Teutonic Pizza: A Guide to German Cultural References

Rocco und seine Brüder - Kreuzberg

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^th 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.

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.

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.

Because at the end of the day, even though Berlin may seem so un-German to the untrained eye, it is still in Germany (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 Germany often requires developing a 6^th 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.

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 Germany. 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.

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 €. 

Antipasti

Mario Adorf

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 Italy) 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.

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. 

Overall Mark: 

Rocco und seine Brüder

Lausitzer Platz 13, 10997 Berlin

www.roccoundseinebrueder.de

Größere Kartenansicht

The Last Supper

L’Assaggino - Kreuzberg

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.

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?

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 L’assaggino just across the street would be a good way to get some Italian closure before entering a period of painful culinary deprivation.

L’assagino on Gneisenaustraße is one of these fairly new pastel venues on the Südstern 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, L’assaggino 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.


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. L’assaggino’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 Antipasto “fantasia” (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.

Gnocchi

Tagliatelle

We continued with the two most expensive dishes on the menu, the tagliatelle neri “satore di mare” (black tagliatelle with mussels, shrimps and calamari, 12.50 €) and polenta gnocchi 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.

Crème brulée

Mousse

Even though we hadn’t planned on doing so, we ended up ordering both desserts on the menu: white chocolate mousse with red berry sauce (for the mere price of 5.00 €) and a crème brulée (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.

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.

Overall Mark:

 

L'assaggino - Italienische Küche, Enoteca & Café

Gneisenaustraße 61, 10961 Berlin
www.lassaggino.de


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Fighting Winter Depression Nr. 1: Italian Food and Niceness.

La Galleria Italiana, Mitte

Last month I started the search for the perfect local Italian. With Christmas and the end of the year looming, it started feeling like I needed to make minimal progress – and soon. Overwhelmed by Christmas markets, half-a-meter bratwursts and a foot of snow, I needed a sense of a mission. All the better if it were a mission carrying the scents of lemons and sun instead of darkness and glühwein. It bears all the marks of a large, fat winter depression.

The fact I was seeking solace from the wintery darkness at Italian restaurants was by itself a sign of dangerous Germanisation. Since the beginning of time, Germans have gone to the country south of the Alps in order to feel worldlier, more Mediterranean and more alive. Goethe eternalised his yearnings for Italy’s sun and natural vitamin D3 in “Kennst du das Land, wo die Zitronen blühn?” and my old heroin-addict excuse for a flatmate Astrid used to sober up every time the word “Italy” was mentioned, because it made her feel young and carefree all over again.

With the winter wreaking havoc in my natural defences, I was even ready to shed my inbuilt Italophobia and try out a new Italian place. After a long group discussion, we agreed on going to a small and inconspicuous Italian restaurant on Torstraße in Mitte. Located at the less pretentious end of the street (closer to Oranienburger Tor than to Rosenthaler Platz), the small restaurant is strikingly simple, with ochre walls and IKEA-like furniture. A glass counter contained an array of Italian culinary paraphernalia of all shapes and colours, with the usual olives, cheese and sausages. Behind it stood a genuine Italian waiting to taken our orders.

We started with a few serves of the large antipasti misto (a plate with different starters, 13 €, also available in the smaller version for 7 €). It was a perfect serve: a combination of different ingredients from marinated mushrooms and carrots through salad, cheese and ham. They were all delicious and fresh, with a perfect balance between the various bits. The size was also very pleasing. One serving was more than enough for two persons. The joy was completed by a bottle of cheap, yet surprisingly nice montepulciano (for a mere price of 12€ - not a bad deal).

Antipasti

Spaghetti Marinara

The main courses arrived promptly thereafter. Four of us had pasta: Spaghetti marinara (seafood spaghetti in tomato sauce, 8 €), spaghetti salsiccia e pomodorinni (spaghetti with Italian sausage, cherry tomatos and balsamico based sauce, 7 €), tagliatelle cantarelli (tagliatelle with chanterelles, bacon and truffle oil, 8.50 €) and the daily tagliatelle with pork filet (8.50 € as well). The last one opted for the entrecôte al Barolo (entrecôte with balsamico sauce and potatoes, 14.50 €). The quality of the pasta varied from absolutely fantastic (the tagliatelle cantarelli: perfect balance between the different flavours, with mushrooms, bacon fat and truffle all getting their perfect fifteen seconds of glory) through very good (the salsiccia, which was a very good dish despite or maybe even because of its inherent simplicity) and to disappointing despite being nice (the pork filet, which was nice, but lacked the great quality of the others and the marinara, which had a very good tomato sauce, but had a meagre seafood presence with relatively dry calamari and a slight touch of shrimps). The pasta itself was fresh and homemade in all cases. The entrecôte was more of an escalope than a steak (it was very thin), but that is to be expected at an Italian restaurant. At the same time, please don’t take this as a complaint: it was a perfect escalope: good quality, tender meat in a savoury, brown sauce. There were no desserts on the menu, but the waitress did tell us there was panna cotta, which I then ordered (4.50 €) and was not disappointed. It was the best one I have had in a long time: good texture, not too sweet and with the perfect berry-sauce.

Entrecôte

Panna Cotta

As we indented to pay, we realised, once again, what it meant to be dining at an “authentic” Italian restaurant. The waitress was not prepared for the German task of separating the bill. She tried to remain nice, as her basic skills of addition and subtraction were stretched to their limit. Her utter incompetence in the realm of maths would have been a true infliction at any Teutonic context, but she managed to pull it off with an endearing smile and offer everyone ramazotti on the house. True, ramazotti is not exactly my cup of tea, but when it’s on the house I manage to turn a blind eye to my other principles.

