Berlin on a Platter

Japanese Imbiss Heno Heno

Yes, folks, another day, another lunch spot on Kantstraße. I can't help it! It's my little Asiatown.

Actually, Heno Heno is also open for dinner. It's a little sliver of a Japanese Imbiss around the corner from Stuttgarter Platz and I first read about it on Mel's blog. It's really a hole-in-the-wall: There's a counter with stools and then three tiny little tables only big enough for two rather slim eaters. (A warning: There's no restroom.) The vibe is all rather relaxed and homey, which befits the simple menu. Also, there's always good music playing.

Heno Heno serves homestyle Japanese cooking, with almost no sushi in sight (the exception being oshi sushi, an Osakan method of making sushi by pressing rice and herring, in this case, together in a wooden box). There are a few simple appetizers (house-pickled vegetables and onigiri are the plan for my next visit), a few rice dishes topped with meat or vegetables and an array of noodle soups (either udon or soba). That's pretty much it.

The first time I went, I had an udon soup that seemed a lot murkier and grainier than I'd been used to at the noodle shops I used to go to in New York. But it certainly tasted quite authentic, nice and seaweedy and sweet with miso.

The next time, I couldn't resist the edamame (which came at room temperature, sadly; I'd kind of wanted them piping hot), which were delicious - I spooned a little bit of the spice mixture from its beautiful bowl with that delicate little spoon onto the edamame plate and then dunked each bean into the pepper.

For my lunch, I ordered the vegetarian don with an egg on top - the smallest size. Perfect for my appetite, I could just about finish it. What you get is a bowl of hot rice topped with a very molten poached egg, ground sesame seeds, slivered seaweed, cooked greens, sliced scallions, a few mushrooms and shredded carrots. If there was more in there, it was well camouflaged. Using your chopsticks, you hack and mix everything together until you have a fragrant, sweet-salty, chewy mixture of rice and vegetables and sticky egg yolk clumping together under your chopsticks.

With a mug or two of hoji-cha, roasted green tea, it was just the thing for a gray day. Sitting at a small table, marveling at the tiny wooden pepper spoon, a ceramic tea cup nestle in my hands and a few simple Japanese cooking instruments hung over the stove, I almost felt like I'd been teleported somewhere far away. I love that feeling.


Heno Heno
Kantstraße 65
10627 Berlin
(030) 663 073 70

Central and Latin American Delights at Aqui España

The other day, on the way to lunch, I stopped in at Aqui España on Kantstraße, just because I was feeling curious. Imagine my delight at finding all sorts of Central and Latin American treats therein, like Mexican goat's milk cajeta, canned tomatillos, tamale wrappers, guava paste, dried salt cod, dried pasilla, guajillo, ancho, arbol and chipotle chiles, dulce de leche in a Russian doll's variety of jar sizes, several different countries' worth of masa and achiote in both ground and pellet form. (There is also a large selection of Spanish and Portuguese goods, from olive oils to cured meats, wines to dry goods.)

I left with a can of tomatillos (I'd only ever eaten them fresh, but some casual Googling assured me that canned tomatillos are a good thing, much like canned tomatoes) and a jar of hearts of palm, but I can't wait to go back for all the ingredients for the Mexican feast I plan to cook soon.

Aqui España
Kantstraße 34
10625 Berlin
(030) 312 3315

Classic French at Le Piaf

Readers, I'm sorry for the long silence. Finishing the manuscript for my book consumed my August, our honeymoon blessedly took us far away in September and now in October, I've been waiting impatiently to hear back from my editor while battling a nasty flu and trying to meet a clutch of deadlines for freelance assignments, while all the cellphone photos documenting the few meals I had out in Berlin over the past few months languish on my cell.

In any case, I thought I'd make it up to you by coming back with one of my favorite restaurants in Berlin. I might even go so far as to call it my favorite restaurant in Berlin, though, I'm always wary of hyperbole like that. Suffice it to say that this place is pretty darn special. I'm talking about Le Piaf, a small French restaurant tucked into a tiny Vorgarten on Charlottenburg's Schloßstraße.

