkenwerder Mai-Scholle (a dish of fried flounder with bacon and a side of potatoes, 14 €) and Rinderschmorbraten (beef roast in a vinegar-cream sauce with a side of mash, 14 €). Both main courses were quite alright, but not inspirational. The fish was impressively large, nicely fried with greasy bacon, which made it quite pleasing in a piggy sort of a way. However, it was too greasy to be refined and the bacon tended to outshine the fish, which was, unfortunately, not the main idea when we had ordered a fish. The meat was good. It was tender, high quality and the sauce was also nice. If it had been a bit cheaper, the first course a bit less impressive and the restaurant a bit less fancy, I would have approved whole-heartedly. But it was not cheaper, the first course had set the bar fairly high and beautifully decorated restaurants raise expectations as well. Tough luck.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVCHfGjj2FeyrZreh9ICOg2tOvLs2rocC47TBsP-rHffDvZgnkKBhp7aZDf2tYFWB-cRe40mfRSOBUqHBguhqKGyVcvZat2m0h0IqY_BmOnsAE38C8X09QGckoTGJ8CjNgU9RakqhZgmw/s1600/Braten.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVCHfGjj2FeyrZreh9ICOg2tOvLs2rocC47TBsP-rHffDvZgnkKBhp7aZDf2tYFWB-cRe40mfRSOBUqHBguhqKGyVcvZat2m0h0IqY_BmOnsAE38C8X09QGckoTGJ8CjNgU9RakqhZgmw/s200/Braten.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Roast</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil032jsriNPp6vvTtHCfb8D837lcq6XWCDjj1lDEx0mwrR1FoUvsvfQJgCZEi5HwjJ8ei2YTXHBBkIgzjR6hOx1_EjgcvF3PdIivumCh1qnQTakm3ASyukkUdQ0z9FrqV050guwr93XP8/s1600/PannaCotta.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil032jsriNPp6vvTtHCfb8D837lcq6XWCDjj1lDEx0mwrR1FoUvsvfQJgCZEi5HwjJ8ei2YTXHBBkIgzjR6hOx1_EjgcvF3PdIivumCh1qnQTakm3ASyukkUdQ0z9FrqV050guwr93XP8/s200/PannaCotta.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Panna cotta</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Even though these main courses were more than filling, I am glad I was smart enough (not to mention obliged by the blog) to order a dessert. The only sweet treat on the menu was a panna-cotta (served with strawberry sauce for 5 €), which turned out to be a dream come true. For some unknown reason, panna cottas tend to be fairly unimpressive. People who don’t know how to cook think vanilla creams are always an easy option and usually get it wrong (or bland, which is even worse). But Jäger and Sammler was one big exception to the local rule. It managed to get everything right: the cream, the texture, the strawberry sauce and the visual presentation. It was a fantastic way to end a meal. <br />
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At the end of the day, Jäger und Sammler is a good address. It is a sterling example of how some restaurants manage to raise expectations before getting to the main course, just to create disappointments with food that is fairly good, but just not enough to rise to the challenge of perfect ambiance, ambitious menu and wonderful starters and desserts. And yet, don’t let it scare you off. It is a perfect four-printer.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><b>Overall mark: </b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRjBSnyVZ-3Y4k3zQ9LeMR1DC069jlq6amRDyJlDp3qCWl5jNiKxnShnbRGFKpH_CFqyT7L-EjKA7Wat-T-SZ-UzGEecgr_Aj30rG07KZwvkjb7wlw0-2K9kbxJZ6mX_J8ZLtliL7OXoY/s1600/4pawss.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaG9HI5QJgCd2pHc5zlJBNyMVWp49vKokYVc_9meghzcPWbgXQjks7A3OS3VAKDVUnA7spu6zyTCjGkW6Lo7H7uC2XtBWG8n6YtzW_-erNs4fvw4IkMNsXIz6kLgo3hdwTsl12S687OrY/s1600/friendss.jpg" /></a><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKREEKm4-wvY6J2OW1PfrXZosrUef4nBKt6-QOJs69SIeG-I2xuDwbnjtYrJisR8v-D-cTaGNmLGarVfNq2e7yKP4Ns64g6qyxnhsW2cZ5mcf_Xpl49EO7G8U2Hfq9KQ7siNStVj3fDyo/s1600/parentss.jpg" /></a><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEbne86WnKUrIfR02wRjrE-cWg0vLt6pY_1HXThb9X6GI7KZ7hOgRDGelAahMCuswh28jxalD7BGgAy9hA6-xdcEYHAlppLXQerHyctSLCdLinFy1AE3bnip2B6npX6xpAx0FlJKzC3f8/s1600/travels.jpg" /></a><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA43Yep9wHySqziYBHPRtbzgPwE5yOWj9nnWlChSF4VgviBn1aMHr_HVDIpUGtU4e6VATMEI0o-OdTu2s2JqSWeVGGF2nbOhJawSW_oiiA4-i4lFUGbgqBAd7QZKK1-OS19Q3kMfdwU_8/s1600/romances.jpg" /></a></div><div style="color: #660000;"><b>Jäger und Sammler</b></div><b>Grunewaldstraße 81, 10823 Berlin</b><br />
<b>www.jaegerundsammler-berlin.de</b><br />
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Could you believe I once lived in Mitte? It was over six years ago. Just around the corner from Rosenthaler Platz. Quite a few of the buildings over there had not been renovated yet and I enjoyed the romantic decrepit atmosphere. The flat was adorned with a couple of canon walls from the war, one of which forming a large crater between my room and the bathroom. Yes, it was a dump, but an exciting one of that. <br />
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Things happened in Mitte at the time. And by “things” I don’t mean a group of drunken Brits riding on a pedal powered beer bike screaming “blobby-blobby-blobby” or a bunch of Spaniards nonchalantly vomiting with a grin in front of their hostel while mumbling “Berlin, so alternative!” At the time it felt like real people lived in Mitte. Today, I am aware of the fact that some of them still exist, but I don’t know any of them anymore.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUgAtq2NYjJanVHtwFVfDwxiMbW2ShjH9B1L8n2Qzq77Vix_9QtaxhXhhZGzQcIAGjgfp6mSJn9pOAGhV4WLL5CUb5L_Kh1Cun-fkkiBnjDqEeCPAhHB2x-SptWvNLxyO2Z3ymGnRfG_I/s1600/Courtyard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUgAtq2NYjJanVHtwFVfDwxiMbW2ShjH9B1L8n2Qzq77Vix_9QtaxhXhhZGzQcIAGjgfp6mSJn9pOAGhV4WLL5CUb5L_Kh1Cun-fkkiBnjDqEeCPAhHB2x-SptWvNLxyO2Z3ymGnRfG_I/s200/Courtyard.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Do not get me wrong, I am not lamenting what’s happened over the years to Mitte. I whinge because that is what I do, but the tourist locust infesting Berlin’s geographic centre is not entirely negative. One big difference from the Mitte of yore is that fact things have become more international, worldlier. Six years ago - at a time when everything was still authentic – Berlin also felt more provincial. So it was time to go back to Mitte. To try and follow the zeitgeist and feel cool. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6N0Xx-ySH7UPMPNcvVFnoss7psNEQkEtf6_abWddARZzqS_y4j4GWd8poON1XsJo7_viJMn94d1ZgLQgcuwwc0QRf-E1D-4q_ITjAeJcELxRoq_caKnvhz6K2_50kS8QkCU4MJaKLIxg/s1600/Lamp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6N0Xx-ySH7UPMPNcvVFnoss7psNEQkEtf6_abWddARZzqS_y4j4GWd8poON1XsJo7_viJMn94d1ZgLQgcuwwc0QRf-E1D-4q_ITjAeJcELxRoq_caKnvhz6K2_50kS8QkCU4MJaKLIxg/s200/Lamp.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>The Vietnamese tea house <b>ChénChè </b>(one of three partnered restaurants in Mitte) felt like the perfect choice for a zeitgeisty venue with its impressive homepage. Otherwise, its choice of location inside an inner courtyard on Rosenthaler Straße could not have proved to be any better. An inner courtyard is both intimate and secretive. Makes you think you’re special. The decor also deserves acclaim. It succeeds in combining the generically horrid Vietnamese/Japanese grand scale restaurant pomp with a touch of good taste and pleasing design. The lightning could use a bit of dimming on the edges, but otherwise it was surprisingly nice. My only disappointment was that the weather did not allow us to sit in the garden, which looked quite charming. <br />
