Katie’s Blue Cat, Pan-English Cafe, Kreuzkölln*

Do you know a good thing when you see one? I do.  Katie’s Blue Cat is one of those good things.

Even though it’s only just opened, it feels like it’s been around for a while maybe because of how coherent their offering is or how together their staff is.  Which is in stark contrast to a lot of the independent start-ups that open up around the city which have a habit of  putting the cart before the horse. In other words, they open a café, they know they are going to do coffee and something sweet (good margins on those babies) then they stumble through a motley crew of baked goods from around the world, a sunken cake here, a cupcake there, a hodge podge of stuff that doesn’t compel me to buy (why should I when I know at home I’ve got something better which inevitably uses superior ingredients, most of them organic and fair-trade). K.B.C.’s is clear: a “pan-English” inspired baked goods shop, with excellent coffee.

They do three things, which got me: the milk, the biscuits and their clear positioning. They use organic regional milk to make their cappuccinos, which is a huge deal because why boast about good beans (they use Bonanza here) then serve it up with bland long life milk? My cappuccino was smooth, so smooth that I was caught entirely unaware when a huge caffeine induced bout of euphoria hit me a mere half hour later, masked in the creaminess of the milk, I hadn’t had any indication of the bite that shot of coffee was going to take.

On to the biscuits, I like cake, I do, but I find it difficult to commit to a whole slice, that and more often than not, it’s too sweet for me. K.B.C.’s serves up a selection of about 6. Mostly doing away with the usual suspects in favor of cowboy cookies and Earl Grey shortbread biscuits.May I have a word with you about those Earl Grey biscuits? I ate an entire biscuit. Which may seem like I’m stating the obvious except that I rarely eat and entire anything or even half a thing I order (mostly because since leaving my 20s and a good chunk of my 30s behind me, I also seem to have misplaced my lightning speed metabolism but also because life is too short to eat just okay tasting stuff). These biscuits were tremendous, the Earl Grey gave them a chewiness and the flakes of salt I came upon every now kept the sweetness in check. Let’s just say, I’m a big fan. Read more of this post

Melt, Galettes & Crêpes, Friedrichshain

You know how when you are waiting for a bus, nothing comes for an hour, then out of nowhere 5 of them appear? Berlin’s got the “no bus - Op! too many buses’ syndrome.  I’m not talking about obvious things, like curry wurst or burgers, rather more fringe snacks like bubble tea.  These days I can’t walk down a street without seeing a shop announce “New! Bubble Tea!” (oh and I totally own up to the fact that as I type this, I have a Bubble’s Tea loyalty card in my wallet. What can I say?  It keeps me young, to behave like the young.).  Crepes is another one, most neighborhood markets will have one guy doing crepes.  Given that reality, it’s hard to get motivated to go have a crepe. To go to Friedrichshain and have a crepe.  Twice. Because the first time I went they were closed.  As was Factory Girl and I really wanted to know what this whole Magnolia thing they keep going on about is? Say Magnolia to me and I think of Tom Cruise, it’s raining frogs or red armadillo wedding cake and Julia Roberts looking fresh and happy, like a bright yellow daffodil (obviously less so by the end of the movie).  But neither of those two images come into play, at Factory Girl, Magnolias are a riff on tiramisu but with flavours like apple crumble or cookies and cream.  They come dolloped on top of bespoke ceramic square plates.  I was served by a very friendly man, who kept plying me with free samples of Magnolia in a bid to get me to commit to one, which I couldn’t because although they are pleasant, they don’t have much texture, like Eton Mess without the meringue and I am always going on about how I’m a texture girl.  I ordered a coffee to go.  It wasn’t stellar.

Cruelly I am at once entirely addicted to coffee (seriously, I wake up in the morning thinking ‘coffeeeeee!’) while being simultaneously very sensitive to the effects of caffeine, meaning I am dead tired yet hyperventilating lying down.  Not fun.  Therefore, if I’m going to mess up precious R.E.M time (not the shiny happy people kind) then it’s gotta be - outstanding!  I won’t go so far as to say ‘God in a Cup‘ level but let’s say, I’m discerning.I take my Factory Girl coffee for a walk around Friedrichshain.  It’s keeping my hands warm but I’m not drinking it, which is making me feel guilty about having spent 2 Euros whatever and then not drinking it (Sometimes I think  I could run circles around Woody Allen’s racing thoughts).