Run by two French men, one in the kitchen and one in the front of the house, it has a sharply edited everyday menu (terrine and cornichons or snails to start, a few salads, three mains) and a regional menu that rotates every month or so, written up on a few big chalkboards that are propped up around the restaurant. One month, the focus might be on Brittany; the next, for example, is on Provence. There are wine pairings to go with the regional menu and a prix fixe option. The restaurant is made up of a few small rooms, with only a few tables squeezed into each one. This gives the warm, cozy feeling of being in someone's home.

Last winter, Max and I went there one weekend and decided to have a proper French dinner. The regional focus that month was on Burgundy, so I had oeufs en meurette (Max had a plate of tiny, crisp, greaseless fried fish). My poached egg with its molten yolk came in a little casserole pot, balanced on a slice of savory, sauce-soaked toasted bread and doused in more of that delicious, winey meurette sauce. It was hard not to gobble the whole thing up in a matter of seconds. I tried to restrain myself. There was a slab calves' liver in a mustardy cream sauce as a main course, alongside a fabulous slice of potato gratin, all the better for wiping up the delicious sauce. And for dessert, we had vacherin, a confection made up of layers of meringue, whipped cream, raspberry purée and pistachios, all bathed in a pool of not-too-sweet crème anglaise. I thought I was too full for more than a forkful and ended up battling Max for the last shards of dessert.

Everything was so correct, as the French would say. It all tasted just as it should. It was clean, simple, pure food, and done just right. In fact, we ate better at Le Piaf than we did in the entire week we spent in Paris over New Year's (with one exception), much to our surprise.

I could scarcely believe my good fortune. This was the best French food I'd eaten in so long. And it was right around the corner from our place! Plus the waiters were charming, there was a cheese tray (with cheeses from Maître Philippe) and really good Crémant d'Alsace for the apéritif (I am a sucker for sparkling wine). It swiftly become our place for celebrations (if it were open for lunch, we would have celebrated our wedding there, too). Everyone needs that kind of place, don't you think? Le Piaf is it for me.

On the last night of August, the evening I finished my manuscript, I decided I needed to do a little something special for myself. I hadn't showered in days and I'd barely slept. I'd deteriorated to feeding myself potato chips and cereal. The glamorous life of a writer, well, it ain't so glamorous on deadline. But that night in August, I was finally done. I needed to celebrate, but I also needed to be alone. I wasn't ready to even face another person yet. So I headed to Le Piaf. The hostess did a little bit of a double take when I asked for a table for one, but she recovered soon enough and before too long I was sitting alongside a mirrored wall, with a glass of Crémant in front of me.

For dinner, I ordered two appetizers, since I didn't have much of an appetite. First came one huge artichoke with a little pot of creamy vinaigrette (the second pot was spiked with herbs, I didn't like it as much). I peeled off leaf after leaf from the artichoke, dipping it into the vinaigrette and sucking off the sweet vegetal flash with my bottom teeth. The heart was tender and silky. With each leaf, I felt my old self come back. 

I followed with a carpaccio of sea bass and white peaches. The peach slices were firm as could be, but incredibly fragrant and their sweet flavor went beautifully with the fish. There was lemon juice and salt and pepper sprinkled on top to tie everything together. It was the perfect single girl meal: light and restorative, a little indulgent, and most of all, fun. 

Though the hostess had been a little awkward when I asked to sit alone, the French waiter couldn't have been more gracious and polite. I felt really special that night, just as I'd hoped, just as I do every time I go there. I felt well-fed and taken care of, which is a rarity in restaurants these days, not just in Berlin. It's such a little gem, Le Piaf - I hope it never changes. (It's been there for 15 years; let's hope it has just as many years ahead of it.)

Le Piaf
Schloßstrasse 60
14059 Berlin
(030) 342-2040

Brot & Butter's Quarkstulle

The fact that this slice of bread, moist and sour and sporting the thickest, crispiest crust, spread with butter and a half-centimeter of Joghurtquark flavored with chives and seasoned with salt, costs 4 euros and 50 cents (that's $6.40, to put it in perspective) is a little insane. In fact, if I let myself think about it, it's more than insane.

