District Môt, Saigon Street Food, Mitte

May 16, 2013 2 Comments

District MotSo District Môt.  On the former site of Chi Sing and from the people who brought us Si An Trà Café and Chén Chè Tea House.  The design is like being whacked in the face with a bag of obvious.  District Mot

It’s street food – so the whole place is meant to emulate that.  I’ve eaten street food in Vietnam and the experience is really not complete without the stench of Durian, a table of expired canines piled high with an oblivious boisterous puppy frolicking happily next to it (which makes me think the Universe is not a nice guy).  Oh and your eyelids should be stuck firmly open with sweat, so that to blink means to exert super human power.  For good measure, there should be a street urchin circling around you trying to sell you a) a bottle of tap water, its seal deceptively but meticulously glued back together, b) what looks like the Rough Guide but inside contains blank pages (actually fell for this), c) a tour.District Mot

You’re not going to get authentic and that’s fine.  If you can still get good.

But can you?

There were some dishes I liked at Chi Sing.  Enough that I took some friends from London the winter before last.  But the food was bland at best and plain old bad in other cases.  And the service was obnoxious.  That’s how it was with Chi Sing, I never knew which side of the coin I was going to get.

What to expect with District Mot?  More of the same I believe.

Mango saladI went for lunch, ordered three small dishes (€4 each).  The green mango salad was in fact ripe mango salad with what looked like Mickey Mouse ears, delicious all the same – although fish sauce and lime juice could probably make styrofoam taste good. Read more of this post

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Mogg & Melzer, Delicatessen, Mitte

April 11, 2013 6 Comments

The hallway outside Mogg & MelzerI once attended a wedding where I was thoughtfully placed next to another woman with whom I had a lot in common. The two of us should have had a convivial evening. Instead we were like two positively charged magnets, repelling each other no matter how hard we  tried.

Equally confounding was my experience with Mogg & Melzer. A delicatessen in a former Jewish girls school, the hallway dressed in emerald-green tiles that go positively Wizard of Oz in hue when they catch the sun.  A place that serves a chicken liver creme brûlée.  What’s not to love?The space at Mogg & MelzerExcept I found the pastrami sandwich dry and didn’t touch the bland coleslaw.  The volume of the music was better suited to “I’m home alone packing up the flat” than a public space where people were trying to socialize.

That was 3 months ago.  I went back again this week.  And although I was irked that the solitary waitress was asking about my drink order before I had even taken off my coat (for the rest of the meal she would be mostly MIA) the two women in the corner were sharing a shakshuka that appeared to be delicious.Caesar salad, Mogg & MelzerThe menu reads really well.  I was torn between the golden beet & goats cheese salad (€6.50) and the Balsamic lentils, baked Crottin de Chavignol & wild herbs (€11).  (I’ll readily admit that when I read the descriptions, I imagined La Fromagerie calibre salads.) The menu at Mogg & MelzerI went for the lentils with the crottin. I received a plate with a stingy ladleful of lentils, doused in too much balsamic vinegar served on a papadum (?) . The wild herbs turned out to be a few leaves of bagged salad so generic they hardly needed a special mention on the menu. I forgot the lentils came with a crottin until I started to prod what looked like a mummified egg yolk perched on top.Lentils with goats cheese
That was the crottin? This crottin? And if it was the famous Crottin de Chavignol of the Loire Valley, how had its mottled exterior turned smooth and why exactly was it orange – instead of white or even white with blue?

Can I chalk up my lukewarm experience to a dud dish? Read more of this post

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Galeries Lafayette, Food Hall, Mitte

January 15, 2013 11 Comments


IMG_3846My husband gave me a Nike Fuel band as a gift.  It stayed in the box for about two weeks.

All I could think of when I saw it was: Martha Stewart. Martha Stewart dumbstruck that anyone would willingly don a shackle that monitors their movement, when she had to forcibly endure a home incarceration bracelet.  Martha Stewart whose business lost $50.7 million against revenues of $43.5 million in the 3rd quarter of 2012 and still felt upbeat enough to take the FT’s reporter along to check out ABC for inspiration on what to do with twigs. (I want whatever anxiety suppressing drugs she’s on!)

When it became obvious I wasn’t going to do it, my husband took it out of the box and loaded it onto my computer.Nike Fuel Band“See you can Twitter it and Facebook it.  You can even see what your friends are doing!”  I was going to explain to him that my friends are not 17-year-old girls and they would probably appreciate something that kept count of how many diapers they’ve changed or noses they’ve wiped and which counts down days since last pedicure, but I didn’t have the heart to deflate his considerable bubble.IMG_3843I’ve been wearing it regardless because around 10 o’clock in the morning, I press the white button and it says G*O*A*L and the letters do somersaults to a line of reggae colours at the top.  That is the why this bracelet will succeed, not because it motivates you to exercise but because it gives the wearer compliments.

