Hungry in Berlin

You can always tell when we’re in the depths of winter in Berlin. No, not just by the short photoperiod, nor the pasty faces of the folks in the street. Not even the notoriously fickle temperature is the main clue. Instead, it’s the posters showing up all over town for this year’s International Green Week, the food trade show that started in 1926 and is now enjoying its 73rd go-round between Jan. 18 and 27 at the ICC conference center. Green Week can be fun. It can also be a nightmare. I’ve been to at least ten of them, and I’ve pretty much run the gamut. I’ve discovered great stuff to eat, but never eaten anything memorable at the show itself. I’ve come across amazing products, only to never see them again. I’ve gotten amazing bargains, and bought stuff that I found a week later for half the price in my local supermarket. Each year I hope for the presence of a few exhibitors: the guy who makes sausage that’s damn near exactly Cajun sausage (but, being German, he has no idea he’s doing this); the Tunisians selling astonishing cheap olive oil; the Italian guy with the Barolo-soaked salame, so good on pizza. I also hope to make new discoveries as good as these, but, alas, in recent years it hasn’t happened. There are two major problems with Green Week, and they seem to be eternal. One is food, the other alcohol. Or maybe there’s just one problem: people. Rarely do any exhibitors set out samples. They’ve learned they can be injured by stampeding visitors snapping up a scrap of cheese or a paper-thin nugget of salame like it was the last food on earth. Most savvy exhibitors now sell their wares, which means larger portions which keep people stationary. Granted, much of the prepared food for sale is nauseating, with countries reducing whole national cuisines to the level of Pfanne so the Germans can understand them. You haven’t lived until you’ve tried Kangaruhpfanne, available annually at the Australian booth. But as you cruise the aisles, you’ll be assaulted by guys with cards in their hands offering wine-tastings. These are mainly ruses to get you to sign up to a subscription-delivery service for mediocre Austrian, French, or Hungarian wines. Some visitors just go from one to the other, stopping along the way for a three-euro shot of some dodgy liquor or vodka. Other visitors stop and enjoy a beer here, a beer there, a beer in the next place. As a result, late in the day, drunks are everywhere and pools of vomit (usually, to these peoples’ credit, in the bathrooms) are not unknown. But still, sigh, I go. Over the years, the interesting regional specialties in the German hall — always packed — have devolved into mass-produced foodstuffs laden with MSG that you can buy in any supermarket. Gone are the days when the Swabian stand offered a panoply of interesting Maultaschen, for instance. Native cooks from foreign lands have been replaced by Berlin restaurateurs offering Germanized versions of their cuisines. No more sharp Irish Cheddar, as Ireland now concentrates on drinkables instead of edibles, and no more high-quality steaks from France, as bad wine takes center stage. This year, the Hungry In Berlin team is going en masse, and we’ll be reporting for you here. As a veteran of this thing, I’m going with lowered expectations, but I’m still hoping against hope that I’ll be surprised. I’ll be surprised if I am, but hope springs eternal. After all, Green Week does mean that spring’s around the corner, even if there’s a long block to get to it.

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