I see Melt.  I walk in.  I set my cup on the counter.  The young French man who owns the shop comes over to me and says hello (auf Deutsch).  ’Hi!” I chirp (in American), it comes out a little loud, perhaps a bit black labrador seeing it’s about to be taken out for a walk.  There’s a split second where he realizes I don’t know what I want yet, there is a flicker of annoyance, perhaps it’s his nostrils that flare.  All of a sudden I am back in Paris, where this kind of subtle jousting between customer and shop owner is a given.  It’s not rudeness, no it’s more elusive.  It’s a weighing up that takes place in a matter of - well in a second, where they decide how they will interact with you.  Possible categories include, like a piece of gum lodged in the grooves of their shoe, like an imbecile, like you are a C. Deneuve - although it goes without saying that the last one almost never happens.  I take a few moments to reminisce about my University days in Paris.  He tidies.  He has that clipped walk that I remember so well.

I get his attention and order in French.  A galette with Emmental, ham and egg.  And I ask him to throw away my cappuccino and order a cappuccino.
“It’s full?” he inquires.
“Yes.”
“You didn’t like it?”
“No.”  I throw down my gauntlet.
“You will like ours.’ he picks it up, dusts it off and hands it back with chin held high.Alrighty then, how I miss the psychological finesses of Paris.  Well, sometimes, when I’m being romantic about it and because I don’t live there anymore. Read more of this post

Alpenstueck, Bäckerai & Manufaktur, Alpine Inspired Food, Mitte

The Alpenstueck group have carved themselves out a neat little corner in this quiet pocket of Mitte.  (Interesting article on Iris Schmeid, owner of the group here.) If this group were a haircut, they would be buzzed up nice and neat in the back, with a plummeting horizontal fringe.  Black, of course and very very straight.  In other words, in control, high maintenance and stylish.

It started off with just Alpenstueck on an attractive corner site.  With a large wall of stacked up logs, gray leather banquettes, large wicker baskets, antlers (lamps, coat hangers or just piled up in a corner), with pale gingham lampshades.  During peak traffic times in Berlin (like the fashion shows or the Berlinale) getting a table is impossible.  Probably because Alpenstueck is the kind of place that visually impresses and because the staff have enough pedigree that you can count on them to be polite, spot your empty glass and even smile now and again.The food is a combination of 2 kitchens you will encounter often in Berlin: Swabian & Viennese (which all places here refer to as Alpine - but I ask you, where is the rösti and the fondue then?).  Meaning you can expect schnitzel, maultaschen, the vinegared potato salad, the wilted cucumber ribbons, goulash, kässpätzle, sauerbraten and so on.  I prefer the goulash at Meierei, the maultaschen at Manufactum and the schnitzel at Ottenthal.  But Meierei is a deli with limited seating that is closed for dinner; Manufactum is also a deli with annoying bar stools serving food on huge plates and tiny tables; and Ottenthal is almost too grown up (when being grown up meant boring and stuffy) and you always need a reservation. I guess if I had a friend in town that I wanted to impress, I would probably take them to Alpenstueck too. The added charm of Alpenstueck is that the streets around it feel abandoned and dark, probably cold because let’s remember we are in Berlin, then you see the warm glow of the restaurant, the smiling guests inside and you think, ‘Oo, I bet it’s nice in there.’ Read more of this post

Friedrichshain: Aunt Benny’s, Cafe; Kinkibox, sewing cafe; La Récréation, Ceramics; Hops & Barley, micro-brewery; Olivia, Chocolate & Cafe; Goldschmiede, jewellery

At this juncture, I would say that I know Mitte inside out; Prenzlauerberg very well; I am surprisingly well-informed on where to eat in Kreuzberg; Charlottenburg is pretty shaky; Schöneberg, vaguer still; Friedrichshain had been blank (with the exception of Cupcake which I visited only once); don’t even get me started on places like Wilmersdorf it might as well be a different city, in fact from what I hear - it kind of is.While the weather was ‘Fa la la la la, la, la, la, laaaaaa‘ glorious, I took out my new copy of Tip’s Speisekarte (in which I got a mention on a special they did on food bloggers - Yay!) and plotted out a few addresses to try out. Then I printed out the google map and off I went with a girlfriend to explore.Yes, I’m a geek of epic proportions. Something it’s taken me a long time to embrace but now that I have, you know what? Geeks have much more fun.Annoyingly, two of the places I had been looking forward to trying were closed on Tuesday (Factory Girl! and Melt) but Aunt Benny’s was open. It has a similar aesthetic to places like The Barn or Bäckerei from the Alpentstueck group, namely, black painted walls, designer bare bulbs, good staff / service. I was still full from tasting a lot of mediocre food along our tour (places I won’t name because they were unoriginal even in their shortcomings) but I couldn’t resist the chickpea and kidney bean salad with rocket in a large weck jar.At that point the tour was over and it had been disappointing. The extraordinary number of young Europeans on the streets told me that there was more to Friedrichshain. Layla nodded off in her pram which gave me ample time to follow my nose.

(Note to self: always rely on the nose!)

I turned up some truffles, not all culinary but you don’t mind if I go off brief every now and again?