Vanilla eclaireI wore it to Galeries Lafayette yesterday to buy Layla her weekly eclaire. She believes that their food hall makes the most sublime eclaires. I think they make damn good ones for Berlin, my favourite is coffee and hers is chocolate.  Yesterday the lady at the patisserie took a liking to her and gave her a chocolate macaron.

I’ve never written about the food hall here.  It’s small, but I love that by focusing on France, it makes sense.  You know what to expect.  Cheese, of course.  A good butchers, expensive but if you are clever, you can pick up some chipolatas or Merguez sausages and liven up a pot of lentils because sometimes (often) I just need a break from all the wursts.  The chiller cabinets stock things like thinly grated carrots with some raisins and a few parsley leaves masquerading as salad. Or expensive pots of yogurts or puddings.IMG_3842 Read more of this post

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The Barn – Roastery, Mitte

December 31, 2012 20 Comments

The Roastery
I was sitting inside the child friendly Ginger and White in London when I read that Ralf Rüller had banned prams in his coffee shop. “Big deal!” I thought and soon tweeted – it’s not like prams fit in the teeny tiny Augustrasse shop. Only much later, while I sat with a group of bristling mothers, did I understand that there was a new bigger shop, The Roastery and that it also did not allow prams. Nor did they let you use their toilet, allow dogs, provide sugar, use soya milk and if you wanted to use your computer – you had to wait in line for the one table where it was allowed.IMG_1275

“Do you know that they deleted all the negative comments off their Facebook page?” one said “I mean if you are going to do social media, then you have to do social media!”

A big no!Even more confounding was the chosen location; the Mitte end of Schönhauser Allee – the other end of which is Prenzlauerberg.  Prenzlauerberg.  As in the bastion of designer babies and prams.  The styling of the babies and The Barn is nearly identical with a preference for wood (Prenzlauerberg babies don’t play with plastic), clothing in muted hues, even for the girls (especially for the girls) and no sugar allowed (The Barn because it thinks that  sugar would ruin a perfectly balanced coffee and the parents because they are trying to channel Gwenyth Paltrow).  Not allowing prams in that part of town  is like banning gambling in Las Vegas: absurd.

I set out for a weekend coffee in my SUV (3 kids people, need a big car) with Layla in the back so as to avoid the “what to do with the pram” conundrum.

There housed in a now defunct pharmacy was an extremely large coffee shop. I could have easily driven the Lexus up to the counter and placed my order without making a significant dent in the enormous space. Clearly the pram ban is not a space issue.

The set up is meticulous. The milking stools are lined up straight, with their legs crossed in a way that makes me think of how women used to be taught to cross their ankles demurely in finishing schools.  There is a young man exerting tremendous concentration over each cup of coffee.  He seems to be weighing every loaded portafiler then scooping out minute quantities of ground beans.  I have a lot of time to observe all of this because perfection takes a while.

IMG_1284At some point, a customer returning his empty cup drops a balled up paper napkin onto the floor, Rüller, who is operating the roaster, hones in on it immediately. He can’t leave the roaster (I know this because he’s already warned me in an overly weary tone that I must mind my child and that should she trespass into the space he will not be responsible because his first priority is the beans) but I can feel his irritation.

It lays there for maybe 5 minutes, all the while Rüller is shooting it harried glances. Until finally he catches the eye of one of his cowgirls, holds it, then casts his eyes down to the ground. She bends and covertly scoops it up. Read more of this post

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Wiener Brot, Bakery, Mitte

December 9, 2012 10 Comments

Wiener BrotOn Tucholskystrasse, there is a little brown fox with what looks like a button mushroom (but is more likely a chef’s hat on one ear) surreptitiously climbing up the shop front of Wiener Brot. Inside the shop there is a shelf into which loaves of bread are filed vertically. Large red swirly lamps that look like thick brushstrokes hang from the ceiling.  A colour picked up in the lipstick and cat’s eye glasses of the buxom woman behind the counter.

On the back shelves are jars of Berliner Honig (a perfect Berlin themed stocking filler) and Berliner Bären Gold.  Then I spot a hoard of Sarah Wiener books.

“Is this a Sarah Wiener shop?” I ask the shop assistant
“Yes.” She beams back.
“Oh.” I think flatly.