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The menu is not overwhelmingly large, which was quite an advantage. Another thing I found quite sweet was the fact that most dishes were presented as vegetarian by default, yet possibly served with meat. From the list of eight possible starters we ordered three: <b>Xôi Gà</b> (sticky coconut rice, shallots, lotus root and chicken breast for 6.20 €), <b>Hoành Thành</b> (baked won-tons which we ordered with spicy tofu filling, 5.80 €) and <b>Cha Giò</b> (baked Vietnamese spring rolls with coriander dressing, ordered with pork filling, 5.80 €). The spring rolls were the only thing that was just alright. Their taste was nice, yet uninspiring and the coriander dip was too lemony to taste of anything else. Yet the other starters were just splendid. The won-tons were strangely crispy with filling that tasted of joy and the Xôi Gà was just perfect. Each of its ingredients had kept a distinct taste that created quite a splendid mix when randomly scooped out together.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8wHW3U4jI3vZRtIYeS3GAg3A0qMlgW19ybnLR97Tb8tNuI5B6kN61Cm6O_u_AFwi20ihseL8C2JQxWmM-7wzsLp0Foj8qV8gUfNkS81D7Kp0793djdir6gP6fCecbJ_kTvhKRoEBJJ7s/s1600/Starters.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8wHW3U4jI3vZRtIYeS3GAg3A0qMlgW19ybnLR97Tb8tNuI5B6kN61Cm6O_u_AFwi20ihseL8C2JQxWmM-7wzsLp0Foj8qV8gUfNkS81D7Kp0793djdir6gP6fCecbJ_kTvhKRoEBJJ7s/s200/Starters.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Starters</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHMhHxtxDHqVo-WeEolyiBboIuWl7IOcrO3eQ3g3TiWkwwmCUjhb25ywONCDB3mm-ZSOiaHe2UdxGNX4O6GwLWffF2DcGg-PsUbmYsQzb9QGiaxuBSpM6fw6Fd_3yhHlVq4q_jMlVtvnA/s1600/Soup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHMhHxtxDHqVo-WeEolyiBboIuWl7IOcrO3eQ3g3TiWkwwmCUjhb25ywONCDB3mm-ZSOiaHe2UdxGNX4O6GwLWffF2DcGg-PsUbmYsQzb9QGiaxuBSpM6fw6Fd_3yhHlVq4q_jMlVtvnA/s200/Soup.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bùn Riêu</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
We then continued to the main courses. There are three main courses in the usual menu and three other changing dishes. We went for the <b>Bùn Riêu</b> (vegetable soup with tofu dumplings and rice noodles, 9.40€) and the <b>Reistafel menu </b>(a changing selection of dishes for 8.40 €). The soup was quite good. It was mildly spicy and was nice to eat, but it had a heaviness that felt nearly Central European. The Reistafel came with a number of various elements. It had a small bowl of Phó (Vietnamese chicken broth), which was hearty and good, but again, was so stodgy it reminded me of my grandmother’s Polish cooking. A chicken leg fried in pleasing sweet sauce greeted me from the bamboo hamper, and another dish of chicken in mild and tasty red curry was served in a plate on the other side. And then the obligatory rice and various vegetables. It was all fairly good. Nothing was too inspiring, but it was definitely pleasing. We ended the meal with a surprisingly and quirkily tasty <b>Ché Choi Nuoc</b> (rice balls filled with peanuts and chocolate swimming in coconut-mango sauce, 5.60 €). I usually don’t enjoy Vietnamese desserts too much, but this one was worth every Cent.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYoRvgb-dZzlp0L6byeQnqsWYW6JT6nPg-JFIwUlFAwYhpo19rtcFpfwAbtY9yWBLkXjmDno3uiLGSI_LDuPrCqLvKOVHJiyKwG3GeuaxAznGOdtREiFfVxkatnkhsWr0d8yUG1kQuSKE/s1600/Reistafel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYoRvgb-dZzlp0L6byeQnqsWYW6JT6nPg-JFIwUlFAwYhpo19rtcFpfwAbtY9yWBLkXjmDno3uiLGSI_LDuPrCqLvKOVHJiyKwG3GeuaxAznGOdtREiFfVxkatnkhsWr0d8yUG1kQuSKE/s200/Reistafel.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Restafel</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2-olWSPa3-WKtKsCSJ3oNnmNP-8gtPLtySaGK3AuXSGUH33yJwCfU4W2DZ-v7ETXt5n-Aj68dY2K-7rSvo_jrgF9c6ugNSEp6XL6lxD2BHc9GVTIFeHKUTLeVinx_r3i0O7dEAjXGXK4/s1600/Dessert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2-olWSPa3-WKtKsCSJ3oNnmNP-8gtPLtySaGK3AuXSGUH33yJwCfU4W2DZ-v7ETXt5n-Aj68dY2K-7rSvo_jrgF9c6ugNSEp6XL6lxD2BHc9GVTIFeHKUTLeVinx_r3i0O7dEAjXGXK4/s200/Dessert.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dessert</td></tr>
</tbody></table>What can I say? The place was worth the trip to Mitte. Not only was it good, but it also provided us with some of the added values of going to the “centre”: It was the posh version of the sort of Vietnamese places you’d find in Kreuzberg. It was slightly pricier, but the difference was justified by a nice ambiance and good quality (which was exceptional in the cases of the starters and the dessert).<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">Overall mark:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0ByYPiTzwnKPVjy9K2bgD3qFepv2ghcc70C1r9meBxyqea8Mt5kbX8sC5WP7-R3tfTvGv3YAqneSCuuh019E8anT9wKeFskUuQWOLXWCk_gh_YnrOpmLXdzQg_WsotiCQZbPJGrfIA-A/s1600/4pawss.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp1dT12Y-NSARJQmYz4bPZ7rzZeatYVe4f8xkwOI4JwlXIUUD906fMEkhd0b_OmFeAOlEFyD6TJ1aPJTHtNRb1itc9uLcj8H_Ics8u23OHBuwH56lcQOci3dIVoaEqpcAiHnbHvT8J8PE/s1600/friendss.jpg" /></a><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggYAomFu1ig9j5h8y4F0NXlprjG_X3JJv_Kr3aAa2yxgPNyd8cdNT6f_7gIvm1Z34X8HAH1VWFLNCo7Runi2_F12LXbJ6Np4yaGFHH6SyEnSAYLu47rz8XRgIYvb4Q1ZxU_TbwDfNGNKs/s1600/travels.jpg" /></a><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFCHwm0XTVpvCy1PwmvN0J1TSg7JTodqwHNmTf6y9NpSTq0y-Gt60NWkakYKpyw-BAb6x7h24VdsfKerdEQb4ty4Z_IBbJqbxFZG5eVzzvJ32yCyv2FLgY0FpZIQsus0V2fE_U5jlJndQ/s1600/parentss.jpg" /></a></div><div style="color: #660000;"><b>Chen Che - Teehaus</b></div><b>Rosenthaler Straße 13, 10119 Berlin</b><br />
<b>http://www.chenche-berlin.de</b><br />
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<small><a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=embed&hl=en&geocode=&q=chen+che,+rosenthaler+stra%C3%9Fe+13,+berlin,+germany&aq=&sll=37.0625,-95.677068&sspn=36.315864,79.013672&ie=UTF8&hq=chen+che,&hnear=Rosenthaler+Stra%C3%9Fe+13,+Mitte+10119+Berlin,+Germany&ll=52.527511,13.402921&spn=0.006814,0.01929&z=14&iwloc=A&cid=7829442872402634074" style="color: blue; text-align: left;">View Larger Map</a></small>Itayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08034471312229143799noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4066884692504822785.post-66832628347886883582011-04-16T15:28:00.000+02:002011-04-16T15:28:49.292+02:00The Last Supper<b><span style="font-size: large;">L’Assaggino - Kreuzberg</span></b><br />
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My visit to Milan a couple of weeks ago was culinarily pleasing, but left me at a touristy loss. After the obligatory five minutes at the Duomo followed by a stroll through the Vittorio-Emmanuelle Gallery and a futile attempt to get into La Scala for less than 200€, I realised there were very few attractions left to be seen. Not that it bothered me too much, there was enough to keep me busy: from sampling pleasant cafés and restaurants through discovering lively areas to spotting fashion victims on the street, it was all there. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWWwo4JhQiqfOT_LMdzfxOJHTB5O64pRS-w3eTEDTIXhvjfMta_vGIDYr6E0tBeXIOv0hjA9ZCILFqh9ZXyWJl8GD55tURI4DqWEQW5FFW3lhACgJ38UH26LcgdhR6cLfbl5Rq4VyXHB4/s1600/Overall2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWWwo4JhQiqfOT_LMdzfxOJHTB5O64pRS-w3eTEDTIXhvjfMta_vGIDYr6E0tBeXIOv0hjA9ZCILFqh9ZXyWJl8GD55tURI4DqWEQW5FFW3lhACgJ38UH26LcgdhR6cLfbl5Rq4VyXHB4/s200/Overall2.jpg" width="125" /></a></div>The one thing I managed to miss was the Last Supper. Exactly, Leo’s Last Supper, for a glimpse of which you have to register about three months in advance, or so it appears. As that weekend was supposed to be spontaneous, planning ahead was not a part of the shopping list. We followed a stream of busses loaded with Japanese tourists to the Corso Magenta to try the “We’ve come such a long way, you wouldn’t happen to be able to let us in? There must be a couple of cancellations” approach. Unfortunately, those Italians were already one step ahead of us, with a “TODAY NO CANCELLATIONS” sign looming just across the entrance. And sod off to you too, thank you very much. I left Santa Maria delle Grazie baffled: since when is not cutting corners an option in Italy? <br />
