Hungry in Berlin

A few weeks ago we asked a friend out to Indian food. I could hear the shrug through the telephone. “If you want to,” she said, which when translated, really means, “I think you’ve lost your foodie edge, and have gone all soft and wimpy on me.” Which, considering the suggestion, is easily understandable. We too for some time (OK, years now) have given up on Indian food in the Hauptstadt — too sweet, no spice, and heavens, far more flash (and flags) than real substance. Not worth the effort, and certainly not worth the price.

Hira Palace, located just under the S-bahn tracks (at the end of the street where the trams park; there used to be an Italian place there) in Hackescher Markt, despite its efforts to blend in with every other Indian restaurant in this town (yes, there are flags and buddahs and the rest), delivers good Indian food with authentic flavors — but only when you ask.  If you like the spice, when you order, be sure to in no uncertain terms tell the waitstaff (they are very accomodating and kind) that you don’t want “european style” flavors (which translates to not-hot) but proper spices. They’ll even offer a chili-sauce on the side, if you look particularly keen.

We’ve eaten there twice now, one time with a large group and once with just three people, and have always had more than enough food.  The dal (the style of which changes) is good; most of the vegetarian dishes are quite spicy and satisfying; the fish was mostly dry (but wasn’t much of a surprise.) Naan, as seems to be the case everywhere, is more roti in style (flatter, not yeast-raised) but perhaps one day I’ll start that tandoori-import business and make a killing in this town. Someday.

Check it out.  The Web site still lists the restaurant’s prior address in Charlottenburg, although last time we visited, the owner insisted that they were in the process of updating it.

You don’t need us to tell you that there’s winter happening out there, which means you also don’t need reminding that it’s Christmas carnival season.  I know I’ve read plenty of times that this or that German city claims the oldest, or the largest and oldest, Weinachtsmärkte — but Berlin, ever its own master, methinks is looking to claim the prize of Germany’s “largest number of nearly identical Christmas markets and vomit-inducing swirly rides”? You can’t throw a quarkball without hitting one, and this is a big city.  But speaking of quarkbällchen…

Yes, I know we ranted about the joys of fried foods (and the perils of grunkohl) last year. But since we’re already in the holiday mood, we thought we’d get a head start and warm ourselves up with at least a few samples of doughy goodness before the crowds build up.  But lo!  Perhaps it’s a sign of the global economic slowdown, but the quarkballs we’ve had — and we do love them when they’re good — are decidedly lacking quark this year.  Pancake dough fried in Biskin?  Ick.  That’s a big lump of coal in the stocking for you, Alexanderplatz market.  You know who you are.

Save yourself from disappointment.  If you find yourself at the Prenzlauer Allee S-Bahn station, and are hankering for some fried dough, check out the small white truck usually parked on the south side of the exit.  The gentleman stirring the batter is kind, jolly (yes, believe it) and makes a damn good quarkball.  With quark. It is rich, slightly gooey inside and perfectly fried. And covered in powdered sugar.

Here’s a list (brought to you by the Berliner Morgenpost) of the Hauptstadt’s Christmas markets; if you hit a good one (especially if the food is interesting/good/or something to avoid), let us know below.

Apropos of nothing much but what’s in my inbox this morning. The kids over at Goldhahn and Sampson (Dunckerstr. 9, Heimholtzplatz) have a newsletter that’s sent out about as often as it snows in this town, but just like that snow, it’s guaranteed to make you giggle a bit. This morning the team is struggling with a pack of imported samosas, which like so many imported products to the EU (or anywhere, I suppose) has operating instructions garbled in at least five languages. It’s Engrish goes to Deutschland, by way of Italy.  Makes you want to be a fly on the wall in the marketing department in Kerala. Check it out.

Seen at Bonanza Coffee Heroes, where they make a rich, flavorful brew with geopolitical relevance.

And as a side note, they’re roasting their own beans now. Two hearty thumbs up, even without the political commentary.

Americans: If you haven’t voted already, send that ballot in now!

A few days ago, our local Extra started carrying a type of citrus I’d never seen. Green, the size and shape of a grapefruit, they carried stickers proclaiming them as “Sweeties.”

Turns out this is an Oroblanco (called a Sweetie in Japan and Israel, and now apparently here). A cross between an acidless pomelo and a white grapefruit, created by University of California researchers, it’s apparently becoming something of delicacy in the Japanese market. The idea being that it is (surprise) sweeter than an ordinary grapefruit, and less bitter.

A single-serving review: Interesting, but a tad pricy. Ours was sweet, but not as sweet as a good ruby grapefruit. A decently complex taste, with a sour finish. Which I like. This particular one had very thick pulp walls, giving it a bit more of a crunch than a normal grapefruit. Definitely more intereresting to look at than an ordinary grapefruit, but at 99 cents apiece, I’m not sure they warrant the extra spendiness — unless you’re looking for a striking color for the table, in which case they’re an excellent pick indeed .