I had high expectations for another Sarah Wiener place Das Speisezimmer and although the design of the place was nice, the food was less than lacklustre.  Still that was over a year ago and I had only eaten there once.  I could be wrong about Sarah Wiener.

Except I’m not. Read more of this post

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OSLO kaffe bar, Coffee, Mitte

December 2, 2012 23 Comments

I was picking my way through the wreck that is Chausseestrasse, trying to get to Bondi Cafe. Two women walked passed me, lovingly cradling white paper coffee cups with what looked like the word “Oslo” stamped on them.

There was a lot of love in that embrace between woman and cup.  As I turned the corner onto Eichendorffstrasse, there it was: OSLO kaffe bar.  The styling of the cafe vaguely reminded me of Nordic Bakery in London but when I stepped inside there was no food bar a heel of dried up loaf cake.

“Do you sell food in here?” I asked “Like croissants or cake?”
“We used to have croissants.” the barista replied “but our focus is coffee.”

I looked at the black board behind her and tried to work out what I wanted. Instead of Lattes and Cappuccinos, there were ratios 1:0, 1:1, 1:2, 1:3 indicating the ratio of espresso to milk.  I order the 1:2 single origin Ethiopian coffee for €2.90 (the blend is €2.60).

I was told to expect a strong blueberry aroma.  A comment which brought to mind my wine diploma, when a red wine might be described as having tobacco and leather notes.  Attributes I could find no trace of when tasting the wine.  Looking at my classmates, they would all be vigorously agreeing with the pronouncement while I scratched my head in wonder.

Read more of this post

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Business Lunch at The Ritz & The Hyatt, Potsdamer Platz

November 4, 2012 7 Comments

There is one thing you can say about hotel eating: it’s consistent.  Which is like hearing the person you’ve been set up on a blind date with is ‘nice’.  At least in hotels, the concept of service exists (that at the Ritz far exceeds that at the Hyatt – more later) and the lunch prices are a steal!

At Mesa the 3 course lunch is  €15. The portions are petite, especially by Berlin standards. At the Ritz  lunch is €14 for the special, a non-alchoholic drink and coffee.  It’s less food, with my portion of Quiche Lorraine, pivoted in such a way as to visually occupy maximum space on a busy plate and a fluffed up bit of herb salad (quite nice it was too) and some creme fraiche piped onto the plate in a fat braid.

Mesa does German food ‘family style’. I know the last bit because my father and I were stumped when the waitress kept putting all our food beyond our reach on the left side of the table. I figured there must be some reason to the contrived plate handling, so I looked it up on their website and there it was: “German dishes served family-style in the middle of the table”.

Even the small serving of pumpkin soup.

It’s an amusing illustration of how things are often followed to the l-e-t-t-e-r here, even though sometimes it might not make much sense to do it exactly the way you’ve been told.  But deviation is not common.

Neither are smiles. The women serving us are pretty, trim blondes with their hair neatly bound and their cheeks rouged but in the two hours that we sit there, not one of them smiles maybe that doesn’t come with the lunch deal? Maybe you have to go for the more expensive dinner if you want a smile? Read more of this post

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Al Contadino Sotto Le Stelle, Mozzarella Bar & Bottega, Mitte

October 28, 2012 13 Comments

Al contadino sotto le stelleWe are finally back!

Next time I decide to move to London temporarily while 7 months pregnant with twins, have them there and then move back to Berlin – slap me will you?

But we’re here.  And just in time to catch the tail end of a glorious autumn before Berlin descends into the numbing gloom that is winter.IMG_3632

Layla started nursery on Wednesday and I paced and fretted my way around her school in case the teachers called me to come collect her.  She took it better than I did.  Except for the part where she has to have lunch and the food they serve is not peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.  She just stared at her vegetable soup, horrified.  A helpful little boy told her that if she didn’t eat all her food, she wouldn’t be allowed to have any fruit for dessert.  Which prompted her to shoot me a perplexed look that said “If fruit is dessert, what do they do for fun here? Self-harm?”IMG_3628

Hovering in the general environs of her school allowed me to poke my head into Mogg & Melzer, have a couple of silky coffees at The Barn and try the new Mozzarella Bar on Auguststrasse (it opened in June).

