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

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Ace of Base Go Tapas

Manuela - Neukölln

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.

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.



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.

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 Manuela, a modern looking Spanish restaurant-café on Friedelstraße, Kreuzkölln’s culinary heart.

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.

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.

Tapas

Lomo Adobado

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.

Manuela Teller

Crema Catalana

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.

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.

Overall Mark: 

Manuela - Tapas

Friedelstraße 34, 12047 Berlin
www.manuelatapas.com


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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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Dancing on Tables? If You Say So

Ypsilon - Kleistpark, Schöneberg

When I was about six years old I asked my mother at some point why Greeks enjoyed breaking plates. “They don’t”, she answered with a grownup sigh. I sneered back and said I had seen them with my own eyes. And I was right. My easily impressionable nature was repeatedly traumatised by the loud gentlemen standing in front of Greek “tavernas” on touristy streets. All they seemed to be doing was to shout “ouzo” and throw an endless supply of plates with impressive force on the ground. For me it was clear there was something fishy about these Greeks and their strange affection to smashing objects. I could not fathom what on earth would cause a whole nation to live in a perpetual Birmingham-City-fan state of mind.

What I did not understand at the time was that some restaurant goers actually perceived this useless display of violence as exciting. And that was exactly what Greek restaurants in Northern Europe are all about: they sell an image of a land abundant in hot-blooded and colourful agitation that is so much more exotic than the drab gloom present in all of our everyday lives.

And then, when a friend asked me whether I wanted to try out Ypsilon on Hauptstraße (just off U-Kleistpark) because he had seen people dancing on tables there, my reaction was simply “I’m in as long as nobody’s going to break any plates”. Dancing on tables was exactly the right amount of excitement I could deal with: lively and utterly pointless. I could not quite call it exotic, as the only time I saw people dancing on tables had actually been actually in Warsaw.

Considering the fact I was lured all the way to Schöneberg under pretence of seeing people dancing on tables to the sound of a buzuki, the place was awfully quiet. Ypsilon has quite a large space and the overall design was rather tasteful compared to what Greek restaurants in Berlin usually deliver. No in-your-face bright lights, no pillars and no random Greek gods lurking around the place. This is not to say the place was entirely pleasing. The walls were too red and it felt like a mash-up of a cheap cocktail bar and a posh restaurant. A stage with a microphone was set in a central location, looming. A promise of live music and dancing on tables. It was still too early for that yet. We could concentrate on the food instead.

We started by ordering dolmades (stuffed vine-leaves, according to Chris the only true test of every Greek restaurant, 4.30 €), melitzana (mashed aubergines, 4.20 €), spanakopitakia (puff pastry filled with spinach, 6.30 €) and kalamarakia (pan fried calamari, 5.90 €). The starters came on large plates, decorated with fresh looking vegetables. They were also rather convincing on the quality end. The dolmades were not too sour and the rice filling was soft and nice. The aubergines were bland, as were the spanakopitakia, but they were not entirely bad. The calamari, however were even quite good. Not too rubbery and not too greasy. For pan fried calamari they were even rather pleasing.

The Wall

Starters

The main courses were a bit less convincing. We ordered a souvlaki arni (lamb skewer, 15.50 €) a bifteki gemisto (a piece of minced meat stuffed with feta, 10.90 €) and the moussakas (a dish not entirely unlike shepherd’s pie: a casserole based on layers of minced meat, aubergines, potatoes and cheese, 9.80 €). Generally speaking, the portions were very large and the presentation was appetising. The seasoning of all three dishes was also quite convincing. The only problem was the quality of the meat, which was lower than simply disappointing. It did not matter much in the case of the moussakas which is all about the sauce and the seasoning anyway. It had just the right consistency and the right touch of just about everything. It was no work of art, but it was thoroughly pleasing, even though a tad overpriced. The bifteki was fairly mediocre – with the meat not being exceptionally good, but it was still alright with the chips served on the side. The souvlaki turned out to be the main problem. When the entire point about a certain dish is eating chunks of meat off a skewer, you can’t really camouflage its poor quality with anything. Add the fact it was the most expensive dish on the menu and you’ve got stuff bad reviews are made of.

Moussakas

Souvlaki

As we turned to the perfectly friendly waiter and ordered the bill, we looked at the stage and the microphone one last time, feeling cheated and betrayed. The place had not become any more exciting or promiscuous, even though it was already long past 11. Without any dancing on tables to cloud my better judgement, I feel obliged to give Ypsilon three prints and feeling rather generous about it. It was not bad, but far from being good for the not-too-low pricing. Checking out their website I saw why we missed the action though: It says they have live music every Friday and Saturday after 11, but we went on a Sunday.