It’s a tad disturbing to be out of town for a good month and return to find our Hauptstadt trees in little but their birthday suits.  I guess it’s full-throttle fall, which means us kids at HIB get to indulge our secret love of all things stewed and slowly simmered, generally warming and certainly rib-sticking. (There will be Quarkbällchen, but not quite yet. Have to wait at least until after Halloween, I keep repeating to myself.)

So if you find yourself in Pankow this weekend, you can start the season off right by getting your Wild on–that’s wild boar, venison and the like–at the Berliner Fischmarkt on Rothenbachstrasse 48-50. Yes, it’s a fish market too, but this weekend they’re celebrating game meat by roasting two (two!) wild boar on a spit, cooking up some mean wild goulash and offering other autumn treats. According to our local free paper, there will also be fish at the fest.

Personally, I’ve been curious about this fish market for a while, so this sounds like a great opportunity to check it out. Here’s how to get there; the fest rages from 11 a.m. to 4 p.m., Oct. 25 (Saturday). See you there!

UPDATE: So we did attend the Wildfest, and I have to say it wasn’t terribly impressive. Apologies to any of you who may have dragged yourself out to Pankow on a drizzly day. The wild selection was OK — we walked away with a piece of venison tenderloin at 3.25 Euro/100g (no, not cheap) but that was very delicious, and a small hunk of venison salami that was tasty, but as expected, pretty dry.

The fish market, however, was a bummer — the majority of the fishies were obviously past their due date (and yah, maybe it was Saturday, but com’on! It’s a festival! Get some fresh fish!) The selection was fairly standard, and what you’d find at any Extra with a fish counter (both fresh, semi-fresh and smoked.) Bottom line: You’re better off sticking to Frische Paradies, or Kaufhof, or KaDeWe or Rogacki if you’re looking for something fresh. That said, any successful fish buyers out there? Where do you go?

A quick Kollwitzplatz market spotting yesterday: The dark, sweet muscat grapes are here, which make my eyes light up like a kid’s with candy. Because they are essentially candy. I fell in love with a variety of golden muscats in California, but I like the ones here better –  ludicrously sweet with a hint of jasmine or honey, but balanced by the bitter almost-black skins. I think these might be a variety called Black Hamburg, but since my grape expert is currently picking them in France, y’all are on your own with that one.

(However, assuming I’m right, let’s go for moment to the very earnest Charles M. McIntosh, who in his 1855 “The Book of the Garden” (thanks, Google Books) calls this “the best of all black grapes, and introduced (into England) from Hamburg, in 1724 by a Mr. Warner.”  So there you are.)

I generally can”t do muscat wine. Too sweet for me, my head explodes (although I quite like the Pisco, a distilled muscatel liquor, and the national drink of Chile, which Aimee brought back for me this month). But a handful of these will make me happy indeed.

One of the better days of my gastronomic life here came when I was complaining about the difficulty of finding good Italian ingredients at my crappy local supermarket and a friend said “Don’t you know about that place on Sophie-Charlotten-Str.?” It sure seemed like a weird location, but he was right: at the other end of it, down by the Westend S-Bahn station, there is a whole bunch of odd businesses, warehouses, and factories (including the one where the Berlin Museums manufacture the sculptural and other 3-D reproductions for their gift-shops).

There, at Sophie-Charlotten-Str. 9-10 is the beating wholesale heart of nearly every Berlin Italian restaurant and deli. Centro Italia is one-stop shopping for Italophiles. Read the rest of this entry »

I’ve had a tough time finding coffee beans I like in Berlin. It’s not that I’m one of the aficionados who can tell an Ethiopian bean from a Colombian shade-grown. But it’s a big part of my day. I drink a lot. And I come from the U.S. west coast, where standards (as with beer) have gotten fairly high in recent years.

I brew my own at home, usually with a french press, but with occasional forays into drip, or stovetop-type espresso. I grind my own whole beans, and keep them in an airtight jar, away from light (the keeping-in-freezer thing is trouble, since it breaks down the coffee oils) , and buy small batches, so they don’t age too much before I use them. I use filtered water.

But without good coffee, none of this matters.

Over the last two years, I’ve tried a number of different purveyors. Impala Coffee (several around the city), occasionally produces a decent dark-roast flavor, but I think overroasted. A large cup often destroys my stomach, and makes me jittery and anxious. Zeezicht, on Gleimstr., is typically a bit acidic. Too green. Don’t even get me started on Balzac.

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Since the last visit to the Dong Xuan Center, the mammoth Vietnamese shopping mall/wholesale outlet/grocery center, was culinarily unsatisfactory, and since we found several other places to eat after we’d had a rather disappointing meal, we were anxious to get back and see what else the place offered. K, our intrepid researcher/photographer, had gone out on a weekend with his family and reported a fantastic meal in one of the larger restaurants, so we decided to drive out there again and see what was what.

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