As La Galleria Italiana managed to please even hardcore Italophobes such as myself, I could only advise other people to go try it out. It’s good, affordable and pleasing. Good enough to earn four prints.

Overall mark: 

 

La Galleria Italiana

Torstraße 182, 10115 Berlin
Phone: +49 (0) 30 27 57 29 48


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In Search of the Lost Local Italian

L'ulivo di elio - vineria

Before I start, I should probably say I will never understand the general notion that Italy is romantic in any possible way. I will never understand the idea of Italy as one of these places where people make “beautiful things”. Italian taste in fashion (or anything else for that matter) always strikes me as conservatively vulgar. I don’t think the noise and the vespas are endearing in any way. The fact that the country is overpopulated with nuns does not unleash any unconscious sexual fantasies, and don’t even get me started about the political mess which the country has become. Yet there are two things I cannot deny: yes, the country really is incredibly beautiful. And yes, the food is good.

When I say the food is good, I don’t mean I think it’s the BEST. I strongly disagree with those who consider Italy to be the cradle of the world’s finest cuisine, but it’s a matter of taste and you are all allowed to boo in the comments. What I like is the Italian capacity to combine simplicity with fantastic produce, creating something that has the potential of being satisfyingly joyful. The sort of Italian place I’d like to see would be a simple, local restaurant offering a small, yet excellent variety of simple dishes. I’d never say no to a gourmet Italian restaurant either, but I do think Italian food has the potential of being good and at the same time accessible to all – also price wise.

 Which is exactly what I found is lacking in Berlin. The city has a never-ending variety of Italian restaurants, often trapped in one of two extremes: they either go for the unpleasingly simple extreme with bad strip lights and grotesquely bought-it-for-50-cents-at-my-local-Lidl quality food, or they turn out to be too expensive. My mission (amongst others) will be to find the perfect local treat: not too expensive, good quality, good value and a pleasant atmosphere. A few weeks ago I was told there was just this sort of place on Nostitzstraße just off Bergmannstraße. I decided to check out the rumour and went out for an evening meal in L’ulivo di elio.

On first sight, it seemed to be the perfect choice, but it was also a matter of luck. The place is small and not very visible from the main streets. The restaurant is divided into two spaces: the front one around the bar overlooking the street is dark and romantic, with a beautiful bar, small wooden tables and perfect lightning. The menu is written on the wall, giving the place that “local”, accommodating touch. We moved there after getting a table in the other section. It lies in the back, which feels like the back room of something better. The walls are lighter and somewhat sterile, the lightning less flattering, and overall it is not as pleasing as the other end. It has one advantage though: real tables. Some of the tables on the romantic end are aesthetically pleasing in their miniscule roundness, but they make eating quite difficult.

After deciphering the menu we realised the place was not necessarily on the lower end of the price scale, but we decided to try out the things we could afford without blowing our budget and have the time of our lives nonetheless. The choice of dishes was fairly limited, but the wall was full of traces of chalk, meaning the menu changes often enough. We ordered two glasses of wine, even though it was quite difficult to get the waitress to tell us what it was or how much it would cost. I am sure she thought her mysterious smile was endearing, I just wished I could read the wine list on a real menu. We then decided to share the large antipasto di salami e verdure (antipasti, available for 7 € in its small version and 12 € for the grande). Out came a plate bestowed with quite a few high quality sausages and very few other marinated vegetables. It was good, but not too pleasing. The sausages were high quality, but neither exciting nor abundant for the 12€. The bread served on the side was nice, but not pleasing enough to accompany an expensive starter.

antipasto

agnolotti

fondue

We then decided to go over to the main courses, avoiding the secondi in an attempt to keep the meal on the affordable edge of the menu. We opted for the agnolotti alla Selvaggina (a type of raviolis filled with game in tomato sauce, 7.50 €) and the fonduta di Fromaggio al Tartufo (truffled cheese fondue, 9 €). The agnolotti were fine, but not half as exciting as the expectations. The game filling was unspectacular, even though the pasta itself was just right. The fondue, however, was a different story altogether. It was not the Swiss fondue served in a pan, but rather a mass of melted truffled cheese served on a plate. It was thoroughly satiating (with bread, of course), and as I have already written: you have to be really stupid to get truffle wrong. The dish was downright fantastic. We decided to end the evening with a desert, and the only available one was a chocolate cake (for the amiable price of 3 €), which we shared and did not want to finish. It was embarrassingly horrid. Another unpleasant surprise was the not-all-too-affordable pricing on wine (6 € for a glass of nice, yet unspectacular Cabernet. There were prices listed on the wall in the opposite dark corner, but they were undecipherable and only applied to the 0.1L glasses as it were).

After having that splendid fondue I really wanted to give the place a high mark. The atmosphere is awfully nice and overall, it’s a good address for a nice evening. I was trying to scratch additional points for service. The waitress was nice in a distant, psychedelically loony way, but it meant she was neither accommodating nor communicative. At the end of the day the problem was that the food just was not always convincing. I will have to leave the place with the doubt that the secondi might have been better and actually changed my mind, but for the time being it will have to be satisfied with three prints, knowing it has the potential to achieve greater things.

Overall mark: 

L'ulivo di elio - vineria
Nostitzstr. 49, 10961 Berlin (Kreuzberg)
www.lulivodielio.de




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