Berlin on a Platter

Yogi Tea Schoko Chai

Tap tap, hello? Is anyone there? I'm feeling more than a little sheepish about how much time has gone by since I last posted. Let's put the blame squarely at my son's feet - born last June - and on the publication of my book - out last September. Forgive me, reader! With patience, I will try to get back here with some regularity.

Let's start with my new favorite tea. My brother-in-law bought it for me for Christmas and it is sort of marvelous.

First of all, it's loose tea, not bagged, otherwise I probably would have gotten rid of it without looking at it twice. Second of all, it's caffeine-free. And third of all, and probably most importantly, it has little cocoa nibs in it. Yes, indeedy.

To brew it, you put a few spoonfuls of the spicy mix in a pot of boiling water and let it simmer for 15 minutes. It looks rather unpromising at first, but as the minutes tick by, the water starts to go a deep reddish-brown color and a wonderful aroma fills the air. Strain the tea into a tea cup and top off with a splash of milk and a little bit of honey (I find chai always needs some sweetener, though I take all my other tea without sugar).

What you've got, then, is a richly flavored, warming chai tea with a subtly chocolate bottom note. It's really delicious and very satisfying, especially if you're trying to kick an afternoon cookie-and-hot-chocolate habit. Ahem.

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

Americana at Aldi

Aldi has a special "US" section going on right now, featuring products from Trader Joe's (not the dried fruit and nuts from Trader Joe's that Aldi carries all year round) emblazoned with an American flag and that are, as usual when discussing the "American" section in a German grocery store, a sort of hilarious take on how Germans see the American diet.

Hot dog buns, charcoal and pickle slices actually make sense. It's summer, after all, even if our Berlin July was much too rainy for grilling outdoors. Then there's cranberry sauce in a jar, which I thought about buying and saving for Thanksgiving, just for the kitsch factor, and fruit syrups for pancakes in maple syrup bottles, which just made me sad. Who the heck is putting that crap on pancakes?

I snagged the pickles, because German pickles continue to annoy me with their sweetness and lack of vim and vinegar, and also because I have been having a crazy hankering for cheeseburgers lately that is not going to let up until I just go ahead and eat one already, and since sandwich pickles, to me, are intimately linked with burgers, buying the pickles was almost like buying a cheeseburger.

(Let's not try to understand my thought process today, shall we? I'm missing my appendix.)

Wasabi Macadamia Nuts

I cannot take any credit at all for this discovery, it was my friend Anna who introduced me to these fantastic things. I don't even like macadamia nuts, for Pete's sake. Or at least I didn't until Seeberger took a bunch of them and coated them in wasabi dust.

Holy Moses, people, these are good. They're like the richer, creamier version of wasabi peas, a little less crunchy but with no less of a spicy bite. Buy them now, thank me later (or curse me, depending on how addicted you get).

Brockensplitter

There I was last week at Rewe, zoning out in the candy aisle while Max tried to get some checkout girl to answer his question about the pots he's become obsessed with when my eyes caught a row of assorted candy all labeled with a sign that said "Aus unserer Region". Well, that's it, I thought. The locavore movement has finally jumped the shark.

But then I looked a little more carefully at the candy selection and saw, between Schokolinsen and Pralinen, a little rectangular package with a sweet, retro design that looked like it hadn't changed in half a century and that magical word that just gets me every time: krokant. And in this case, Haselnusskrokant, hazelnut-studded toffee enrobed in bittersweet chocolate.

Argenta, Max explained to me, was one of those rare East German companies that didn't go out of business after the fall of the Wall. (Rotkäppchen Sekt is another.) I wonder if I'll offend anyone by saying that East Germany's chocolate doesn't have much a reputation in this household (Max's mother grew up eating it and loathes it to this day), but I couldn't help myself, I had to try the Brockensplitter. I mean, could you have just passed on by?

I'm very happy to report that Brockensplitter are indeed tasty little things. In fact, they're a little too easy to crunch away at. I try to limit myself to three at a time. And, incidentally, the chocolate is just fine. It's no Sawade or Hamann, don't get me wrong. But for a thrifty, pint-size gift to bring as a fun memento from Berlin, Brockensplitter are pretty great.

