Opposites Attract

On paper, it didn’t fit—it really didn’t, and by that, I mean not at all.  I consider myself an outdoorsy person.  I love the smell of the sea, and the cool mist that washes over you as waves crash at your feet when you’re standing ankle deep at the shoreline.  I crave the saltiness the ocean leaves on your skin, and the stickiness that only a day at the beach could leave you—proof that you spent a day outside office walls, and under rays of sunlight rather than beams of fluorescents.  If given the choice, I’d prefer towering trees to buildings, public parks over urban playgrounds, a hike up Mt. Wilson over a stroll down Third Street, Southern California sunshine to Seattle showers. 

Berlin was and is none of that, and I was fine with it.  In all honesty, I came to Berlin for the culture.  I wanted to visit a place with history; a place where the walls had a past—a story written deep in the cemented grounds and buildings.  So if I were to tell you that I came to Berlin to find and fall in love with the place, that’d be a straight up lie.  Berlin is a place where graffiti-ed walls loomed and cigarette smoke lingered; where the hustle and bustle of people and the shuffling of feet replaced rustling trees; where horns blared, trash cans banged, and car stereos boomed, overcoming a silence that was once so deafening, and yet so pleasing to a listening ear.  On paper, it didn't fit, but I guess that’s why they say love hits you when you least expect it—when you’re doing everything else but looking. 

On one of our first days in Germany, our program coordinators had warned us about the dangers of Berlin and really, the dangers that come with residing in any urban city.  “Pickpocketing and theft here are not uncommon occurrences”, they stated matter-of-factly.  “Keep an eye on your things”, they reminded us, “Tend to your belongings”.  Preoccupied with the abundance of monuments and museums, the shelves stocked full of dark, seedy, wholesome breads, the availability and efficiency of buses, U-Bahns, trams, and S-Bahns, and the donuts, cakes, and puff pastries silently teasing and taunting from the other side of the glass cases, I let my guard down and as a result, had my heart stolen.  Somewhere in the course of these five weeks, I fell for the city—sudden, quick, and hard.  Maybe it happened after that first bite of the buttery white asparagus, or maybe it was that first mouthful of Weiner schnitzel, sauerbraten, or red cabbage—that first step in Treptower Park, that first glance at the Russian War Memorial, that first whiff of döner, the first decapitation of a German Haribo gummy bear, or maybe it was E, all of the above.  Regardless of how it started, like all great love stories, it’s the end, rather than the beginning that truly matters.  Forget the fact that Cinderella met her prince at the ball, forget the pumpkin and the glass slipper, it’s all about that glitzed and glammed happily ever after.  The years Noah and Allie spent apart, the boat scene at the lake, all minute details not nearly as important as the fact that she passed in the warmth of his sweet embrace.  Good love stories have good beginnings.  Great ones, however, have magnificent endings, and that’s the only one I’ll settle for in my love story with Berlin. 

They were right about Berlin, you see—the city really does steal from you.  Whether it may be Euros or hearts, you shouldn’t expect any of it back, which is why you have to make the most of it.  And with one week left, you can trust that that’s the only thing I intend to do.  My love story will truly be magnificent, and it’ll begin with some local German baked goods!

Bäckerei Und Konditorei Siebert, located on Schönfließer Str. 12, 10439 Berlin, Germany

 is supposedly the oldest bakery in Berlin!

Apparently, you really can't go wrong with any bread or baked good here!

And on Saturdays, it's advised to come early to beat the crowd!  Thankfully, I arrived at an odd hour and was only confronted by a small line of about four or five people!

I had a nice slice of Pfaumkuchen, otherwise known as plum cake!

And this bakery supposedly makes the best Berliners, otherwise known as donuts, in Berlin!  In my excitement, I bought three...They were jelly filled and so much lighter and fluffier than the stereotypical Krispy Kreme! 

I definitely plan on going back for more!  Would you care to join me?!  It's a love story, baby just say YES!

Tschüss,
Kimmy

Street Food Thursdays

Apparently every Thursday night, Markthalle Neun, located on Eisenbahnstraße 42, 10997 Berlin, Germany, hosts Street Food Thursday.  There really isn’t much else to say other than this: there is a heaven on earth. 

I won’t ruin this beautiful experience with unnecessary words.

It really was a truly beautiful night, and I do hope the picture overload/food porn left you even half as satisfied as the experience left me.  If not, feel free to join me next week!

Tschüss,

Kimmy

Menu-less Mania

When it comes down to it, the main thing that differentiates home cooking from a restaurant is the menu… Or I guess the lack of one.  At least that was the case at my house.  I mean, it’s not as if we didn’t have the means to produce a menu.  We had Microsoft Word, paper and a printer, and on days the computer or printer decided to be unnecessarily stubborn, we still had hands and ballpoint pens, although sometimes it was easy to forget about the latter. 

But let’s be real.  The thought of a menu being passed around the dinner table was and is a bit ridiculous.  Even more so, it’s impractical.  Let me explain.  You see, my mom is no Rachel Ray.  And by that, I mean that when she cooks, she cooks.  Her meals aren’t thrown together from packages of pasta and cans of soups.  Her recipes call for real ingredients—carrots with flecks of dirt still clinging onto the oompa-loompa colored flesh, imperfect mushrooms slightly bruised from the tender love and care they failed to receive on the journey to the cutting board, broccoli chilled by the cold of winter rather than by the chill of the supermarket freezers…With that being said, however, she’s also no Jamie Oliver.  Although she can cook, her library of recipes is fairly limited.  She has a few go to meals that are absolutely flawless, and as much as I’d like to emphasize the word “flawless”, I’d also like to emphasize the words “a few”.  You see, that’s why a menu would be impractical. .  My mother’s recipe collection simply wouldn’t be as extensive as it would need to be to ensure a satisfying nice and plump menu.  My mother, you see, is no Olive Garden, and she’s definitely no Red Lobster.  Though the expanse of her invisible menu is somewhat limited, the dishes she does churn out, she does so impeccably well.  And that is exactly what makes her home cooking so great.  That is what makes home cooking, in general, so great—the lack of a menu.

So, with that being said, you could probably predict my excitement when I heard about a restaurant in London that practiced the same thing my mother did and does—dinnertime without menus.  This could only mean one thing.  Well, it could mean many, but from past experience, I assumed that this restaurant would only do a few things, but you could sure as hell bet that they’d do them well.

I should probably be granted an award for my assuming capabilities, because I was right.

Burger & Lobster, located on 29 Clarges St, London W1J 7EF, United Kingdom only serves three dishes.  You could either get a burger, a lobster roll, or lobster.  They all come with a side of salad and delicious fries for a flat rate of 20 pounds.

This restaurant is a must visit if you happen to be in London.  Don't let the lack of menus fool you.  It's not, nor should you expect it to be, home cooking.  That is, unless lobster, lobster rolls, and burgers were on the invisible menu at your household... But trust me, it does the job, and it does it well.  But I mean, menu-less restaurant?  That was to be expected!

Cheers,

Kimmy