Overall mark: 

 

Ypsilon - Restaurant/Café/Bar/Sommergarten

Hauptstraße 163, 10827 Berlin
www.ypsilonberlin.de


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Show Me Your Teeth? Tapas in Kreuzberg

Las Primas - Restaurant - Café -Bar

Let’s talk about teeth. Do you find them aesthetically pleasing? Mildly attractive? Sexually appealing? I remember meeting this girl at a house party in Paris aeons ago. She was petite and her hair stank of unrecognisable substances (or just weeks of unhygienic neglect. It was France at the end of the day). She told me she found teeth sexy and that mine were just perfect. I thought it was a dorky comment and it provided me with the excuse I so needed to get away from her and try to mingle with the beautiful people around. As the evening unfolded I found myself drinking seventeen glasses of cheap vodka and puking on a kitten. In retrospect, I probably should have continued talking about teeth.

But teeth. And sex. Doesn’t it ring a bell? Isn’t it what True Blood is all about? It depicts vampires as highly sexualised beings. Just like that girl’s hair reeked of not-taking-any-showers à la Française, they emanate sex. And they convey their sexuality through their fangs. I must admit that those fangs are quite perfect: they are perfectly white and symmetrical, appealing to every human’s sense of aesthetics. However, this is not the case with everyone’s set of teeth (or fangs, for that matter).

When I was little, my mother used to scare me with stories about people who ate too many sweets and got black teeth which eventually fell out. Her scare-tactics did not, by any means, help combat my obsessive sweet tooth, but they added yet another phobia into my interminable arsenal: the fear of people with black teeth. I find it difficult to look people with bad teeth in the eyes, because I know I will, at some point, avert my gaze onto their teeth with a convulsively disgusted expression on my end. This was my reaction the first time I found myself ordering an espresso at Las Primas on Wrangelstraße. It was about two years ago and I had gone there with a friend of mine on a perfect summer day. As the waitress smiled at us I could not help but notice one of her front teeth was made of gold while the rest were pitch black with completely rotten gums. I cringed and twitched and vowed never to come back.

This ridiculously long introduction brings us to this week’s events. It was one of these days when you feel like eating many small things rather than a real meal. It called for tapas and I had to meet friends later in Friedrichshain. The turn of events made it clear there was no way I could avoid checking out the tapas at Las Primas. I braced myself and prepared to meet that revolting set of teeth yet again.

Having only seen the place from the outside, I had expected the inside to be utterly filthy. I don’t know why, but it was just an illogical premonition, which fortunately proved to be wrong. The café/bar/restaurant is run down in a way that cries both “Kreuzberg” and “Spain” at the same time: dirty-pastel walls combined with tables crammed up together and covered by unappealing tablecloths. There is an evening menu with an appealing selection of main courses, but we decided to go for the tapas. I was delighted to see the choice of tapas was rather limited and the menu did not go on for eternities. There are about twelve dishes for the unit price of 4.00 € and six more for 5.00 €.

Tapas

Flan

We chose Pincho de Tortilla (a piece of tortilla, 4.00 €), Patatas al all-i-oli (fried potatoes in aioli sauce, 4.00 €), pintxo queso cabra (fried goat’s cheese with caramelised onions, 4.00 €), chorizo riojano (pieces of chorizo baked in white wine sauce, 4.00 €), pintxo de terena con reduccion de balsamico (slices of steak in balsamico sauce, 5.00 €) and gambas al ajillo (prawns in white wine sauce, 5.00 €). It was all quite endearing – small plates that were still large enough to get a good taste of the dish. The tortilla was unspectacularly nice, as tortillas are supposed to be like. The potatoes were nothing more than nice, but the aioli was fantastic. The cheese was very good quality and it came in a large portion with very good onions. The chorizo was also quite good quality, but the sauce was just alright. However, the two surprises were provided by the two 5.00 € dishes, with the meat being nothing less than excellent and the gambas turning out to be rather disappointing (the bland sauce killed them, which is quite annoying, as I find killing prawns to be a mortal sin). At the end of the day, most of the tapas were good,if not very good. The only real problem was the stale bread, which ruined the idea of truly enjoying the sauces. I then took a flan (the Spanish version for crème caramel, 2.70 €) to give the meal a good closure. It was alright, but not too convincing: Good size and perfect taste, but the texture (which is probably the most important part) was a bit scruffy.

Las Primas is a good choice of venue for good and hearty tapas. It is one of these places in Kreuzberg that manage to combine both roughness and pretentiousness, but it’s still pleasing enough as long as you avoid the waitress’s million pesos smile. I know it’s not politically correct to slag off people with bad dental hygiene, but I just can’t help it. Despite the bad teeth, the stale bread and the unconvincing flan, four prints seem like what the place deserves.

Overall mark: 

Las Primas

Wrangelstraße 54, 10997 Berlin (Kreuzberg)
Tel: +49 (0)30 60 03 11 32


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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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Reconciliation the Hanukkah Way: Going Greek

Berkis - Taverna

Something awfully strange happened this week: I celebrated Hanukkah (albeit half-heartedly) for the first time since I moved out of my parents’ house. I went to that preposterous Hanukkah-market at the Jewish museum, bought a menorah, fried some greasy latkes and finished with unspectacularly dry doughnuts from the Turkish bakery. Personally, I find Hanukkah food uninspiring, but for the first time ever, I realised the entire holiday was actually quite a fine tradition.

