Hungry in Berlin

Not long ago, some old business associates of mine hit town, and one thing I knew was that I was in for a couple of good meals, since that’s one thing they never stint on during their European trips. There was only one problem: they were in Berlin.

Now, it’s true that in the 14 years I’ve been here, the face of dining has changed. One thing that’s brought the level of the restaurants — if nothing else — up has been the arrival of the government: lobbyists need high-level places to do their wheeling and dealing. But this has never particularly been a place where the high-end restaurants have been all that interesting, and nothing I’d read had caused me to change my mind. Maybe that had changed; I’d find out.

One rule: never ask the concierge at your hotel where to eat. They get kickbacks, and don’t really know all that much about the places they’re recommending. This was particularly evident last year, when they had a yen for Indian food and were recommended a place I’d been to once and gotten horribly sick from the crap I’d been served. I was able to steer them to a tiny joint I knew in Kreuzberg where the guy’s mom did south Indian vegetarian stuff, and we had a great time.

This year, though, I was out of the decision-making loop, and our first meal was at a place I’d been curious about for a long time: ReMake, Grosse Hamburger Str. 32. Dumb name, but it was supposed to be the cutting edge of Berlin’s culinary avant-garde, so I was curious. Looking over the menu, I was underwhelmed, but at least I managed to find a couple of things to eat. I started with the frosted breast of quail with ice cream of lemongrass and orange salad, a tiny piece of meat, pretty dry (I have no idea what it was “frosted” with), a pinball-sized scoop of curiously unflavorful ice cream (actually more like a sorbet), and two sections of tangerine. Fortunately, the bread-basket was good — and was part of the restaurant’s gimmick, since there were several little mini-vats of olive oil, both natural and infused with basil, and a half-dozen small dishes of salts, some natural (black Hawaiian salt, a pink salt from somewhere) and some mixed with other things (the salt with olives was a notable success). I suggest they buy Eric Gower’s latest book, which has some radically flavorful salt-mix ideas, although maybe that’d be too much flavor for their regular clientele. For the second course, I split a Chateaubriand for two with my friend across the table, and although it wasn’t very large, it was excellently cooked. (The flambéeing at tableside, though, was a relic of another era). It was accompanied by two medallions of “duchess” potatoes, which had some kind of sweet glaze on them that I found distracting. We had a riesling and an Italian red, but since I forgot my glasses, I can’t tell you what they were, although the riesling in particular was wonderful.

My take — also based on what the others had — was that this place is trying way too hard. They offer disguised versions of traditional German fare — rare duck breast — with peach chutney and “wild herbs,” but in the end it’s not terribly unlike the stuff you can buy at a good cold-cuts counter, and their attempts at foams and such need work. The menu reads better than it tastes.

That was Tuesday. The next night was at an Indian place that was among the worst I’ve dined at here, which is really saying something, and the night after that business precluded my attending. But Friday was something else.

I’m not sure if Guy, Jägerstr. 59-60, has a Michelin star or not, but it’s regarded as one of Berlin’s top restaurants. The review I’d read said that the prices were so high you’d likely be distracted by how bad the food was, but either we were lucky or they’ve cleaned up their act since then. It was pretty much a perfect meal. My starter was a lobster bisque with a “canneloni” of oxtail, which sounded bizarre. In fact, I might not have ordered it had my lust for lobster, which I don’t think I’ve had in a decade (and forget about finding it here), not overwhelmed me. The broth had been cooked down so that the lobster flavor was intense, and then something — cognac, I believe — had been introduced to fortify it. The little green tube with the dark brown filling was the oxtail canneloni, and it, too, was intense. In fact, although I still don’t believe in “surf and turf,” seeing it as a way faux-fancy joints get you to buy their two most expensive items on one plate, this shook my certainty that the combination was bad in and of itself.

For a main course, there was a filet of venison with an arugula crust served on sweet potato puree. It was sublime, what there was of it: there couldn’t have been 75g of meat on that plate. The arugula it had been rolled in before it was plated wasn’t much of an addition, either. I finished with a cheese plate of good, but hardly spectacular cheeses, the equal of many I’ve had in decent places in France.

There were four wines, a 2006 Schloss Vollrad riesling, marvellously complex, a Schloss Johannisberg riesling, whose date I didn’t get, which wasn’t as interesting, an astonishingly complex Italian Brunello di Montalcino called Rennina, and another amazing wine, a Spanish tempranillo, Aalto. All were chosen by our sommellier (somelliere? She was female…) with great care.

But…but…but…

I’m deeply appreciative to these friends of mine for allowing me along on these two excursions, but there was a degree to which I was unsatisfied, even with Guy. I mean, just look at the menu! Sure, I’d go back. Who wouldn’t? But at both Guy and Remake, the portions were tiny. Now, it’s true, I haven’t dined on quite this level much, but I’ve certainly had great meals at fine restaurants in France, Quebec, Seattle, New York, San Francisco, and never have I been unsatisfied with the portions. Maybe disappointed in the food here and there, but never the quantity. Nor am I asking for one of those plates it takes two hands to deliver because it weighs so much. I’m asking for enough. And I don’t think either of these places delivered enough. Moreover — and this is probably a German thing as much as anything — there was no greenery in sight. None. Salads provide both a palate-cleansing and (hey, Germans should respond to this) dietary fiber. There’s a lot you can do with cooked vegetables, too. They’re also cheap enough that if you’re going to stint on the meat you can still fill your customers up for pennies.

So if I were to win the lottery tomorrow (which would be a huge surprise, since I don’t play), I’d still restrict my dining out to places where the kitchen adhered to the finest standards while making sure the customers were satisfied. Maybe my palate’s not refined enough, although I kind of doubt it after all this while. Maybe it’s a local thing: you can get too much to eat in loads of restaurants in Berlin. Perhaps undereating is a sign of refinement among the local elite. Fine, but I know where my sentiments rest.

EW

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