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With the bitter recollection of failure still etched into my membranes, I could not help drawing the parallels when I came to plan my very own Last Supper. It was a day before a tonsillectomy, which I knew would mean no real food for the foreseeable future, so it needed to be good. On the other hand, as I could not be bothered travelling far out of my comfort zone, it needed to be close. As I was already into digging up old Milan analogies for this supper, I thought <b>L’assaggino</b> just across the street would be a good way to get some Italian closure before entering a period of painful culinary deprivation. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCoz_1joY4TOBwb-dgAzsq0BKwug7CN8VpzMBZT2zS89QGVJGpWB2F2Nv67jDH5nqzYUtoZJXWUiXtRSUr3rmrSXKD8NJITa-GlzgQlx052V0Nqlt0AQe5oT4elKlBI4mFbr7oLa_EFiM/s1600/Overall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCoz_1joY4TOBwb-dgAzsq0BKwug7CN8VpzMBZT2zS89QGVJGpWB2F2Nv67jDH5nqzYUtoZJXWUiXtRSUr3rmrSXKD8NJITa-GlzgQlx052V0Nqlt0AQe5oT4elKlBI4mFbr7oLa_EFiM/s1600/Overall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCoz_1joY4TOBwb-dgAzsq0BKwug7CN8VpzMBZT2zS89QGVJGpWB2F2Nv67jDH5nqzYUtoZJXWUiXtRSUr3rmrSXKD8NJITa-GlzgQlx052V0Nqlt0AQe5oT4elKlBI4mFbr7oLa_EFiM/s200/Overall.jpg" width="118" /></a></div><b>L’assagino</b> on <b>Gneisenaustraße </b>is one of these fairly new pastel venues on the <b>Südstern </b>end that were all opened around the same time. As pastel should be left in Prenzlauer Berg where it belongs, I have never experienced the urge to try out any of them. In addition, <b>L’assaggino</b> looked like one of these places that are not able to decide whether they were a shop or a restaurant: It had this strange balance between shelves and tables, which I just did not find to be too convincing from the outside (combined with the fact it always seems to be empty). The epiphany came when I read its opening hours and realised that a place that started doing business at 5 PM was rarely there to get you to buy produce that you’d still need to cook later. <br />
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As we had taken our seat and began scrutinising at the menu, I slowly started thinking this place might just be the perfect Italian: it was small, cosily inviting and exuded the family business vibe you expect small Italian restaurants to have. <b>L’assaggino</b>’s menu changes daily. It is fairly limited, with pricey antipasti, medium-priced primi and two desserts (yes, I know I was supposed to write “dolci” in there). As I was getting ready for surgery, I had to pass on the wine despite the wine menu’s promising contents. We started by sharing the <b>Antipasto “fantasia”</b> (for two, 15.50 €), which came promptly. It was fine, really. The dish was composed of a nice variety of sausages, cheese and the usual fried vegetables, all very fresh and nicely done. The portion was not huge, but the quality was good. I found that pricing it on 15.50 € was stretching it a bit, but that is just my notion. It was good, just not exhilaratingly so. The only thing about it which really was fantastic was the bread that came along with it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdA_Ct_zBcjBrNqkAQlt-C-MkfzIp2hM_F2q-AWJEpO_Ls0ykDYtdK82b471yzzSeogKGCmIeJrVAelhWC8esxe3U2r0C2hOJRwCV5YmFe0IY5zZsENMOq__jVyC3TWgrsIKTR_SzZTLs/s1600/Gnocchi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdA_Ct_zBcjBrNqkAQlt-C-MkfzIp2hM_F2q-AWJEpO_Ls0ykDYtdK82b471yzzSeogKGCmIeJrVAelhWC8esxe3U2r0C2hOJRwCV5YmFe0IY5zZsENMOq__jVyC3TWgrsIKTR_SzZTLs/s200/Gnocchi.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gnocchi</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR-1CHn8fRrpJd5_AWYIIxn60Y71xZSPN6PmM4LMH0XL9NamuWfUA4a0qqz-j9_3llH4KANbEPz6SRDK-oCTJj0tNbAtwSuUMcMKgldDKciFB1lv80NdCcfnpXbc07Ai14AApaa6uqUPs/s1600/Tagliatelle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR-1CHn8fRrpJd5_AWYIIxn60Y71xZSPN6PmM4LMH0XL9NamuWfUA4a0qqz-j9_3llH4KANbEPz6SRDK-oCTJj0tNbAtwSuUMcMKgldDKciFB1lv80NdCcfnpXbc07Ai14AApaa6uqUPs/s200/Tagliatelle.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tagliatelle</td></tr>
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We continued with the two most expensive dishes on the menu, the <b>tagliatelle neri “satore di mare”</b> (black tagliatelle with mussels, shrimps and calamari, 12.50 €) and <b>polenta gnocchi</b> with beef ragout (polenta gnocchi being fairly large and dumpling-like beings, 12.50 € as well). My first reaction to seeing the dishes was a sneer of disappointment, as again, the portions were not very large. Living in Berlin you forget people elsewhere appreciate smaller, yet refined dishes. That notion faded into this air once I had taken my first bite. Both were nothing less than fantastic. The tagliatelle were the perfect pasta dish: the pasta (clearly homemade) was savoury, the spicy touch of the sauce was inspiring and the seafood was done just right. It was overwhelmingly tasty. The gnocchi were not any less impressive. Their form reminded me more of some strange cross breed between Italian gnocchi and Germn Klöße and they tasted accordingly: they were large and doughy and still astonishingly pleasing. The sauce was just perfect. It reminded me of a bourguignon rather than of a pasta sauce, but it was brilliant nonetheless, so who am I to pass judgement.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrwi7dWhaRC6qLqgzRZ1lb7vuP3nhfF0BEjSrsPcFulha_lUic516Zhn7jVzwWOvBCT3nWvExWdAEFbC5awSdRYoz5QO9GTUdppjZF5tr-fH-AeNTEOtknRPtq08LVJ2Y00_biQYHD8Tw/s1600/Creme.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrwi7dWhaRC6qLqgzRZ1lb7vuP3nhfF0BEjSrsPcFulha_lUic516Zhn7jVzwWOvBCT3nWvExWdAEFbC5awSdRYoz5QO9GTUdppjZF5tr-fH-AeNTEOtknRPtq08LVJ2Y00_biQYHD8Tw/s200/Creme.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crème brulée</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR98TLiDO1EcjnwGM0-RAJskphioly12L8OQfZWQwkPQI4cvvZUPiHs2bvBdGmZPjildxORHAIQIVsWxp_Dm3khGzQtxk7lyJ8rEL0t2stcWP_RzcyB442NJKgHdxTHBa9QJLxd03fLp8/s1600/Mousse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR98TLiDO1EcjnwGM0-RAJskphioly12L8OQfZWQwkPQI4cvvZUPiHs2bvBdGmZPjildxORHAIQIVsWxp_Dm3khGzQtxk7lyJ8rEL0t2stcWP_RzcyB442NJKgHdxTHBa9QJLxd03fLp8/s200/Mousse.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mousse</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Even though we hadn’t planned on doing so, we ended up ordering both desserts on the menu: <b>white chocolate mousse with red berry sauce</b> (for the mere price of 5.00 €) and a <b>crème brulée</b> (served with caramelised figs for 4.50 €). What can I say? Pure joy served on a plate. The crème brulée had a citrusy taste to it, a perfect texture and the best caramelised figs one could ask for. The mousse was great as well, it had the perfect balance between lightness (texture + not too sweet) and taste. The sauce was… well… you can’t get berries wrong.<br />
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Not much to add as far as the bottom line goes. L’assaggino is quite a gem. It is not necessarily the place to go to with friends in order to bond over pint-induced burps and with the size of the portions, I needed a whole menu to leave feeling satiated, but don’t miss it if you are planning on spending a quiet evening with marvellous food and good company.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">Overall Mark:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiubS2MbXixMLl-EyujBjfuo1jYYSVm2EL-Xe2AOGIQwGz7z9pWw8TEX3OaKEe4QbPq4MaFH-rLbyHDByAaD2gpaNrVcqXi_7Lj26lqvZgomdtARQEp1hB-2chm0d3RWyNmcbWCmxbOvl0/s1600/5pawss.jpg" /><span id="goog_413351182"></span></a><span id="goog_413351183"></span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5FYqxOs7vWDmVJn5U2CwFcUlEatMZc-Suq8a4QJpnaWHLpjOs11cR_HkfRoFJW0_v7fT50-Hn-vWtDOJmR6O9yVK9ZEM3iKyDpJSUdMfVRwqEyuHUPx8fko0ebOu0xr_yISTIPkaoq0g/s1600/parentss.jpg" /></a><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd6H-0Oo7RpbZxpHBbgJiy3pZ3qX9QZJz4TAO1aGIfi6U8z120a9bhODYaYxq7I3BdaLsDYqZgcziEH-bhPGvWns5qs3bJBbFwym7BMTvJqQYw-jfctpX7s7HtvPSjnAETVk4P8XSq-Xo/s1600/romances.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<b></b><br />
<div style="color: #660000;"><b>L'assaggino - Italienische Küche, Enoteca & Café</b></div><b>Gneisenaustraße 61, 10961 Berlin</b><br />
<b>www.lassaggino.de</b><br />
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<iframe frameborder="0" height="350" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=en&geocode=&q=l%27assaggino,+gneisenaustra%C3%9Fe+61,+10961+berlin&aq=&sll=37.0625,-95.677068&sspn=36.315864,79.013672&ie=UTF8&hq=l%27assaggino,&hnear=Gneisenaustra%C3%9Fe+61,+Berlin+10961+Berlin,+Germany&ll=52.489908,13.40354&spn=0.00682,0.01929&z=14&iwloc=A&cid=2151151144100991829&output=embed" width="425"></iframe><br />