Hanukkah is not a religious holiday, and is therefore considered to be a relatively marginal event in the Jewish calendar. Yet living among people who get into that embarrassing Christmas frenzy every year, European Jews decided they needed something to keep them busy while their neighbours went bonkers over shopping and pre-Christmas-dinner therapy sessions. Celebrating a festival of lights for eight days in a row probably seemed like the appropriate solution in the cold, dark and otherwise depressing Northern European winter.

Hanukkah’s religious outsiderness might explain the fact it is one of the only happy Jewish holidays. All the important Jewish holidays usually involve commemorating collective suffering through more collective suffering (may it only be because they involve being trapped around a table with large, dysfunctional Jewish families). It is usually about how someone did something awful to us at some point. But Hanukkah is different: It is about how we kicked the Greeks’ asses 2.500 years ago. Those pesky Greeks had conquered Judea and done all of the things conquering nations do, until lo and behold, the Jews rebelled and regained their independence (albeit for a short time, the Romans arrived soon enough to happily enslave them yet again).

But with all due respect for stories, lights and traditions, in the current political climate it feels wrong to celebrate one’s crushing victory (as ancient as it may be) over a nation that’s currently struggling with insolvency. Those pesky Greeks are on the verge of a financial and political meltdown and only Germany under the leadership of one sour Frau Merkel is there to save the day. Talking about gloomy perspectives. This was enough to convince me to bury the hatchet: show some Jewish spirit of reconciliation and to try out a Greek restaurant.

We chose Berkis on Winterfeldstraße, just off Winterfeldplatz. The place does not look inviting from the outside and the inside with its overall crème vibe and brown leather theme is not too cosy either. I could add the fact that the lights were painfully bright, but at the end of the day I was positively surprised by the decoration, since the restaurant managed to avoid the dodgy pillars that usually ornate every Greek establishment in Germany. To be fair, even though every little village in Germany can boast a local Greek restaurant, they are usually cheesy and bland at the very same time. Without pillars, Greek gods or that annoying Greek font everywhere, Berkis allowed us to hope it might be authentic and yummy. The authenticity seemed to be enhanced by the immediate reaction to our entrance: the owner grunted at two blokes - who seemed to be the local representatives of the Greek mafia - in order to clear their table for us, which they gracefully did (after a bit of grunting of their own).

Rewithousoupa

Starters

The food came quickly. The portions were all pleasingly big, which yet again helped the authentic vibe. We started out with the daily soups: Psarosoupa (fish soup with too much dill, 3.50 €) and rewithosoupa (tomato soup with chic peas and other vegetables, 3.00 €). Both came in big bowls, but were a bit too salty. Alright, but nothing too inspiring here. We then ordered three starters from the otherwise overwhelming variety of appetisers: Kolokithokeftedes (courgette balls with tzatziki, 3.00 €), dolmadakia lemonata (warm dolmas with meat and rice filling in lemon sauce, 4.50 €) and sikotakia poulerikon (chicken liver in lemon sauce, 4.50 €). They were all very good, with the dolmas and the liver being close to excellent. The portions were large and the sauces all had something special about them. Even the tzaziki was a lot tastier than what Greek restaurants in Germany usually serve.

Bifteki

Mousakas

We were quite happy to continue to the main courses: Bifteki gemisto (ground steak filled with feta cheese, 8.50 €), mousakas (well, mussaka, layers of minced meat, potatoes, aubergines and courgettes, 7.50 €) and a chicken souvlaki plate (chicken skewers, 8.00 €). Unfortunately, they were turned out to be a bit less exciting. The souvlaki and the bifteki came with a mountain of low quality chips (those frozen ones that were not fried long enough for them to lose that “really bad quality supermarket food” aftertaste) and dry and horrid pita bread. The chicken skewers themselves were actually quite fantastic – soft with a strong seasoning, whereas the bifteki was a different story altogether: it would have been nicely seasoned, if it hadn’t been for the copious amounts of salt used on them, and the meat was just dry. The mousakas was quite good. It was big and pleasing, quite good quality, but too bland to be a revelation. We then left after witnessing another exchange of grunts between the owner and the two mafiosos over at the next table.

Berkis was quite alright overall. It served us nice, decent food and was definitely a lot better than most Greek restaurants around. It was not excellent though. It wasn’t even exciting either. Greek food actually is very simple, so it’s usually all about the large portions and the quality of the meat and other ingredients. Even though the portions were all pleasantly large, the seasoning tended to be too salty and the quality of the meat – though organic – was not entirely convincing. However, one thing I would like to do is to return and just compose a meal out of the many starters on the menu. They were the best part of the meal and would be an experience between four and five prints if it weren’t for the boring soups and the inconsistent quality of the main courses. For the time being, it will have to be satisfied with a solid, decent three print mark.

Overall mark: 

Berkis: Taverna

Winterfeldtstraße 45, 10781 Berlin
www.berkis.de


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