Food occupiers of August strasse tend to be trendy and overly self-aware design wise.  Much like the folk that mince around in tight trousers and tiny coats even though it’s freezing outside because “Hey – I look good in it.”  Sotto Le Stelle is more grandma but you know, grandma does new, like maybe she tries out a new shade of purple hair dye.  When I walk in, Italian rock music is blaring.  Al contadino sotto le stelle Read more of this post

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Adlon Kempinski, Breakfast, Mitte

June 8, 2012 Leave a comment

The adventurous spirit I have with regards to eating leaves the building when it comes to hotels.  I would rather stay in a Marriott with its floral prints and its thick carpet than in some designer led incarnation where it is easier to locate the bathtub than the bed (remember my experience at the Delano in Miami?).  Over the last few years I have stayed in the Adlon a couple of times.  None of the rooms had a ‘view’ (I am not sure that crowds of tourists lining up for a Starbucks coffee constitutes a view even if it is set off by the Brandenburg gate) but that in no way hampers the room layout –  quietly brilliant in their clever use of space and deliverance of comfort (for example Mühldorfer bedding also used in the 7 star Burj Al Arab).The buffet breakfast is another perk.  Table after table, stacked high and deep  with neat lines of cold cuts and cheeses.  A dozen glass carafes filled with juices.  A wall of bread.  An army of jars, lids off, sitting on a paper doily – spoons at the ready with tiny little dishes for spooning dainty quantities into stacked off to the side.  A whole human being to make you eggs, any way you like.  Triangles of watermelon, bowls of segmented grapefruits and oranges (some poor hotel school student probably got carpel tunnel doing those).  Let’s say you find nothing you fancy in that room of food, you can always order ‘a la carte’, eggs benedict say or a white tureen with two bloated weisswurst floating in a sea of finely minced chives.I start off with fruit and a mixture of yogurt and one of the four kinds of bircher muesli, move on to eggs with some cold cuts on the side before I have to concede defeat and fight the urge to get horizontal and groan.

Last Sunday, my father was visiting Berlin and  he invited us to have breakfast with him.  I packed in as much food as my compromised stomach could manage but instead of saying ‘uncle’ and going for a lie down, I left that table and went to another breakfast.  Hosted by Marguerite’s on her blue polka-dotted oilcloth tablecloth.  Luisa made apple scones from a Martha Stewart Recipe.  I spooned on Sylee’s delightful strawberry jam with strawberries she had picked the weekend before in Vierfelderhof and drank too much coffee from the French press. Read more of this post

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Nine Gold (former HBC.), Mitte

May 18, 2012 3 Comments

 HBC. (new name is Nine Gold) is the most complete embodiment of Berlin I’ve encountered in a restaurant, in my two years of eating out in the city. 

To begin with, the train stop is Alexanderplatz- a cluster of mismatched buildings which look like they were put there by a child playing building blocks. Someone who thinks it’s perfectly normal that Barbie, Minnie Mouse and a couple of Lego figures should all be having tea together.  

If you walk down from the station to Karl-Liebknecht-Straße, you have to walk by the ugly shop fronts exhibiting their wares, cringe inducing shoes for €10 or worse, a 3D Buddha who follows you as you walk by. (now who is the snob?)If Sylee hadn’t told me HBC. was up the stairs, I would have walked right past it.  Many times.  Another Berlin characteristic, while restaurants the world over shout from the highest mountain about their presence, quite a few restaurants in Berlin are happy to crouch on a bar stool, legs crossed, arms folded and let you figure it out.

Then there is the space itself.  Enormous.  And the number of bodies contained within, the merest fraction of what they should be to make the rent of such a large place, with views of St. Mary’s Church and the top-heavy Fernsehturm,  viable.As for “What does it say it does on the box?”.  Well what doesn’t it do? ‘A combination art gallery, lounge, party space and art-world cantina’ (excerpt from the New York Times Review, full article here).  In a city where central commercial space is still plentiful and cheap (unlike apartments which, I’ve been looking to buy, have become freakin’ expensive considering the low rents you get) you often get this mixed use of space.The waiter can not be readily identified as such, except that at some point he struts over, hips thrust forward and carves out a dramatic arc through the air with the menus as he hands them over to us.  His arms are (of course) tattooed, an interesting medley the most striking of which is a series of faded burgundy rings, like bracelets or uniform zebra stripes that run up his forearm.

The dining room is eclectic.  Plastic chairs I remember from my art classes coupled with starched heavy tablecloths and glasses so polished, they look like they just came out of their box. Heavy cement lamps, suspended over most tables  and emanating a warm orange light.  Not forgetting the large windows with a view onto St. Mary’s Church.

The menu is only €33 for 3 courses and a side.  There are some kooky things to be found on it, a rhubarb risotto for instance.  The exotic sounding glazed duck with kumquat and liquorice onion which on the plate is a perfectly tame pan-fried duck breast, a neat huddle of kumquats off to one side and an onion not quite tender enough for me to eat with no discernible taste of liquorice. Read more of this post

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