My solution? Not to think about it. And to go to Brot & Butter only rarely, when I'm feeling like I can spend that much money on breakfast (or a very light lunch). But it's too bad the service at Brot & Butter can be brusque and snappish, too. If I'm paying that much for a piece of bread with Quark, I'd like a polite waiter or at least a prompt one. But such is life in Berlin.

On the flip side, the Stulle is delicious. The bread was still warm and the moist crumb combined with the creamy, salty, savory topping was an absolute pleasure. I remember eating one of these last summer, when it was hot and gorgeous for weeks on end, sitting outside at one of the tables in front of Brot & Butter. I'd gone in to order something to drink and the very nice barista offered, faced with my indecision between hot tea or a glass of juice, to purée fresh strawberries into some buttermilk for me. It was such a delicious drink. He was so nice. I loved that morning.

The other day, when I ordered this Stulle, I asked the unsmiling waitress if they might be able to do that again. I probably should have known better when she turned away wordlessly and stalked back into the store. When she returned to my table, she plunked an unopened container of buttermilk, like you'd buy at the grocery store, in front of me with a glass. Ah, yes.

(How do people like this stay employed?)

 

Brot & Butter
Hardenbergstraße 4-5
10623 Berlin
(030) 263 00 346

Chinese Broccoli, My Love

Every so often, I wake up and think, "Today I need some Chinese food." And then, if I don't immediately go and eat some steamed dumplings or hot-and-sour soup, I spend the rest of the week in a weird funk where nothing else really tastes good or appeals to me. I don't have this admittedly strange habit with any other cuisine. Maybe it's a low-grade MSG addiction?

I think it harks back to my childhood when my father would faithfully order takeout from a Chinese restaurant near our apartment once a week. Not a single week went by without moo goo gai pan (2nd grade), moo shu pork (3rd grade), hot-and-sour soup (5th grade) and so on. In college and my New York years, I graduated to much spicier stuff, but my weekly calls to the local Chinese joint always remained a constant.

Let's not get into how much I miss "real" Chinese food in Berlin. I've beaten that one to death. Instead, let me tell you about how last week, I woke up with my faithful hankering and went to Aroma with my mother for gai lan and roast pork. It hit the spot.

After trying a lot of mediocre Chinese places in Berlin (from Ming Dynastie across from the Chinese embassy to the many holes-in-the-wall on Kantstrasse), Aroma is where I go whenever I need Chinese food. It reminds me of fancy Chinese restaurants in the States, with thick carpeting, an all-male wait staff and high prices. A good sign is that there are always a lot of Chinese families eating at the round tables.

Aroma has the tastiest dim sum in Berlin (it's not the Greatest Dim Sum Ever!, but it does the trick and that's good enough for me -  here's Mel's post that never fails to make my stomach growl) and although I ignore about 99% of their menu, I can never resist the gai lan (Chinese broccoli) or bok choy or pea shoots (if they have them).

To round out my order of delicious Chinese broccoli (crisp-tender, fragrant with garlic and sweet), I asked for a plate of barbecued pork, which was lacquered in the signature Chinese style. There was far too much of it, but it was tasty as could be. (Plus, never forget that leftover Chinese pork and cold rice make for a very nice fried rice the next day.)

My mother made the mistake of ordering some gloopy noodle dish with vegetables and pork that was totally insipid. So be forewarned, folks. You still have to be on your guard. The forces of bland, pan-Asian food lurk everywhere. But if you order wisely, you could be enjoying rice noodle rolls and stir-fried Chinese greens and lacquered pork very soon.

Aroma China Restaurant
Kantstrasse 58
10625 Berlin
(030) 375 91 628

TU Cafeteria Lunch with a View

When my father moved to Berlin 40 (!) years ago, he had an office in the Telefunken Haus on Ernst-Reuter-Platz. Whenever I pass it, which is all the time, it makes me think of him. Imagine my delight when our friends told us to meet them for lunch there one day, in the cafeteria on the top floor.