First up: La Récréation, a ceramic workshop with dishes so pretty they made me think of pastel coloured, Pierre Hermé macaroons. I wanted to buy a set then and there and thankfully was impeded from doing so by a man who actually was buying an entire dinner set.

Read more of this post

Ackerplatz market, Däri - Milk Workshop, The Circus of the Cycling Spoons and loving Berlin right now

You know how when you fall in love with someone?  You are utterly goo goo ga ga over how great they are? Exciting, unpredictable (in a good way), friendly. Then you suddenly find them reckless, unpredictable (in a bad way), and what you took to be friendliness, is actually horniness (and they hit on all your girlfriends, all the time)*. Most times that’s when you expedite them to the nearest exit.  Except on the very rare occasion where you see them stripped down and you think, yep, I get you and I still love you (yeah, close your mouth dear, I’m as surprised as you are).My guess is that this is probably why almost 95% of love stories are about an unrequited / misunderstood love that is requited / understood for a blink before one or both of them dies. Romeo & Juliet? Had they lived, he would have probably become a shoe salesman and she would sport a bouffant red hair do.

Because it’s complicated, intangible even to express what it is, how it works, why it works? (Oh and if you ask me, the characters of  Miracle Max and his wife run circles around all the afore-mentioned lovers.)It’s easy to be in love with someone before all the dots have been connected but once they have, well then you find yourself thinking - “That’s just a stupid drawing of a couple of kittens playing with a ball of yarn. How kitsch, how dull, I was expecting something else, I saw myself with someone better…” dump.It’s sort of the same with cities, you visit once and you think ‘Ah, to live here, I would be the happiest person in the world.’ Then you do and discover that actually you can’t put up with all the dog poop (Paris); all the over 70s (Geneva); can’t afford it (London); all the Hogans sports shoes (Munich); all the motorcycles without mufflers…oh, oh…and the imminent financial collapse (Athens) - you get my drift.But Berlin, Berlin.  Well yes: the bureaucrats are exceedingly good at telling you, you haven’t filled in the right form; receiving a flyer that says I must go collect my parcel at the post office leaves me shaking with fear (they’re mean to me); and my eyes roll so far into their sockets every time the supermarket counter girls get up from their seat to make sure I am not wheeling out a lifetime supply of diapers, that I have to pull out my compact mirror to help roll the back into their place. Buuuuuuttttt……The rest of Berlin is fantastic.

You just need to step out of your door and let things happen to you.  No plan, necessary, no money even (although that certainly helps). Read more of this post

Melrose and Morgan, Awakening Number 3

Food and I didn’t start out as fast friends. Far from it. I was a pernickity eater as a child. I only ate eggs, fried; chicken, breadcrumbed and panned; fries, hand cut – obviously and no thicker than 5 mm. If those things were not available then no amount of bartering or pleading would induce me to eat. I simply abstained. It goes without saying that I was a very skinny, very annoying child.

By my teenage years I discovered junk food. Things like frozen French fries doused in so much thousand island dressing that they sagged on the plastic fork like limp spaghetti. At home a meal that featured quite a lot was pasta with butter and feta cheese. Every now and then the posh supermarket at the end of our road would import some American cake mixes. My sister and I would make them together and marvel at how good they tasted.  That was one of the highlights in our sleepy Athens suburb. I can’t boast about eating in Michelin starred restaurant as a wee tot like Jay Rayner or mastering a perfect victoria sponge by age 7 like Nigel SlaterAll this to say that the foodie I am today is the result of a slow evolution, a meandering path through some questionable tastes with 3 pivotal food awakenings.The first was moving to Paris when I was 17 and discovering a complex and fascinating world of food, of do’s and don’t’s. Do eat cheese after a meal, never for breakfast.

The second was that after squandering my twenties trying to fit into a variety of moulds I thought would be suitable for me and acceptable for my family and friends I decided to literally screw it and try something radically different. A hobby I had been nurturing furtively which seemed to make me happy but also seemed to be rather frivolous.Enter Leiths. I originally enrolled for just one term, then the second and finally the third. I was convinced that this was it, I had discovered what truly animated me. My enthusiasm got me through many restaurant doors but my lack of skills constantly sabotaged me. It all went pear shaped after a 4 daylong stint at Ottolenghi, where I was moved from salads, to pastry and back to salads again. Like a hot potato that no one wanted to hold for too long. Even before the talk with Yotam, I knew it was not going well.

This is a 5 year old picture

Maybe it speaks of a good life for which I should be grateful but that rejection confounded me. How could it be that after 10 directionless years, I had found something I truly loved and adored and it just… Well it just didn’t love me back? I had no idea how to process that reality. Read more of this post

Efa’s, Frozen Yogurt, Mitte

Frozen yogurt.

Why bother?

Am I right?

It’s a little like saying, “I’m in the mood for something bland, something white.”