<small><a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=embed&hl=en&geocode=&q=l%27assaggino,+gneisenaustra%C3%9Fe+61,+10961+berlin&aq=&sll=37.0625,-95.677068&sspn=36.315864,79.013672&ie=UTF8&hq=l%27assaggino,&hnear=Gneisenaustra%C3%9Fe+61,+Berlin+10961+Berlin,+Germany&ll=52.489908,13.40354&spn=0.00682,0.01929&z=14&iwloc=A&cid=2151151144100991829" style="color: blue; text-align: left;">View Larger Map</a></small>Itayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08034471312229143799noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4066884692504822785.post-65213002907514326482011-04-06T18:16:00.000+02:002011-04-06T18:16:21.078+02:00Jesus Loves Kimchi<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Ixthys - Schöneberg</b></span><br />
<br />
Let’s talk about the concept of a hole-in-the-wall: shops of miniscule proportions that often combine a run-down urban charm with industrously independent character. To put it more bluntly: they are family run dumps. Some people love them; others would never set foot past their mangy thresholds. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSQwFfZgXeQNhhDsNAZs-6lMPUb-cRfkA17gbraEx3Lmk1mVN7c5dvnDWs-vcUjEcIijlf_diZglyaAtROR0o19GsiZM3tV6_2PF8NAOjQdoaQ7PLuMolkoKWxhPcxlUIbjLH581QGExk/s1600/Overview.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSQwFfZgXeQNhhDsNAZs-6lMPUb-cRfkA17gbraEx3Lmk1mVN7c5dvnDWs-vcUjEcIijlf_diZglyaAtROR0o19GsiZM3tV6_2PF8NAOjQdoaQ7PLuMolkoKWxhPcxlUIbjLH581QGExk/s200/Overview.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>My father is a sterling example of a holes-in-the-wall-enthusiast. You can’t really blame him for it either. There is something authentically appealling about these urban grottos. Eating in a hole-in-the-wall, you realise you are in it for the food. Most people will not be there for the superb ambience generated by the fat stains, the old cutlery or the lack of space (my father might, but I hope you will allow me to politely sneer at the idea). With a hole-in-the-wall, you get the feeling you know where the food comes from – if only because you can see the kitchen behind the counter with your own eyes. And then, you know who does the cooking, sometimes you can even talk to them. It is small enough to see past the “business” character and be admitted into a family. Take a closer look and you’ll see it is a bit like paying a random grandmother to cook for you, and just like with your own grandmother, you’ll get the food directly from that battered aluminium pan into an old plate adorned by a decade-old scratch on the side. <br />
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Holes-in-the-wall can be either extremely good or extremely bad, and it is impossible to know which one it will be in advance. And then, the really good ones have a psychologial added value. Having a truly delicious meal in a grotto equals a major discovery. It makes you feel like a 2011 urban version of Christopher Columbus, sailing in the dagerous waters of a big city (because let’s face it: holes-in-the-wall are an inherently urban phenomenon), trying to immerse yourself in the local structure and culture, unlike all those lard assed tourists who just go to Starbucks’ because they know what they’ll get over there. <br />
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Berlin has less holes-in-the-wall than cities like New York or London because – let’s face it – there is no need for any. The spaces here are usually large and often affordable. Squeezing a restaurant into a lightless cell of 100 square feet is entirely unnecessary. Which was why I had to raise an eyebrow when I had walked into Ixthys, a Korean place in Schöneberg. Alright, I did not only raise an eyebrow, I was overwhelmed and did not know whether to laugh, cry or run for my life. The place was not only a classical hole-in-the-wall, but it was a missionary one at that. Ixthys is not a word in Korean, but rather the Greek name for “fish” and an early Christian symbol. The walls are completely covered with old and dirty canvases crammed with handwritten psalms and biblical texts. The small space is not unpleasant, but for a non-believer such as myself, it was nothing less than frightening (with a pinch of exotism). <br />
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The menu did not provide much relief either. The textual treasures hidden under the layers of grease referred more often to Jesus than to food. The last page was a highlight of sorts, as it started out explaining kimchi’s merits, describing to what extent the Korean cabbage dish can improve one’s health, just to recap and decide that end the end of the day, the “richest ingredient in life” was really just the love of the Lord. Yeah, right. The added value of the Christian faith was soon forgotten, as we finally found the food references. It did not take long to realise that the choice of dishes was astonishingly promising despite its being very limited. The menu was comprised of about five vegetarian and five meat dishes, and they all sounded good.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4ukJQxDHgdgjkOQ7CFPDgNiLzXadHuq69ZGY8iL7B6I8n5IeWu7LduGtUSjvxT_1n3zqf75gs2Gt5AaiwBh5i2qKCY01eWcblv8DeVeGQxgfk8Zf5t6C3AP7Qnq8l0PLS1z1IXrAN2Bo/s1600/Walls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4ukJQxDHgdgjkOQ7CFPDgNiLzXadHuq69ZGY8iL7B6I8n5IeWu7LduGtUSjvxT_1n3zqf75gs2Gt5AaiwBh5i2qKCY01eWcblv8DeVeGQxgfk8Zf5t6C3AP7Qnq8l0PLS1z1IXrAN2Bo/s200/Walls.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The walls...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJzNUhVkTX-ONd6-TpnPeSyFs4qbq4mVoLX8HwFU26ExktC_YZf-iF_WkQHADMWuzTOCaWCcYXKxLsjPYNbWyQTwR2mB2Il2RUPD_M94MVWuqnX1kn-CJm_Fh8pj00cN8s3RxmK5qeyYk/s1600/Bulgogi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJzNUhVkTX-ONd6-TpnPeSyFs4qbq4mVoLX8HwFU26ExktC_YZf-iF_WkQHADMWuzTOCaWCcYXKxLsjPYNbWyQTwR2mB2Il2RUPD_M94MVWuqnX1kn-CJm_Fh8pj00cN8s3RxmK5qeyYk/s200/Bulgogi.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bulgoggi</td></tr>
</tbody></table>We then ordered the Za-Chang-Myun (a noodle dish with bean sauce, pork and various vegetables, 7.50 €), the Doesi Bul-Go-Gi (pork and onions in a spicy sauce, 7.00 €) and the Bibim-Bab (a “mix it yourself” dish with beef, rice, vegetables and a fried egg, all the joy in the world for 7.50 €). The dishes came with a side of kimchi, which was very convincing (yet not as good as the one at Madang). It would probably be best to start describing the Bul-Go-Gi, which was tasty, but not too inspiring. The meat was nice, the sauce was extremely pleasing, but nothing more, really. The noodle dish was definitely a couple of notches superior. Not only was the noodle-quality superb, but the sauce was just brilliant. It was refined and exciting at the same time, with random slices of meat and vegetables to chew on (which were fine, but still secondary to that fantastic bean sauce).<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUWd8-8XvbughHo1mmT5DDxVF4InqbBS4MSP1WPPiTXWGxSYmWsNibGpez_5l6F_chR2CKLsB0C0mwNa9-DGO7-8eor2aFG1CnzhGRn9TLIhboFXrZ_3NWsPHtNUcYLl655jr6QJNQiIk/s1600/Noodles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUWd8-8XvbughHo1mmT5DDxVF4InqbBS4MSP1WPPiTXWGxSYmWsNibGpez_5l6F_chR2CKLsB0C0mwNa9-DGO7-8eor2aFG1CnzhGRn9TLIhboFXrZ_3NWsPHtNUcYLl655jr6QJNQiIk/s200/Noodles.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Noodles</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9qMXQ_M7hTywyLTDHtiq3ieWzJ9KsVewbzONjK-CK4U5pCkTpI8IyU8sBipzEr7-5LjGNw1sZwv5Kld4VWvVgyamQKYBbFGxTfpqWOTCfJUDC6u6Xsv_n7byDSlx1Z0wdFR608ONYLQM/s1600/Bibimbap.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9qMXQ_M7hTywyLTDHtiq3ieWzJ9KsVewbzONjK-CK4U5pCkTpI8IyU8sBipzEr7-5LjGNw1sZwv5Kld4VWvVgyamQKYBbFGxTfpqWOTCfJUDC6u6Xsv_n7byDSlx1Z0wdFR608ONYLQM/s200/Bibimbap.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Delicious bibimbab</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