The TU has a cafeteria on the top floor and it's open to the public. You don't need to be a student or an employee of the university, you just need to know where to go (all the way to the top). When you alight, you'll have a pretty spectacular view. Siegessäule! Fernsehturm! If you squint, Brandenburger Tor!

And in the other direction, Bismarckstraße aka Kaiserdamm, Teufelsberg, Funkturm. Plus, solar panels!

The day we were there, the cafeteria was serving vegetarian pasta or Königsberger Klopse with mashed potatoes and salad.

It's cafeteria food, you know, so it's not winning any awards. But it was warm and filling and the capers had a vinegary bite and the salad was fresh and snappy. (Also, uh, it's cheap.) Plus the view is hard to be beat. While we ate and chatted, I liked imagining my 20-something father in his office somewhere below us, doing his math, looking out the window, contemplating his new Berlin life.

Cafeteria TU Skyline
Ernst Reuter Platz 7
10587 Berlin
(030) 939 39 7780

Buchteln at Backwerk

I'm lucky enough to live within walking distance of several bakeries that still do all their own baking in-house. One of them is Bäckerei Hutzelmann that specializes in Silesian baked goods (their schlesische Quarkpirogge is a thing of beauty - but only available every once in a while). Then there's the cult organic Brotgarten bakery (their Mehrkornbrot is my holy grail). And just around the corner from Brotgarten is Backwerk. Max discovered a twice-baked bread loaf at Backwerk a few weekends ago, with a super-crisp, blackened crust and a wonderfully flavorful crumb. I went back on Saturday to get more of it and while there, my eyes fell on a tray of Buchteln.

What are those, you say? Why, just plump, burnished yeast rolls, spangled with sugar, being sold either plain or filled with dark, sticky Pflaumenmus.

Be still my beating heart. You see, I am powerless in the face of Pflaumenmus and sweet yeast dough. Utterly powerless. I bought one, took it home, sliced it open and ate it for a snack. It was wondrous. Light, fluffy, yeasty dough, puckery Pflaumenmus, sugared fingers to lick - I don't know if I've ever found a better breakfast, snack or German baked good. Yes. That good.

If you're thinking the Buchtel looks an awful lot like a Pfannkuchen, you'd be correct. Basically, they're the exact same thing, only the Pfannkuchen is fried and the Buchtel is baked. So Buchteln are even good for you!

Get 'em while they're hot, folks.

Backwerk
Nehringstraße 3
14059 Berlin
(030) 322 3625

Udagawa on Kantstrasse

I like to think of Kantstrasse as my canteen - I can stroll there on my lunch break and then take my pick. What will it be today: Northern Chinese dumplings? Vegetarian soup noodles? Roast duck buns? Recently, we even found a restaurant called Udagawa serving good Japanese home cooking, as well as very fresh sushi. We had dinner there first, sitting in the back with a Chinese family, a couple on a rushed date and two girls in town for Fashion Week. A young man deftly fried tempura and katsu-don in the front of the restaurant, turning the pieces with two huge chopsticks, while in the back a sushi chef worked silently behind a curtained door. The second time we went for lunch and sat at a sunny front table looking out onto Kantstrasse, warming up like two cats on a couch.

Udagawa is listed as being an "Imbiss" and that's sort of the vibe you get when you're there. You place your order at the counter and then wait for it to be delivered (at dinnertime) or for someone to call you when your order is ready (at lunch).

But the food has nothing to do with Imbiss food. It's fresh, home-cooked and delicious. (If you're looking for Imbiss prices, too, you're in the wrong place, but I think that they're absolutely fair given the quality of what is being served.) The menu is pretty extensive: there are sushi platters, several different udon soups, a lot of cooked plates of meat or fish and tempura. There's nothing goofy going on here, no crazy rolls with fifty different kinds of fish crammed into them and no Pan-Asian silliness either (ahem, Kuchi). Just simple, homestyle food. My favorite.