“Snow?”

“Nope, frozen yogurt.”In Miami over Christmas, I developed a taste for  Yogen Früz.  They do a dizzying array of flavours and make them ‘fresh’ for your order; meaning they feed what looks a like soap bar (but is in reality a frozen fruit bar) into a machine that blends it with frozen yogurt.  It’s highly addictive, especially chocolate frozen yogurt with Reese’s Pieces candies strewn on top.  And yes, I know that by ordering that I am totally missing the point of the whole low-fat thing but you haven’t tried it, you don’t know how good it is.

In Berlin however, frozen yogurt comes in one flavour: yogurt.  (Efa’s also does a seasonal flavour.)  Which is probably the more honest approach otherwise it’s a bit like tofu burgers.  Either you want tofu or you want a burger but to want both is like wanting a Siamesoodle (a cross between a Siamese cat and a poodle, don’t google it, I made it up).

Read more of this post

Kadó, Liquorice Shop, Kreuzberg

Liquorice.  In my head, people who eat it are a certain height (tall) and a certain complexion (pale).  Maybe because my dutch friend in highschool used to go gaga for the stuff (Ooo, can I say that now or is it trademarked?).  She’d be scrounging around in that bag like there was a gold coin at the bottom.  Intrigued, I would say “Hey Dutch girl!  Can you hear me up there? Pass the bag would you?”  Then I would pull out a black candy and take a nibble. Nope. Another. Nope. Until I had made my way through the selection.  ”Why do you eat this stuff anyway?”  I would ask, disgusted.  It must be genetic, this love of liquorice.  It’s a testament to the bijou shop design of Kadó that I was enticed to go in.  I sat awkwardly in the center surveying the two walls of apothecary jars, filled with the black stuff.  It didn’t take Layla long to cotton on; “This is Candy!  Mommy it’s candy!”  Yeah babe, but not as you know it.  I bought a large raspberry gummy candy, the size of a 2 Euro coin for Layla and a bag full of ‘beginners’ liquorice for me.  It was all weighed on old-fashioned scales.  The total is punched into an antique till, where you have to crank the lever on the side until it goes “cha ching!” (How perfectly perfect!) Read more of this post

Amorino, Ice Cream Stall, Mitte

When I was a little girl I spent one summer in Egypt and I remember two things vividly; the Pekinese dog my father bought me and the mangoes.

They were smooth and creamy with not even the slightest hint of stinginess. The flesh was a deep orange and sweet but balanced with a prick of sour . I never ate mangoes like that again. They just don’t exist anywhere else.  The only time I found any fruit that bore any resemblance to those fondly remembered Egyptian ones was when Selfridges ran a Bollywood promotion in 2002 (yes, when a mango is that good, I can give you specific dates), they were selling small Alphonso mangoes for close to €5 a pop.  Those came close……and then, I had the mango ice cream at the Amorino stand in front of Galeries Lafayette and I was transported to those dark hot nights as a little girl in Egypt, staying up late and eating mangoes.

I researched the brand a little on the internet.  It’s a chain.  Started by two Italian guys that look like they are in the fashion business rather than the ice cream business.  On their website, they talk about how they only use organic ingredients and traditional methods and the chefs oversee the making of ice cream daily (blah, blah, blah). But with 43 shops in France alone and a further 15 in Europe, I’m pretty sure they’ve got a factory somewhere churning the stuff out. Read more of this post

Blueberry Picking at Buschmann & Winkelmann in Klaistow

Two days of torrential rain in Berlin really and truly put the fear of winter into me. I had flashbacks of being trapped in doors for weeks. So on Saturday morning I resolved two things:1. To go on-line and look for flights to Miami.

2. Get out of the flat and out of Berlin for the day.Off we went to a pick your own (selbst pflücken) place Luisa had recommended in Klaistow.

What a place!  I’ve never seen anything quite like this in Europe.  They’ve made an amusement park out of it.  With giant bouncy domes; enough sand pits to shoot the next Pirates of the Caribbean; a petting zoo; boars; rams; a tree climbing area, complete with hard hats and ropes (Climb Up).

I didn’t find any blueberry toys or asparagus pens but there were strawberry bear statues and strawberry seats.  In their store, they sold blueberry everything: jams, jellies, liqueurs and candies.Buschmann-Winkelmann runs events from April through to December.  White asparagus, strawberries, blueberries, corn and pumpkins feature as highlights throughout the year.

On the 27th of August there is even a Line Dancing workshop (15:30 - 17:30 taught Enrico Adler, the 2007 Line Dancing Champion, yes, apparently there is such a thing.) followed by a Country Feast of barbecue with spare ribs and all the fixings.  I can’t even conceive how such an event, organized by some German folk from the country would go…but I can imagine it being a good laugh. Read more of this post

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 1,074 other followers