And then came the bibimbab. Alright, I might be biased. I believe bibimbab is one of the things Adam and Eve managed to smuggle out of the Garden of Eden and then went on to hide somewhere in Korea so that God wouldn’t find it and punish them. I think Bibimbab is pure joy and good bibimbab is a virtue. And this one was definitely good. Everything in it was just right: the meat, the vegetables, the quantity and the spicy sauce (which was served in a large, filthy jar, which was so much more pleasing than the embarrassingly small quantity seen elsewhere around here). <br />
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Needless to say, we did not stay too long. I did not mind the Christian theme as much as I was bothered by the uncomfortable chairs and the lack of basic facilities (yes, I mean the loo. For a place that offers tea on its menu, not having any toilets can be equated with crime). After a while we just had to go. And yet, I can only recommend Ixthys warmly. As far as holes-in-the-wall go, this one was just perfect, with the best possible value: good quality food for affordable prices.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">Overall mark: </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ8f53hyuoI-_Q8zQsvhjYTX8Vv7kTbsieXOzr8wHIrb0gdhWy3u5MoSngh-irQhGlbd5VlbXkdBzmSvbizfLi-3kvlLP6X3b3KusrmZqPGmo5S_PLGlbyT1B4EyeF_R_3oxTvy_-0_4g/s1600/4pawss.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju-CZxCtLLTmCGYKt3urfyuejiUNc6nekHM7GeSiH7sbkYqxs8TiJZU-kMGsQve426YbBGM0Thqai6CZ4jk3nk9Ldt4rcS3mevv_3VKB7eJk_tlJPz_6SNf1pdlq9RXnvX3P9_HwYBd34/s1600/friendss.jpg" /></a><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI4BNUQKszddteDACBjH1bdC8WYgxWZAEI6DV5D1XOplOGYICu1VjdgDAGcEnSbpVaq1c2PBwW2upABw7teXP0qsQOhj1p9WjsvSbu8PM82KVirmWb1ie2ECCbiwrzODAmuKCiqEsQeMs/s1600/travels.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div style="color: #660000;"><b>Ixthys</b></div><b>Pallasstraße 21, 10781 Berlin</b><br />
<b>Tel: +49 (0)30 814 747 69</b><br />
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<small><a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=embed&hl=en&geocode=&q=Ixthys+Restaurant,+Pallasstra%C3%9Fe+21,+Berlin,+Deutschland&aq=0&sll=37.0625,-95.677068&sspn=36.315864,79.013672&ie=UTF8&hq=Ixthys+Restaurant,&hnear=Pallasstra%C3%9Fe+21,+Sch%C3%B6neberg+10781+Berlin,+Germany&ll=52.494613,13.354621&spn=0.006493,0.01929&z=14&iwloc=A&cid=6051285068473151039" style="color: blue; text-align: left;">View Larger Map</a></small>Itayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08034471312229143799noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4066884692504822785.post-63045691753539399492011-03-31T19:40:00.000+02:002011-03-31T19:40:17.541+02:00Yes Girl, Carbs Are Good for You<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Spätzle und Knödel - Friedrichshain</b></span><br />
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Even though ranting about all that is wrong with Germany has by now become my second favourite pastime (the first one being cake), I still have moments of pure “isn’t-Germany-great” delight (strangely enough unrelated to cake). They are usually triggered by the one or the other kind of Spätzle, which would raise the legitimate question about whether Spätzle – the doughy Southern German version of pasta – contains any hallucinogens. I may not have the scientific credentials to analyse the happiness eggy dough instils in a man, yet I can still think of a couple of Spätzle-related scenes in which something greater than just its chemical composition put an “isn’t-Germany-great” smile on my face. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaFY5tkEYqSJKXO31lMZq1FmzwolqsxtvoYXasxF_oRIkd_fbLwC1nyim7xJ2XPJ7PmCYhucjI1atwPnhtWdtspySaCqh1hd86YHbMCLPRv2NSpunymJaX0xHsfI5kcQvt8iGK2joJ1E4/s1600/Beer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaFY5tkEYqSJKXO31lMZq1FmzwolqsxtvoYXasxF_oRIkd_fbLwC1nyim7xJ2XPJ7PmCYhucjI1atwPnhtWdtspySaCqh1hd86YHbMCLPRv2NSpunymJaX0xHsfI5kcQvt8iGK2joJ1E4/s200/Beer.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>One of them occurred last year in Munich. It was a drizzly day and everything had gone wrong before we ended up at a place called Altes Simpel, which is apparently a classically authentic local experience. It is one of those magnanimous Bavarian spaces with beer and pork in nearly disturbing abundance. The place was packed and we took our seat at one of the heavy wooden tables looming around to quickly realise we did not understand the menu. This is the place to say it was not due to my German, as I was even equipped with a real German sitting next to me who seemed to be even more at odds with the situation than myself. The menu was written in Bavarian, which is – as endearing as it may be – not entirely decipherable for your average Hochdeutsch (standard German) speaker. We needed help and we needed it fast.<br />
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The cavalry came in the shape of a nymph-shaped waitress. She was blonder than a Californian and friendlier than a Dundonian. After refusing to serve us a Weißwurst because you only got that for breakfast (Bavarian rules, if you can’t beat them, join them), she took the time to walk us through the menu, which culminated in her description of the “Schwabenpfandl” (a dish which would roughly translate into a “Swabian pan”, which – you would all agree – makes no sense whatsoever). “Oh, that,” said she, “it’s quite simple really: a few pork medallions with a heap of spinach-spätzle and thick mushroom-cream sauce.” She nodded, smiled and added: “und übrigens, das Ding ist ziemlich geil,” which would translate into: “and by the way, that thing is delicious/brilliant/awesome/sensual.” <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVG1W8h90jKZ-AghISG86jwPpUblm0Q6VSNJtQvoZyWQpoOKn7qh5BxnmlLR9ah7g8ZI6OjNLJwsIE65f1GNgojABllSScczR1bn8fBxMww47Y92fLL_QyAJWceOMYbJRJeVXk_8Ch4Mg/s1600/Boar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVG1W8h90jKZ-AghISG86jwPpUblm0Q6VSNJtQvoZyWQpoOKn7qh5BxnmlLR9ah7g8ZI6OjNLJwsIE65f1GNgojABllSScczR1bn8fBxMww47Y92fLL_QyAJWceOMYbJRJeVXk_8Ch4Mg/s200/Boar.jpg" width="64" /></a></div>Now wait a second, a pretty, slim girl in her early twenties just called a pile of pig, carbs, cream and fat “geil?” As hard as I try to avoid blunt generalisations, her London or New York counterpart would smile and say that she has been told it was good, but really, you see, it is just too rich for her to try it herself *giggle*. In Munich, however, that pile of sinful fat overdose was just “geil”. It was a moment of pure elation. I suddenly loved Germany. And that fat spinach spätzle that came along with the food. <br />
<br />
I was hoping for a similar experience of too-much-spätzle-in-your-face when I head about Spätzle and Knödel on Wühlischstraße in Friedrichshain. The area has recently turned into an enclave of Southern German cuisine, and the idea of a restaurant focusing its menu on Spätzle and Knödel (German dumplings) had something glorious about it. <br />
<br />
The first impression is of a restaurant not entirely “finished”. The furniture is of the Bavarian wooden sort, the lights are dim, but the walls are barren. The general feeling is of a cross between a Bavarian pub and a restaurant. Honouring Bavarian tradition, we started by ordering Bavarian beer and taking a closer look at the menu: there are few to no starters and it is mainly about the main courses and the desserts. According to the restaurant’s name, the customer can order the mains with a choice of either Spätzle or Knödel. We took the Krustbraten with Semmelknödel (pork roast with slices of bread dumpling, 9.40 €) and a Jägerschnitzel with Spätzle (Hunter’s Schnitzel is basically a slice of pork in mushroom-cream sauce, 8.80 €). The pork roast was just right – it wasn’t spectacular, but it was very good: good quality meat, pleasing consistency, convincing seasoning. The dumplings’ quality were a notch higher, as they were absolutely delicious. The whole lot was served together with Sauerkraut, which I would have liked better without the overdose of cumin, but I reckon this is just a matter of taste. The Jägerschnitzel was also very good. The meat was good and tender; the cream sauce was heavy – but definitely gratifying – whereas the Spätzle was close to perfect. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiphp4txx0Lp1wL045WFvGvTDNcA__1wx1KLOowR_0MJj2AaDgCXEkEpfAvmAB7at0q-OglBGPdXNx-l0Yg8WgTRflHXGu6mEi-Cr5NZD0YAPt0cUNyEiF56zFGSM9a2L__w15ST8MCkIU/s1600/Krustbraten.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiphp4txx0Lp1wL045WFvGvTDNcA__1wx1KLOowR_0MJj2AaDgCXEkEpfAvmAB7at0q-OglBGPdXNx-l0Yg8WgTRflHXGu6mEi-Cr5NZD0YAPt0cUNyEiF56zFGSM9a2L__w15ST8MCkIU/s200/Krustbraten.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Krustbraten</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxTqgEbS7SxuHFd0QPiSCoRkizh_7pXgK0Ei4U575zQhicVWxwJisWsc144gdpoN9xGtq8AAwtYfiY_aemAIsp6DHhivhMv_H95NJCPKa7i-LF8dwecbT0HgD9PDTNQmVsnNVZT7ngB7o/s1600/J%25C3%25A4gerschnitzel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxTqgEbS7SxuHFd0QPiSCoRkizh_7pXgK0Ei4U575zQhicVWxwJisWsc144gdpoN9xGtq8AAwtYfiY_aemAIsp6DHhivhMv_H95NJCPKa7i-LF8dwecbT0HgD9PDTNQmVsnNVZT7ngB7o/s200/J%25C3%25A4gerschnitzel.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jägerschnitzel</td></tr>