FrischeParadies, or, The Greatest Thing Since Sliced Bread

Last weekend, I helped my mother buy the supplies for a dinner party she was having. We went to Karl-August-Platz for vegetables, and planned to go to Karstadt to buy the fish. But then we ran into a friend of hers standing in line for fresh pasta and he said, "Why aren't you buying the fish at Lindenbergs?" To which she answered, "Oh! Lindenbergs! I forgot about that place." (Or something. I hate writing dialogue.) Anyway, we got in the car and drove to a little, nondescript street behind Otto Suhr Allee to find the most awesome grocery store in all of Berlin, if you may permit me a little bit of hyperbole.

First of all, it's not called Lindenbergs anymore (that's what it used to be called, back in the 1970's, when my folks first moved here). It's now called FrischeParadies. It doubles as a whole-sale market for a lot of Berlin restaurants: the cashiers will ask you if you're there "geschäftlich" or "privat", but there's no membership or fee.

Second of all, keep your eyes peeled when you drive into the Morsestraße, because you could blink and miss it. It's in a nondescript hall-looking type of thing in the back of a lot filled with construction equipment (apparently, they're expanding).

Third of all, how on earth could my mother have forgotten about this place?

Fourth of all, GO NOW. (Well, not now. It's closed on Sundays.)

Because where else are you going to find entire wheels of Brie de Meaux and Fourme d'Ambert alongside industrial-sized packages of Spätzle and Schupfnudeln? Ail rose de Bretagne next to loose lemongrass stalks and Thai chilis? Brick dough for Moroccan b'stilla and Mexican flour tortillas? Boiron fruit purées and Iranian pistachios? Fresh goat meat? Marinated boquerones? Moutarde violette? Tomato vinegar?

In truth, it's almost overwhelming. I dare you to walk the aisles without visions of dinner parties or even dreams of opening your own restaurant dancing in your head. There's another location in Prenzlauer Berg that looks a lot ritzier. But I love the scruffiness of the Charlottenburg one.


Frischeparadies
Morsestraße 2
10587 Berlin
(030) 390 81 523

Broccoli Rabe in Berlin

Ask me what I miss most, in terms of food, about the States and I'll tell you: stock in a jar and dark green, leafy vegetables. But really, I'd happily give up the jarred stock if it meant I could just have my beloved vegetables. There are only so many Gurken and Blumenkohl and Kopfsalate one can eat before ones goes entirely insane with yearning for a pile of boiled, bitter greens.

But one year and 27 days after arriving back in Berlin, I finally found my beloved broccoli rabe. Sitting inncocently in a bin at the front of the Nazar Market (if you leave your computer's sound on while clicking on that link, you're in for a, er, treat) on Wilmersdorfer Strasse, labeled "cime di rape", which is its Italian name, it looked like it was just waiting for me to come along and finally spy it. They also had beautiful piles of very fresh spinach and baby Swiss chard with tiny red ribs for salads.

Dark green, leafy vegetables, agreeably bitter to boot: I've missed you! I can live without mustard greens, without collard greens and Tuscan kale. But a life without broccoli rabe, well, what kind of a life is that, I ask you?

I like to wash and trim the broccoli rabe stalks, then half boil-half steam them in a covered pot with about an inch of water in it. Cook them longer than you think you should: the longer they cook, the sweeter and more tender they'll get. Take it from all the Italian grandmothers in the world, and from me.

Once you've drained your cooked broccoli rabe, you'll have a mess of limpish greens. These can be, among other things:

a. dressed with olive oil and a squeeze of lemon

b. sautéed in a pan with olive oil, garlic, red pepper flakes and salt (crucial)

The best thing about the second option is that this can be used as a pasta sauce. Just make sure you save a little bit of the starchy cooking water to toss with the pasta and vegetables, in case of dryness. Grated Parmigiano on top brings it all together. (If you happen to have a stash of fresh Italian sausage lying around, you can crumble it into the same frying pan as the broccoli to cook while the pasta boils.)

Nazar Market
Wilmersdorfer Strasse 132
10627 Berlin

Butterschmalz and a Happy New Year

Breaking news from the depths of Bavaria!