The glazed mackerel over rice we had one night was delicious, the tempura at lunch was light and crispy, and the sushi is always pristine and fresh. (A nice touch were those tiny little shrimp with the heads and tails still on - they were sweet as can be.) It's a great little place to have in the neighborhood.

Udagawa
Kantstrasse 118/119
10625 Berlin
(030) 312 3014

Handpulled Noodles at Selig

Some of my favorite New York memories are wrapped up in the act of eating dumplings - from the ones in the underground malls of Flushing's Chinatown to Vanessa's Dumplings on the Lower East Side and in between. Boiled, fried, steamed - Chinese dumplings are my heart's desire. People often ask me what food I couldn't live without and I usually reply with tomatoes, since I really do eat them all the time. But if I could no longer eat dumplings, my life would be grayer, drearier, just a little bit sad. Stuffed with pork, or cabbage, or scallions, or shrimp, I could eat them every day.

I like to think it's no coincidence that we ended up living in Charlottenburg, just a hop, skip and a jump from Berlin's "Chinatown" on Kantstrasse. And now that I know about Selig, where dumplings (jiao zi) and handmade pulled noodles, the backbone of Northern Chinese home cooking, are the stars of the menu, I'm not sure we can ever move again.

Handpulled refers to how the Northern Chinese make their noodles, quite differently from, say, the Italians, who roll their pasta dough out into a big sheet, which is then rolled up and cut into noodles. In Flushing, once, I sat for a long time at a Chinese noodle stand watching this big jolly noodle maker sling and smack his noodle dough into submission, then literally pull the dough - sort of like taffy or warm mozzarella - over and over and over and over until he had thin, nubby strands that were cut to the proper length.

Here you see Selig's noodles in all their nubbly, chewy, slippery glory, bathed in a slightly spicy broth (ask for "wirklich scharf" if you need more than a tingle) along with sliced zucchini, cabbage, onions, tiny cubes of fried tofu, bean sprouts, wilted spinach leaves and red pepper. The broth was very good, as were the vegetables (and so plentiful!). But the noodles, savory and springy in that inimitable handmade way, were fantastic. I slurped and slithered my way to the bottom of the bowl at a most unladylike pace.

There were so many other things I wanted to try on the menu, like the jellyfish salad (Taras Grescoe says it's our moral duty to eat jellyfish whenever it's offered!), a noodle dish with ground meat and soy bean paste, and more jiao zi, er, because my beloved Max ordered them at our lunch and while he was kind enough to share one with me and it was chewy and yielding and savory-salty in just the way I'd been craving, one dumpling does not satiate the thing that is a heart's desire, do you know what I mean? Also, Mel highly recommends the noodles with deep-fried duck in the chef's special sauce and, good grief, I need to stop writing these posts at dinner time because the sound of my stomach growling while I type is most distracting.

So I need to go back to Selig.

(Along with Max's dumplings came a little glass noodle salad with slivered tofu skin, carrots and cabbage. It was fine but nowhere as delicious as the dumplings and the black vinegar that I could drink out of a bottle, I love it so.)

Our waitress was a total doll, And since I'm used to eating dumplings and handpulled noodles in, how do I say this politely, total hole-in-the-wall dumps in New York City, where I was always sure a roach was lurking just around the corner, it was even more of a pleasure to have lunch at Selig at an actual wood table with placemats and lacquered chairs and a bathroom that was functional and open to the public at the same time!

I kid, New York. You know I love you. But now that I've found Selig, I've got one less thing to miss about you.

UPDATE on February 21, 2011: After a glaringly lackluster meal here last week, where the dumplings were sloppily made, boiled to glueyness, and a noodle dish was clearly a depository for various kitchen scraps including seriously stale tofu, I have to amend my adulatory review . Let's hope it was just a fluke, but proceed with caution the next time you go.

Selig
Kantstrasse 51
10625 Berlin
Tel: (030) 310 172 41