</tbody></table> Even though every normal human being would have been satiated after only the mains, I decided I also wanted to try out the Kaiserschmarrn (for those who do not remember: it is the Austrian version of “scrambled crêpe”: masses of pancake-dough scrambled and fried in butter and caramel, 4.30 €). Now, I love a good Kasierschmarrn even though I am aware of the fact it is a perverse thing to be eating. And this one was good: The dough had just the right consistency, being soft inside and crusty and caramelised on the outside. The prune jam that came along with it was very good, but my only problem was the overdose of raisins. I personally think humans should be banned from using raisins in apple cakes, poppy seed cakes (actually, in cake in general) and in Kaiserschmarrn. But then again, it’s just a matter of taste.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO-V7J2egBKkFmbubDoeC9VEU15TyCbBJOJcMX-85juXYoyNi92sb3w1HKG4rKVxW5nAqqF80fh_IV8iwRBwiGhT3jTwteI7P_deu9DRPmhsvon3YSxJpL_XS4QWH36GmLDVFCczrDTkE/s1600/Kaiserschmarrn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO-V7J2egBKkFmbubDoeC9VEU15TyCbBJOJcMX-85juXYoyNi92sb3w1HKG4rKVxW5nAqqF80fh_IV8iwRBwiGhT3jTwteI7P_deu9DRPmhsvon3YSxJpL_XS4QWH36GmLDVFCczrDTkE/s200/Kaiserschmarrn.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kaiserschmarrn</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Spätzle and Knödel is a good address to remember: it won’t be a life changing experience, but if you are looking for an affordable example of pleasingly hearty German food in a Berliner ambiance, go there. Do remember that chic is not necessarily included in the “Berliner ambiance”. But then again, who needs chic with good beer, good carbs and good company?<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">Overall mark: </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzvY-8gkIY5FFr-0KtfiyEiVnS1jdXKjfYAW6szFuWWpHRkcWvMYLGZRfnS_OQWuTICRN0EN3NHADzYAcLINCr7kYZYLfKvCNr03veGcHqiDexsqWidw-rWQM-74geRJyn2Wn4K2n1bpo/s1600/4pawss.jpg" /><span id="goog_842752600"></span></a><span id="goog_842752601"></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbxeXtXHIQe0BmgS6AbHkmqIcLZ-1cJFPkhDGf2i6Aq5DppuIp9dPmYbR14P63NhUTYbHsVbEx4Ut_sA9ILKl6URTnV7E2euXpvfaB-6OrKftSRpcRu-GhJRO0nth94CDzRvetvrskEag/s1600/friendss.jpg" /></a><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcEKsbOrG2PUBDOLY-K6a63NYwi9Ew7Dn05_q54Wo_L6DdXMigwY9U4JTee-sOhpAvdDbicaKaJhTovojpHZpqzTBbHVOPUFfhrJvdFqDpw42ZMQXXHDhC-qlJWAt9xpUcYoO72XTVcTo/s1600/tears.jpg" /></a><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjNlcDWUGf7iAZvD_FoJDCqDUwWgSRCP0M3W-EO_9dmslFXF-8AQ_KDvQPmUlOTUyd1MJMuNbEUdthNXBN7n463dbnynxO78R6ieRhCFwtlNKbmq9JIVGYFNJOMb3Krwman_OfnvJod_Q/s1600/travels.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div style="color: #660000;"><b>Spätzle & Knödel: Schwäbisch-Bayerische Küche</b></div><b>Wühlischstraße 20, 10245 Berlin</b><br />
<b>www.spaetzleknoedel.de</b><br />
<br />
<iframe frameborder="0" height="350" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=en&geocode=&q=Sp%C3%A4tzle+%26+Kn%C3%B6del,+W%C3%BChlischstra%C3%9Fe+20,+Berlin,+Germany&aq=0&sll=37.0625,-95.677068&sspn=32.059939,79.013672&ie=UTF8&hq=Sp%C3%A4tzle+%26+Kn%C3%B6del,&hnear=W%C3%BChlischstra%C3%9Fe+20,+Friedrichshain+10245+Berlin,+Germany&ll=52.508836,13.460966&spn=0.006295,0.006295&output=embed" width="425"></iframe><br />
<small><a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=embed&hl=en&geocode=&q=Sp%C3%A4tzle+%26+Kn%C3%B6del,+W%C3%BChlischstra%C3%9Fe+20,+Berlin,+Germany&aq=0&sll=37.0625,-95.677068&sspn=32.059939,79.013672&ie=UTF8&hq=Sp%C3%A4tzle+%26+Kn%C3%B6del,&hnear=W%C3%BChlischstra%C3%9Fe+20,+Friedrichshain+10245+Berlin,+Germany&ll=52.508836,13.460966&spn=0.006295,0.006295" style="color: blue; text-align: left;">View Larger Map</a></small>Itayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08034471312229143799noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4066884692504822785.post-11318434729692581052011-03-23T18:22:00.000+01:002011-03-23T18:22:44.842+01:00Putting Turkey on Berlin's Map<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Gözleme - Neukölln</b></span><br />
<br />
Imagine the following conversation taking place in German: <br />
Me: „Let’s go for food.“<br />
Some blond person: „Sure, any suggestions?”<br />
Me: “There’s this nifty Turkish place down the road…”<br />
That blond person: “I thought you meant real food? I’m not in he mood of having Döner right now.” <br />
Me again: “Urgh… I didn’t mean that either. I was talking about going to a restaurant.” <br />
A bewildered blond person: “Yeah, but a Döner on a plate is still just a Döner, right? I think I’ll pass. I need real food.” <br />
An irritated me: “But… like… a restaurant? With real food? Cooked and all? What’s not real about that?” <br />
An irritated blond person: “Listen, let’s just do something else, I told you I didn’t feel like going for a kebab.”<br />
<br />
That dialogue of the deaf can go on pretty much the same way for a couple more minutes before I end the discussion with a sigh and lead the way to the warm embrace of the closest Schnitzel. Not that Schnitzel is bad. I love Schnitzel. But I’ve always found Teutonic disinterest regarding Turkish food to be quite baffling. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7N1k6qRUMalIaujr5PrNTT4_TcRNaZwXma5LC8LIoz0y4hs6_-9tIB6lq6Xz2K-m8s2jEMGreXZgkAmcN-JGE-lpOvqYg6Ntstniqn9UhJo6mEtsrQ1GSmirKXfORwZVQ3_GS6K8WR4E/s1600/Overall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7N1k6qRUMalIaujr5PrNTT4_TcRNaZwXma5LC8LIoz0y4hs6_-9tIB6lq6Xz2K-m8s2jEMGreXZgkAmcN-JGE-lpOvqYg6Ntstniqn9UhJo6mEtsrQ1GSmirKXfORwZVQ3_GS6K8WR4E/s200/Overall.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>As true as it may be that food can be overrated as a sign of entrenchment of genuine multicultural understanding in any society, it’s still bleeding important on an everyday level. In some ways, it’s always the first contact between people, an excuse to start talking to each other and a symptom of people’s readiness to test their own limits and boundaries. Which is why I find it so strange that the Turkish cuisine – although so present in Germany – has not yet been embraced by most Germans to be included into the local food culture, as is the case in France with couscous and in Britain with curry. <br />
<br />
The thing about the Turkish cuisine is that it is strikingly rich, encompassing a whole myriad of dishes, shapes and tastes. Yet ask any of the inhabitants of the largest Turkish city outside of Turkey whether they know any Turkish food and most will not get anywhere past Döner. And let’s face it, Döner isn’t even that Turkish, being a local creation invented around Kottbusser Tor. And still, Berlin offers a range of many good Turkish places. The trick is to find them. <br />
<br />
<b>Gözleme </b>in Neukölln was initially a friend’s tip. One of the few traces left by an unspectacularly boring relationship with a Turkish ex was a love of Turkish pastries and dough-based dishes. Two of them are Gözleme – the Turkish version of a crêpe – and Manti – the Turkish dumplings. She said we could find both on Karl Marx Straße. <br />
