Food with a Moustache

Mimino - Georgisches Restaurant

Georgia (the country, not the state) has been an inseparable part of my world of references as far as I can remember. Even before I knew “Georgia” was a place, I knew “Georgian” was a perfectly acceptable adjective my Polish grandmother used in order to conjure the image of short, hairy and unhygienic men with thick, black and no less unhygienic moustaches. She could also use the word “Georgian” to describe my aunt’s obsessively tasteless collection of too colourful porcelain dolls. Sometimes she would say she’d just been to a “Georgian” restaurant, but by that she usually meant she had just been to a hole-in-the-wall that served greasy food and whose owner was a useless bum. Georgian food was something I only discovered later.

I cannot recall the first time I had Georgian food. I know I liked it and I know I could not help thinking of fat men reeking of cheap perfume and sweat. What I can clearly remember was the last time I went to a Georgian restaurant: it was a popular restaurant in Tallinn, hidden somewhere around the higher floors of a seedy Communist block. Inside it was decorated with the best overdose gold, red and bad taste paraphernalia could account for. Everyone seemed to be holding cigarettes in their hands and most men’s faces were hidden behind large moustaches. The icing on the cake was a short and husky woman with a microphone on an improvised stage in the centre of the room, titillating her bosom, singing the same Russian song in loops: ochen krasivaya zhenshina, a very beautiful woman. Oh, and yes, the food was delicious. Georgian food is just splendid: it is this fantastic fusion of Russian, Turkish and Persian food. It can be rich and tasty, both comfortably well-known and exotically intriguing.

When I was asked whether I wanted to go and try out Mimino in Charlottenburg, it did not take long for me to cancel other plans I may have had and storm out of my flat in the direction of the U7 towards the Old West. The place’s name is based on a classical Russian film about two (moustached) Georgian men, whose comic-like figures decorate the menu and the windows. Apparently, it’s a must-see comedy in the world of Russian film making. The restaurant itself is also a strange mixture of bad taste and attempted poshness. The walls are off-white and the tables are all set to raise expectations. However, TV screens are strewn around the place, showing mute football. As much as I was disappointed the place did not remind me of that Georgian place in Tallinn, all hope was not yet lost: the obligatory stage, microphone and playback cassette-recorder were all set in place and a small man was howling something that was supposed to be Frank Sinatra.

The menu was promising. It had a pleasing choice of fairly affordable Georgian dishes. As a starter (and I should probably state they were also listed as such), we ordered Chinkali (dumplings, the Georgian version of Russian pelmeni and Polish pierogi. The menu suggested them in three versions: with meat, potatoes and cheese. They were only available in the meaty and cheesy versions. We tried both, with cheese for the unit price of 0.90 € and meat for 0.80 € min. 5 units). For the main round, we ordered an array of things: Ostri (veal in spicy bell-pepper sauce, 9.50 €), Tschachochbili (chicken in tomato-coriander sauce, 8.50 €) and two chatschapourris (a sort of dough with cheese filling and topping, once with double cheese and one with garlic, 9.00 € and 10.00 €). As the main courses all come without sides, we ordered two more dishes of potatoes (3.00 €).

Ostri

It was then the chaos started. It seems like the division between “starters” and “main courses” was but a mere recommendation, as the first two dishes that appeared on the table were the first chatschapourri and the ostri. The ostri was not that spicy, but it was absolutely delicious. The meat was tender and the sauce was spectacularly good. The huge pot came without the potatoes or any other sides, and it took us a while before we realised we had to eat it before the other things came, or else it would get cold. The same goes for the chatschapourri. It was good, but a bit too monotonous and heavy: it was just dough with cheese, and lots of it. I’m the last one to say anything against dough and cheese, but it felt like eating a pizza-shaped brick. With those two dishes on the table, a waitress came out with a tray of butter cakes and asked us how many we wanted to reserve for the dessert, as “they are delicious and there might not be enough left once you get to the end”. We frowned, but could not take the pressure and reserved three.

Chatschapourri

Chinkali

Slowly but surely came out the other courses. The second chatschapourri seemed like an even heavier brick, but tschachochbili compensated for that by being delicious, yet still lacking its side dish. All the portions were very big, so that we were all more than satiated after the four main courses without the sides or the starters. This did not matter much for the waiters, as suddenly the chinkali decided to arrive. They were huge. Perversely so. The ones with the meat were utterly tasteless. The ones with the cheese (served with double cream and prune confiture) were fairly good quality, but so heavy they were difficult stuff down our throats. Just as the last bit had gone down, the waitress came out with our sides of potatoes. We managed to explain it was a bit too late for that, and after a bit more squabbling we even managed to cancel our pre-ordered dessert, as the last thing we were able to handle by that time was a butter cake with cream on top.

At the end of the day, it was quite an experience. The restaurant was chaotic and the service was miserable and pushy even for Berlin standards. But then again, it just made things strangely authentic. The food balanced between absolutely delicious (the meat dishes), good quality but too in-your-face heavy (the cheese dishes) and rather tasteless (the meat chinkali). A meal based on meaty main courses ONLY would probably be quite a success.

