My wife and I took our baby moon to Berlin. Originally we wanted to visit Barcelona, but opted for Berlin because of the time constraints. Some would say we were crazy to fly to Berlin for only three and a half days, and on paper I would say they have a right to call us crazy. Berlin is easily doable in that amount of time though, and since we aren't planning on an extended European vacation any time soon we figured it was a good locale for a surgical strike. This entry should serve as an all encompassing Berlin tour. Iconman style.
Oscar and Co.
Oscar-co-Berlin.de
Potssdam Platz
oxstraße 1 10785
030-2529-2792
This place looked pretty sweet from the outside. It was our first meal (dinner) and we were jetlagged and our anuses were sore from getting screwed by Delta. This happens every time I come to Europe. I have no idea where I'm eating the first night and stumble into the first place that has something on the menu I like. My wife was in tow, exhausted, and her mood befit an exhausted woman dragged into a restaurant. The food was okay. It was sufficient for its price. I had steak and bruschetta and my wife had a cesar salad and fish.
I Due Forni
Schonhauser Allee
030-4401-7333
Mitte/Prenzlauer Berg
What is it about traveling that forces you to revert to Pizza? After a day of walking, literally we walked the fuck out of Berlin; we ended up at this place for pizza and beer. It was run by Italians, all Italians, and because my German is about as good as my Chinese I reverted to Spanish. Close enough right? The place was enormous, easily three hundred covers. And considering the tiny little kitchen it must be slammed when invaded by krauts. It also had a sort of punk theme going, with NOFX and Bad Religion posters all over the place, which lent itself to the European authenticity. Italian punk rockers, what could be more quaint than that? Then a foxy Euro-punk Italian bird served us lunch, and I realized I had underestimated the powers of eyeliner and tattoos. As for the food it was pizza; delicious, familiar pizza.
Guy
www.guy-restaurant.de
Jägerstraße 59
030 2094-2600
We originally wanted to go to a place called Borchardt which located in the same Soho-esque region of Berlin, but our concierge talked us out of it. I should rephrase that, he bullied us out of it in a typically German manner. His description went something like this:
"Why would you want to go, yah? This restaurant is for people who know people and wear the Guess and wear the Armini and have I-phones. I know a better place, the food is better, and there isn't this nose in the arm (he actually said nose in the arm) attitude. Now, the humor of this man's expression wasn't nearly as amusing as the irony of the fact that we were staying at a 19th Century palace design to cater to these exact type of people. And for the record I'm not one of those people, though I'd like to be, this palace was discounted through our entire collective American Express rewards points. We didn't want to be rude, and we did need this German maniac to make the reservation so we went with his suggestion: Guy.
Initially we were pretty psyched. It was definitely highfalutin. Linen table cloths, greeted at the door, offered aperitif the whole nine. The problem was this: it was sort of a faux luxury, like they read all of this stuff in a book somewhere and figured this is what luxury was so they should give it a whirl. I could swear I was in Vegas or something. How do I know? Good question, my beloved septuplet of followers. I know because luxurious places are devoted to the details. The effortless of clearing silver (with out dropping it), the subtly of crumbing. They work in the microexperience, the uniforms fitted, the well poured glass of wine without dripping on the table, the thick-tined fish fork. The bells and whistles approach, the shock and awe of an amuse bouche or hospitable hostess are definitely part of the package, but when you don't deliver on the nuts and bolts of good, efficient, and for lack of a better word experienced service, you come off looking cheap. Dont' get me wrong, Vegas is the capital of cheap, and for the idiots that flock their (as well as the entrepenuers that fleece them) this is the haute couture of luxurious service.
The food was okay. Not great, not bad. It's tough, the European palate hasn't been dulled by as much processing and corn syrup. We both had a tasting menu of four courses, and for whatever reason each dish made me feel as though I were a guest judge on top chef. There were so many extra ingredients and flavors to make a pretty standard dinner unique, but somehow everything tasted a little off. It was a seasonal menu, and for obvious reason each Spring menu gets overloaded with asparagus. My pee still smells funny. But the fish was good--lemon foam unnecessary, the chicken three way, well, not exactly what you'd think was passable. Another annoying contrivance was my recommended wine. I had veal, and asked to pair my meal to a red wine. The waiter brought me the cheapest wine on the menu, a Cabernet perhaps, which was about as paired with veal as two male genitalia. At least I didn't have to leave an expect 20% tip.
Nola's am Weinburg
Veteranstrabe 9
030-4404-0766
Fucking Roschti. We were pretty beat up after a long night out hitting the ridiculous Berlin night life scene. We ended up at this cheesy club called Kaffeburger. It was pretty hilarious actually though I ended up drunker than I wanted to be. And I'm no spring chicken, so staying out to watch the bizarre dancing of the the Berliners had definitely taken it's toll. When we rolled up to this restaurant that felt as though it were an old fort or artillery hold or something, I was just hoping to grab some schnitzel in an attempt to subdue my hangover. What I got instead was Roschti. Hallelujah. How this dish isn't a staple at every single Williamsburg comfort food establishment is beyond me.
Roschti is basically pan seared hash browns topped with cheese. I had a little proscuito on mine as well, but it didn't make it that much better. Yes, German cheese potatoes. Mark my words, there will be a Roschti trend coming soon to the states. Its inevitable, like bad German dancing.
Vivaldi
Schlosshotel im Grunewald
Bahmastrabbe 10
030-895-840
So we had to eat at the restaurant in this ridiculous hotel. I flight left the following morning, and after our spa treatment we couldn't bring ourselves to leave the hotel. As opposed to Guy, this place was the real deal. Granted, it helps when the dining room is an anteroom to a 19th century palace, but the details were there this time.
I had some sole with lemon foam, and it was divine. The venison amuse bouche, perfect. The Lasagna, well, it was lasagna. Even the capacino was spectacular, really, the best I've ever had. It's kind of unfair to write about a restaurant like this only because I wasn't 100% sure of what I was putting in my mouth at any given time. (Not unlike that two week stretch in college..ehem.) But I can assure you that whatever it was it was pretty fucking awesome.
So that's Berlin. Probably not the most informative piece I've ever written, but damn it was long enough.