<br />
At first glance, the place is barely distinguishable from any Döner joint in town, just a bit larger. This impression is heavily influenced by the fact that the décor is a marriage made in hell between radioactively yellow walls, in-your-face lights and a touch of pink whenever possible. But there is a real menu, the spinning kebab is nowhere to be found and the owner of the place is incredibly nice and welcoming. <br />
<br />
The menu is not overwhelmingly large. It offers a fairly limited choice of soups, a never-ending list of gözleme, two different manti and a couple of meat dishes from the grill. We decided to concentrate on the doughy options and started by ordering a <b>lentil soup</b> (2.80 €) and an <b>aubergine gözleme</b> (that Turkish crêpe for 2.50 €) to start the meal. One has to remember that the lentils in Turkish lentil soups are pureed, giving the soup a very smooth texture. Unfortunately, this one came out fairly bland at the end. It was still alright, but just not inspiring. The gözleme was far better: The dough was thin and the garlicky aubergine filling was superb. It was also large enough to serve as a main.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Y0DMmCJnnBUQW05tZFoYYAQKSse5sIX1kOAg5CFVAFIN2rii5KnU38KDfIR4Ev01rHvfWCZOn0aY7F072Rzknwajq9OkKtfpdP6c81yG1Dfghw_2KrkOtpYS9cj3Q4jGxp9OAdeWsUQ/s1600/Soup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Y0DMmCJnnBUQW05tZFoYYAQKSse5sIX1kOAg5CFVAFIN2rii5KnU38KDfIR4Ev01rHvfWCZOn0aY7F072Rzknwajq9OkKtfpdP6c81yG1Dfghw_2KrkOtpYS9cj3Q4jGxp9OAdeWsUQ/s200/Soup.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lentil soup</td></tr>
</tbody></table> We then continued to our main courses and ordered <b>manti </b>for each, but one dish was vegetarian (with potatoes, 5.50 €) and the other had a meat filling (for 6.50 €). Manti are basically dumplings the size of a dice. Their size is probably one of the biggest challenges when it comes to their preparation, as it is very easy to either stuff them with too little filling and just taste dough or to stuff them with too much and to miss the point. They are served swimming in a yoghurt-garlic sauce. The meat manti were just perfect. The dough was good and the filling had a strong presence despite its miniscule size. The yoghurt-garlic-pepper sauce was so good I did not mind leaving the place smelling like a vampire slayer. The vegetarian manti were, unfortunately, a bit of a disappointment. The sauce was just as good, but the dumplings were fairly watery and the filling did not taste of much. It was still alright, but it felt like eating slices of dough swimming in yoghurt-garlic sauce, which is not as spectacularly good as eating delicious manti.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihhucHYotVrHYch60HYW2ou0CB9nhfI477X_0YNqvSnm_LgaFHHS9W5zGuRjcezS7FQe9EAKzQM9pDMMp7bdbp1B5gbhE6CVS0kWv2hjJNbRU0vM6hgAoDZ2VfFqILga21jZRJSlseIqM/s1600/G%25C3%25B6zleme.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihhucHYotVrHYch60HYW2ou0CB9nhfI477X_0YNqvSnm_LgaFHHS9W5zGuRjcezS7FQe9EAKzQM9pDMMp7bdbp1B5gbhE6CVS0kWv2hjJNbRU0vM6hgAoDZ2VfFqILga21jZRJSlseIqM/s200/G%25C3%25B6zleme.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gözleme</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3MDR5VqbQokQqBfqYwgj6qt-JYW48_98dM6hyUdG0jpKgotXIVl-GC0YIlW_9bV2PpvvUiSqdjkGDSVNS0vX3HGiUQgzdtUFp06O8d0mmwxa4CuJt2XwnLDM-YZ-jqcDqynMCQRR6hNg/s1600/Manti.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3MDR5VqbQokQqBfqYwgj6qt-JYW48_98dM6hyUdG0jpKgotXIVl-GC0YIlW_9bV2PpvvUiSqdjkGDSVNS0vX3HGiUQgzdtUFp06O8d0mmwxa4CuJt2XwnLDM-YZ-jqcDqynMCQRR6hNg/s200/Manti.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Manti</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
I’m being fair here and rewarding gözleme with three prints because the bland soup and the watery vegetarian manti were far from perfect, but it doesn’t mean the place isn’t good. It is quite marvellous if you know what to order and feel like having a simple, hearty and inexpensive meal. Otherwise, in case you live and Berlin and have never tasted gözleme or manti, just go there without thinking twice (and when I say gözleme, I do NOT mean those greasy atrocities they sell at the Maybachufer market).<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">Overall mark:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh06i1phzcKiGJoahhLfocyUXIWozhX_o7xtzyl7Azo6kQML1xu9TDK4bl2zzsJfFgL6NwG3QssmMxYDGihmWB_r4xkLi_Cc48nAFPliBQyRKTVbHUTGWlwad7t2CpQcY3NQ8sTmnpw0B0/s1600/3pawss.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmORq3LpO9YT0A_yWUbdvM8qOwRI87WdLIWTTbC7kVGa0CuXCJzVzAktduA6pAhSnMHzjky57Ym5qeSB8ViA9Ku72aEOTNHljJIgVpnWCIt-s1Hzt8fkvmeBh99YAmbrf3fNwqt-jfKKg/s1600/friendss.jpg" /></a><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1yOlx7TUeeHS7mKzv2zPshlYvkTAVbgCfP-cmcygrxvksprOs2XRe5p3CrTJCb9WULRhxSKdwcS7zoK7TtX6cugbgggwRjF3OXxRh4ETEhGhxYo62QRu8UWAdZs9cjm5YGiV_GVL8bRU/s1600/tears.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div style="color: #660000;"><b>Gözleme - Türkisches Restaurant</b></div><b>Karl-Marx-Str. 35, 12043 Berlin</b><br />
<b>Tel: +49 (0)30 613 4134</b><br />
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<small><a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=embed&hl=en&geocode=&q=Karl-Marx-Stra%C3%9Fe+35,+Berlin,+Deutschland&aq=0&sll=37.0625,-95.677068&sspn=32.114675,79.013672&ie=UTF8&hq=&hnear=Karl-Marx-Stra%C3%9Fe+35,+Berlin+12043+Berlin,+Germany&z=14&ll=52.48427,13.42959" style="color: blue; text-align: left;">View Larger Map</a></small>Itayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08034471312229143799noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4066884692504822785.post-42874613200293430892011-03-15T17:56:00.000+01:002011-03-15T17:56:38.691+01:00Eating Trolls<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Munch's Hus - Schöneberg</b></span><br />
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Don’t you just miss these days when everything was clear-cut and easy? When the world had a clear set of rules and you knew what was right and what was wrong? Girls wore pink; boys wore blue and all that jazz? That certainty is bound to cave in at some point, whether we like it or not. The interesting part is what triggers the moral meltdown. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgi9MY3QDrdzC197qSL8f1UMv_M-bc-R-JjfWfTPyncMe3AAU-vL1ZffFLHVGMFHTsTsaJAihSv1vl81IelPdwAk_1r6WIefkRFCoXo_4ApXvXuSKk9pfvdYADJTEDVWlHq6aI8ZfvUVc/s1600/Trolls1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="134" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgi9MY3QDrdzC197qSL8f1UMv_M-bc-R-JjfWfTPyncMe3AAU-vL1ZffFLHVGMFHTsTsaJAihSv1vl81IelPdwAk_1r6WIefkRFCoXo_4ApXvXuSKk9pfvdYADJTEDVWlHq6aI8ZfvUVc/s200/Trolls1.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>I remember my serene world of infantile certainty collapsed because of trolls. Trolls, you ask? Well, yes, trolls. As a child I understood trolls. I did not much like them (I was a mainstream kinda boy, rooting for the good guys and disliking ugly, hairy creatures with warts the size of a tuna sandwich, whether they were real trolls or just that dodgy guy who used to haunt Digbeth Coach Station), but I got their essence. They were big, revolting and scary. And most of all – they had a purpose in life, which was just that, to be perfectly hideous and then be slain by the good guy. And then came the 90’s with their strange deviations. Do you remember those little plastic trolls with the neon-coloured hair that suddenly invaded every school class on the face of the planet? They were all about being sweet in a revolting kind of way, with nostrils the size of half their faces. If they were real trolls, these nostrils would be hairy, but alas, those colourful look-alikes had nothing natural about them, and hairy nostrils were definitely not cute. Suddenly every child in the country was obsessed with those little dolls, and I could not get to the bottom of it. Why on earth? <br />