A. You can indeed eat your weight in homemade Stollen, roast duck, potato dumplings and buttermilk-marinated venison, and live to tell the tale (even if it means the New Year's resolutions will start a week early, no matter if you'll be spending New Year's in Paris or not).

B. Butterschmalz is not, as you - or I, really - may have thought, a mixture of butter and chicken, goose or pig fat. It is clarified butter! Sitting cheaply and humbly in the refrigerated section of your grocery store. I don't know why I find this so thrilling - maybe because ghee always seemed so exotic and hard to track down in New York? - but there you have it.

C. I am writing this post on my phone in a house in a tiny Bavarian village. Huh. This is a first.

Guten Rutsch, everyone! Here's to happy and healthy 2011's for all of you, with plenty of leafy greens, hot sauce and Champagne to smooth the transition.

Sprattus Sprattus (Kieler Sprotten)

Reading Taras Grescoe's brilliant and depressing Bottomfeeder a few years ago profoundly changed the way I ate fish. I won't begin to list what I don't eat anymore (or what I eat very, very rarely); what I do eat are oysters, wild salmon if I can find it and if I can afford it (so, basically, almost never) and all the small oilies: anchovies, sardines, mackerel. (Unless I'm in Italy visiting my mother - there I'll eat any of the local seafood, but that's another story.) And that's pretty much it.

This means I eat a lot of tinned fish. Nigel Slater made them appetizing to me, both in fish cakes and on toast: toast a piece of pain au levain, butter it generously, then mash tinned sardines with a fork and spread them on top of the buttered toast, finishing with a squeeze of lemon. It's an almost painfully delicious dinner-for-one. Gabrielle Hamilton's sardines on Triscuits with mustard are a surefire way to polish off a box of crackers and at a least a few tins of fish. We put anchovies in our tomato sauces and on homemade pizza. I mix canned wild salmon with Sriracha and eat it on toast.

The other day we were stocking up on tinned fish at Edeka (piri-piri! Princesse!) when, on a whim, I decided to get a can of Kieler Sprotten. Sprattus sprattus, if you will. (Hee!) Sprats are much smaller than sardines and they are tender beyond belief - they practically melt in your mouth at first contact. And Kieler Sprotten are lightly smoked, too. We're starting off well, aren't we, with tender, melty little fish with the barest smoky flavor? At home, we toasted a piece of one of my Berlin bread loves (das Falken from Bio Backhaus), spread it thinly with Dijon mustard and then lay a few Sprotten on top.

People. Oh my goodness. Best New Snack Ever. And ever. And ever. (If you happen to have a few cornichons lying around, they're a good chaser.) You know how tinned fish like sardines or salmon can sometimes be a little dry? Or have a few too many hairy bones (sardines, I mean)? Sprats are moist and delectable. You will literally want to pop every last one in your mouth like a greedy cat and swallow. We politely shared a tin, but it was rather clear that next time each person gets their own. These little fish are delicious.

I love discovering grocery store gems. Sprattus sprattus!

Quality Wine at Aldi

I was about to start explaining Aldi to people who don't live in Germany, but then I checked their website and it turns out Aldi has invaded every corner of the globe! For those of you who still might be wondering what I'm talking about, Aldi is a deep-discount, no-frills grocery store that sells everything from wild salmon to potted meat, cold-pressed canola oil to instant coffee. It prides itself on selling more than just bottom-of-the-barrel goods, so they'll stock good-quality dark chocolate and smoked trout alongside no-name mustard and egg noodles. All for crazy low prices.

I'll admit that I'm a snob about where I shop, but I go to Aldi for things like toilet paper, unsalted butter, Trader Joe's nuts, fresh blood orange juice and the occasional Kinder Schokolade rip-off (that dares to be better than the original), Milch Mäuse. I avoid the produce, the milk, the cold cuts. And it's certainly never occurred to me to buy wine there before.

But the other day, when I stopped in for some OJ, I noticed a bunch of wine bottles in the section of the store reserved for special, even more discounted sales.

Um, Pouilly-Fumé, Chateauneuf-du-Pape, Barolo and Crémant de Loire, for €7.99, €8.99, €6.99, and €5.99 respectively.

Run, don't walk, to stock up.