Overall mark:

Mimino - Georgisches Restaurant

Waitzstraße 1, 10629 Berlin

www.mimino-berlin.com 

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A Taste of Chinatown in Berlin

Aroma - Chinese Restaurant

Some countries seem to be stuck in a time warp looping within a certain decade. France has never left the 1970’s, America is waddling through the 90’s and Italy has never stopped reliving the 1690’s. At the end of the day, it’s all about countries trying to preserve their heydays. Never say never, but it is all too probable that Paris will never again be the intellectual and trend setting capital of the world as it was in the 70’s, America will never regain its undisputed role as the world’s leader as in the 90’s, and Italy will never become a modern country as it was considered to be centuries ago. As Berlin is supposedly the cutting- edge worldly trend-setting capital of the cool and of the now, you would expect it to show a bit of commitment to the aesthetics of the 21st Century. But wait a second, if it really is the case, why does so much here still feel like an embarrassingly bad TV production from the 80’s?

Some of it might be explained by that 80’s comeback we’ve been forced to witness since the late 90’s. But it can’t be all. In too many cases it goes a few steps too far for it to be a backlash of coolness. Think mullet families, think perms and shoulder pads. It’s everywhere. The sad fact is that bad TV productions from the 80’s are Germany’s heyday; the 80’s remain synonymous for a time in which the East Germans had regained their dignity by initiating a peaceful revolution and triggering the fall of the Iron Curtain. The West Germans were living a peaceful suburban joy in their perfect economy and the future just seemed remarkably bright in its all-encompassing greyness. Walking around the older parts of Berlin (basically anywhere outside the Mitte-Kreuzberg-Friedrichshain-P’berg-Kreuzkölln ring), it becomes impossible to ignore the 80’s vibe: the forms, the colours and the general aesthetics. It’s enough to look at the brown carpets or the bright neon lights in areas like Schöneberg or Charlottenburg to beam me over twenty years back to a time I perceive as naïve as it was aesthetically displeasing.

One element I now miss from the fabric of memories otherwise known as my childhood is Chinese restaurants. The ones with awful brown carpets, neon aquariums and fortune cookies. I used to go there a lot and I remember the food as being fantastic. I wanted to say “authentic”, but I doubt my European sense of taste would appreciate real Chinese food. My definition of “authentic” comes down to food with real taste, with fantastic sauces, cashew nuts, dim sum and ducks in all shapes and forms. I have never found any of those in Berlin. But then again, never say never. This week I decided to check out Aroma on Kantstraße in Charlottenburg. This part of the street has been transformed into a Berlin version of Chinatown in the last couple of years. Don’t expect narrow streets filled with masses of people and stores packed with curiosities you wouldn’t find anywhere else. We’re still in Berlin – the streets are wide, spacious and German, yet parts of Kantstraße are paved with a whole variety of Chinese restaurants. Aroma is – despite its name – one of the more authentic-looking ones.

Authentic would mean – in this case – a random array of lights, aquariums and naff Chinese looking patters. Oh, and yes, the crowd is also quite Chinese. The menus are all written in four languages, with Chinese and Russian being the main two followed by English and German. With over 400 different courses, the menu is frighteningly vast and does not seem to offer and logical structure. We decided to start with a variety of six different dim sums: Há cáo (steamed prawn dumplings, 4.30 €), Bánh lec gá (steamed lotus leaves filled with rice and meat, 4.50 €), Bánh bao xá xiú (fluffy buns filled with sweet roast pork, 3.20 €), Bánh xúon (steamed rice leaves with prawn filling, 4.50 €), Dau hu ky chiên (soy dough with pork filling, 3.20 €) and Chân vit háp (steamed duck feet, 3.20 €). Some were excellent (the pork buns and the prawn dumplings), some were both interesting and very good (the lotus leaves) some were nice (the rice leaves), bland (the soy dough) and then the duck feet were just a bit… different. They were pleasing once you got to understand which parts were edible and which parts were not. Another unexpected difficulty was dividing the lotus leaves in two. Now – you might say we should have just eaten them as they were, but there were four of us and two of them and each one was big enough to feed two people. The leaves were quite dividable, but they were held by their veins that were as solid as a man’s tooth (I might be exaggerating here, but it still was not possible to cut through them with a spoon). We had to order a knife, followed by a cross examination by the sceptical waiter, after which he frowned and handed over a set of silverware with a look of pure disdain covering his face. These white people, they can’t use their sticks properly.

Dim Sum in all its glory

Main courses

We then moved to the main courses, which were not easy to choose, as we had a list of 419 options to choose from. We compromised on a Cantonese stew of eel and grilled pork belly (also served with tofu, 18€), two kinds of squids in shrimp sauce (two kinds basically means the dry one and the rubbery one, 12.50 €) and two kinds of crispy ducks (Cantonese – with hoi sin sauce, and another one served together with different vegetables, both for 12.50 €). The food was served with one large bowl of white rice, which was actually more than enough for the four of us. All the portions were very generous, the stew was even nearly too big. The stew was great value and fantastic quality. The squids were quite alright: they were not fried to death and the texture was quite interesting, but the shrimp sauce was a tad disappointing. Both ducks were very well served: the meat was tender and the batter was just right. The hoi sin sauce was also quite good. The vegetables and the sauce of the second duck were a bit bland and did not add much to the overall taste.