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Nearly twenty years later, I had a troll flashback on a flight between Paris and Oslo, as I had the pleasure to sit next to a French Erasmus student who happened to be going back to Oslo after spending Easter at her parents’ in the Bauce. She was happily ranting about the woes of a Frenchwoman forced to spend a year in the Norwegian wilderness: no baguette, no cheese, and the rest of the food is so bleakly horrid. “It tastes like eating trolls, you know?” She pouted her lips before she continued, “but Norwegian trolls, not real ones.” <br />
“Real ones?” I asked, “Aren’t the Norwegian ones real enough?”<br />
“Oh no, real trolls are so cute! You can play with their hair for hours!” <br />
How could I forget? The Erasmus students of today were born in the 90’s. For them trolls are no Norse mythological beings, but rather toys made in China. And yet the girl had a point: Food in Norway often felt like biting one’s way through a troll. It wasn’t that the food wasn’t good on paper, but it usually ended up being served without the slightest hint of seasoning for the price of three meals in any other country. With all of my awe and admiration for the country’s stunning natural landscapes, the best thing about eating there was usually nibbling on the sandwiches I had prepared in Sweden before crossing the border. I was therefore intrigued when I heard there was a Norwegian restaurant in Schöneberg which was supposedly wonderful.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx52Dwk6C-eQsSfffjGdRjlqK7JQD3YzbsN_R6jkYRA6ZXccGtz2331P7kTPtvb5JjHPTbrjp5fRKHBKPUXKcGMVB-zR76IgCr7QH2Q0kC-Aa2b2poLwDFKDyCP17RKvNdc2cl19SZVcM/s1600/Place.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx52Dwk6C-eQsSfffjGdRjlqK7JQD3YzbsN_R6jkYRA6ZXccGtz2331P7kTPtvb5JjHPTbrjp5fRKHBKPUXKcGMVB-zR76IgCr7QH2Q0kC-Aa2b2poLwDFKDyCP17RKvNdc2cl19SZVcM/s200/Place.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>Munch’s Hus is located directly on the Bülowbogen, an area which might as well be recognised for what it is: A sterling example of West-Berliner utter desolation. As we entered the restaurant, the 90’s hit us again, and not from its brilliant Ace-of-Base angle. Even though it was aiming for upscale, the overall deco was far from being a success. With radioactively yellow walls, bright lights and reproductions of Munch densely covering the walls, I had to sigh disapprovingly before taking a long look at the menu, which was endearingly didactic with random pieces of information about Norway and Norwegian food. Slowly, I felt the Scandi-phile in me gaining the upper hand. The yummy Norwegian food I never got in Norway seemed to be accessible in Berlin for about a third of the price I’d have to pay in the land of fjords and trolls. <br />
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We started with a Nordmeersuppe (North Sea soup: a creamy soup with prawns and lumpfish caviar for 3.90 €) and a Rondane-Teller (we’ll call it the Norwegian antipasti mix: a mixture of elk and reindeer sausages, Norwegian cheese and a scrambled egg for 5.90 €). The soup was surprisingly perfect. I am not the biggest fan of cream soups, as I think they have the tendency to end up being just stodgy, but this one was good. It was delicate, had the perfect texture and most important: the cream did not cover up the taste of the other ingredients. The Rondane plate was also quite a success. It was a mixture of the best Norwegian products one can find, with meat and cheese stuff that incorporate a wide array of different tastes.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy24yiCKs0DRA6hldwQFtFhKtuR0XPDC6Pf_Lc-6OZOvKXOkwDSBn1DxR4UQcKdfdoB7nyPr-l8KkpXarWY6FwSQ8M9JyRJHzGFp9u8gg2KaeKJdeKzqFmsnKCFlE4fwLZxLyJFXxoVik/s1600/Elchbraten.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy24yiCKs0DRA6hldwQFtFhKtuR0XPDC6Pf_Lc-6OZOvKXOkwDSBn1DxR4UQcKdfdoB7nyPr-l8KkpXarWY6FwSQ8M9JyRJHzGFp9u8gg2KaeKJdeKzqFmsnKCFlE4fwLZxLyJFXxoVik/s200/Elchbraten.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elchbraten</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-avAJLiP5feVodREMUxf0fbslfk7MAyFbs4YwyRUSphMg1Zdu5BfC7QhszFficCxKuJqYL5Oo7aqPcc_4MvWyqUPdn-6WIlXelruttmQZS9dGFKMfl7FujKr_SRR0-BUlm60GmG_cBnw/s1600/Kveite.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-avAJLiP5feVodREMUxf0fbslfk7MAyFbs4YwyRUSphMg1Zdu5BfC7QhszFficCxKuJqYL5Oo7aqPcc_4MvWyqUPdn-6WIlXelruttmQZS9dGFKMfl7FujKr_SRR0-BUlm60GmG_cBnw/s200/Kveite.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kveite</td></tr>
</tbody></table> We then continued with the Elchbraten (elk roast with potatoes, lingonberries and chestnuts, 16.90 €) and the Kveite (halibut filet in blueberry sauce with leeks and potatoes in saffron, 13.50 €). The roast represented one of Norway’s eternal culinary woes: it sounds a lot more exotic than it really is. The sauce was delicious, but elk never really tastes that good. We’re talking about very muscular animals here, and their meat in accordingly stringy. It was good, but not fantastic. On the one hand, it was to be expected, but on the other, it would mean other elements of the dish would just have to make up for it, which the potatoes and the relatively boring chestnuts did not do. The halibut, however, was a different story altogether. The fish was tender – not to raw and not too dry, while the blueberry sauce was very exciting indeed. I guess not anyone would fall for this dish because of the sweet and sour touch of the blueberries, but if you are into experimenting, it will be worth your thirteen Euros. <br />
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We then both decided to take the same dessert: crème caramel with cloudberries (for 5.10 €). Now, crème caramel is a fairly boring choice, I know. And the pricing might also seem a bit odd. At least until you take a closer look at the second ingredient: cloudberries, my friends, are probably the last remains of heaven of our little planet. They are one of Scandinavia’s true treasures: they look like golden raspberries and taste like…well… heaven. In Scandinavia, they are usually found in diluted form (jams, ice cream, etc.), partly because the fruit itself is so expensive and partly because it has such a strong taste. My pure enthusiasm upon finding a dish with real cloudberries was unimaginable. Alright, you can’t get any fresh cloudberries in March. And even if you could, you would pay more than 5.10 € for them. But I even enjoyed their de-frosted version (oh yes, and the crème caramel was good. Unspectacularly so, but it was perfect for what it was). <br />
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The marking business with Munch’s Hus is fairly tricky: the service was excellent, the pricing was very good and the food was good – from fantastic to just nice. The problem with the “just nice” was the fact that it was their house speciality (the elk roast). And then you’ll have to add these horrible yellow walls and yellow lightning (which ruined the photos this time around. My apologies indeed). Alas, Munch’s Hus will be awarded with only four prints, knowing it has what it takes to make it to five. Go there. It’s good.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">Overall mark:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGsmgck51KND8LSt4KltBJ9XKvFXavOyMZPgmcM8wSRDne9PYBnN-E0qsbPcvDTsucT3LP4mz53txUaRST4D2cLEqGAPjGGs8FWxg8IadIZ-KZG2LLhpRf4OE3uNHgj5jIDfWIhc7jM5s/s1600/4pawss.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFiHyt-WCOiKYWe5FGdbCo3N3fAS5kWrvoOshvymwuec0BTHYYmalvNKHiai1otOWziWbHvYsfoIO4eX_r5JkeG168tAuldhyV1eMcQgRrH_mtNMrS4DgWaX98UjgW1JV-E1dk8SmWRYU/s1600/romances.jpg" /></a><a href="http://footprintsinberlin.blogspot.com/p/footprint-system.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidwK72nx6M8-V7ET4bmrwIEMyTYqzSqpdfPiSUMr-QabJtp8d_w787Pftxpw31WcGkwRoT5h_vHVFZy7N5AJdpVM3HJNOLsD-PG6nGoBhGE4yHwFmfgBIelii7nzjyFW-qyESFpv3H8Mg/s1600/parentss.jpg" /></a></div><div style="color: #660000;"><b>Munch's Hus</b></div><b>Bülowstraße 66, 10783 Berlin</b><br />
<b>http://www.munchshus.de </b><br />
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