We left thoroughly pleased and satiated. It felt like dining in one of the Chinese restaurants of my childhood: good food surrounded by perversely bright lights or just obscenely tacky images and figurines. I could not help but appreciate the element of fun and can only recommend the place for an amusing night out. Four prints, fair and square.

Overall mark:

Aroma - China Restaurant

Kantstraße 35, 10625 Berlin
Tel: +49 (0)30 3759 1628


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Josef - die Austrothek: Austrian Brilliance

Picking a restaurant for birthday festivities is no laughing matter. It needs to be somewhere on the thin line between fine quality and compatibility with the lowest common denominator in order to enthuse the masses. It needs to be exquisite enough to rise to the festive occasion, yet it can’t be too special if you want to please a heterogeneous group of people invited. I usually avoid making difficult decisions on my birthday, but this time I was not the one celebrating. I found myself merely in the ungrateful position of the advisor.

After realising the crowd was about to be even more varied than I had expected, it became clear there was no other choice left but going for Austrian food. It is both refined and not too exotic. The Austrian cuisine is not too different to the German one. To be fair, like everything else in the Alpine Republic, it is quite inherently German, yet with an endearing Central European touch. It is undoubtedly a version of Germany. If only just an upgraded one. It tends to be more refined, more exquisite, and most of all, it has the capacity to beguile just about everyone. German food with a touch of Sissi.

At the same time, one has to keep in mind that despite the romantic connotation of everything Austrian (with the exception of just about every 20th Century Austrian political figure known for posterity), Austrian food can still be extremely simple, so do not let the endearing Austrian names mislead you too much. Fritatensuppe – despite its haughtily French sounding name, is only a clear beef broth with chopped pancakes simmering inside it, and the desert with the intriguing name Palatschinken is – yet again – only a pancake. So with these warnings in mind, we ventured out all the way to Charlottenburg to try out Josef - die Austrothek on Leonhardtstraße.

The setting was promising. First – and despite the (not completely unjustified) problem most people around me seem to have with going to Charlottenburg – Leonhardtstraße is always a good address. It is a sweet little street, paved with several pleasing cafés and restaurants. Josef is a relative newcomer, opened just over a year ago. The restaurant consists of two rooms: the main one downstairs, the space between the red walls being well lit under the steady gaze of a massive Sissi portrait, while the second one is upstairs, darker and more romantic. Both are well designed, setting the tone as a refined restaurant without being either blatantly extravagant or annoyingly posh.

The wine menu is good, mostly made out of good quality Southern German and Austrian wines, mostly priced on the upper scale of Berlin’s otherwise more accessible wine prices. It was the food, however, that made the trip worthwhile. The menu is fairly small, and choice is not abundant. The prices were mostly just right: too high to be anywhere near cheap, but justified by the quality of the food. The starters on the table were the Fritatensupp’n (broth with chunks of pancakes 4.50€), Kürbis-Ingwer Süppchen (pumpkin-ginger soup, 4.90€) and the Carpaccio vom Tafelspitz mit roter Beete (Tafelspitz carpaccio with beetroot, 8.90€). All were very good quality, yet some people at the table had actually expected something more spectacular in the case of the Fritatensuppe and could not hide their disappointment despite the waitress’s attempt to turn the soup serving into a whole event. The pumpkin-ginger soup was downright brilliant.

Fritatensuppe

Carpaccio

But the best was to be saved for the main courses. We ordered most of the dishes on the menu: Gulyas (Hungarian goulash, 13.90€), a Wiener Schnitzel (Viennese schnitzel, 16.90€), geschmorte Kalbsbäckchen (braised veal cheeks, 16.90€) and Entenbrust gebraten (roasted duck breast, 16.50€). The Goulash was perfect: it had a tinge of spice and it swam appetisingly in its reddish-dark sauce with perfectly tasty Serviettenknödel on the side. The schnitzel was huge. The meat was tender; the batter was not too greasy and had its own taste. The duck breast was of fine quality with a gratin on the side. But the biggest surprise was the veal cheeks, served with truffled mash. I know, you can’t go wrong with anything truffled, but this was pure joy. The meat was splendidly tender and the mash was a wonder in its own right.

Schnitzel

veal

We then finished with a large and pleasing Kaiserschmarrn (pieces of dough, really. Always good as a shared dessert, 6.90€) and the daily dessert, which was a small, yet otherwise perfect mousse au chocolat (5.90€). Dinner went for just over 30€ for three courses including wine. It’s not something I would pay any day of the week, but Josef is definitely worth every penny on special occasions.

Overall mark: 

Josef, die Austrothek
Leonhardtstr. 1, 14057 Berlin (S+U Charlottenburg/Wilmersdorfer Straße)
www.restaurant-josef.de

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