Hubby and I celebrated our one year anniversary with a trip to Berlin last weekend. It had been on our list of European destinations for some time and so we seized the moment one night and booked it. Naturally, the travel arrangements were navigated after several martinis and so, technically, it was the wrong weekend - but hey - you can’t have everything, can you? We were married on 11th May, so we were not far off the mark.
Giggy, our dog, is a Schnauzer and therefore very German. These fluffy dogs were bred originally as guard dogs in Germany and date back to the 15th / 16th century. I decided that we should therefore take him to Berlin in order to re-introduce him to his German relatives across both sides of this united city. I imagine they must have been trimmed to look more ferocious in their guard-dogging days as I don’t think Giggy’s miniature Shetland pony look would have anyone quaking in their boots.
Now housewives, listen up please. Planning is absolutely key for any successful city break. Every time you go away, there is pressure to have the very best time of your lives. Like, ever. If hubby and I are not partying all night with the Berlin glitterati and doing the most amazing, German-inspired things every minute of the day then we’ll have failed. And given the burgeoning back-catalogue of holidays and city breaks we've already taken over the years, this can seem like a pressurised, daunting task.
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| What's not to like? |
Flights
I had hoped that at the age of 41, Hubby, Giggy and I would only be flying privately but we don’t have any money and so sadly, we are forced to go with a “commercial” carrier, which is disappointing. As a long-time customer of the flying honesty bar that is British Airways, I was a little perturbed that Hubby booked Lufthansa. British Airways still think I’m an investment banker and treat me accordingly, mysteriously extending gold card status and upgrading whenever they can. If only they knew. They’re totally flogging a dead horse. They keep writing to me telling me to “come back”. They think I’m flying thrice-monthly to New York with Virgin Atlantic. Instead I’m tubing it thrice monthly to the Dog House in Kennington. It turns out that, even worse, Giggy can’t come with us because Lufthansa don’t fly dogs within Europe – and yes, I checked – not even German ones.
I remind myself of what I was told by a fabulous friend once: flying the national airline of the country you are visiting is a great idea as it means your holiday “experience” starts earlier and ends later. You’re right in imagining that this can be a good thing or a bad thing. Based on bitter experience, I would generally rule out Russia, China and North Korea's "Air Koryo" from this mantra as their national airlines don’t understand my needs. Want me to paint a picture? Ok - let’s just say they won’t be serving a cream tea with warm scones, homemade preserves and clotted cream just before touchdown; you won’t get your glass refilled with the Sancerre and there will be no rom-coms about people swapping houses starring Kate Winslet. And absolutely no laughter on board at any point on the flight, please. It’s dangerous.
Bed
There is a bewildering array of hotels to choose from in Berlin, just like any modern city these days. The problem with hotels is that they keep opening and closing. “Have you heard about the new hotel – it’s got grass beds. You sleep on grass. And you’ve got a dried cow pancake as a pillow. It’s amazing. You feel so at one with nature”. “Oh no, damn – I just booked somewhere else with normal beds.” The thing to remember with hotels is that the grass always seems greener but it’s not really – you’re just seeing the blades of grass from side on. Forget whether they have a gym – you’re not going to use it, just accept that. It will save valuable time - trust me. Get over it and move on.
When we arrived at our carefully selected hotel, courtesy of the creeping UK Embassy Compound Network that is “Soho House”, we were delighted to hear the word “upgrade”. Situated in the Mitte district, this very cool Bauhaus building wasn’t spooky at all until someone mentioned that it used to be a Jewish-run department store and then the headquarters for Hitler Youth and finally offices of the Communist party before falling derelict. The spookiness gave way to excitement at the thought that the upgrade might mean that we have an extra coffee table in our room or maybe an apple with a knife on a napkin next to it.
We travelled by elevator to the fourth floor and unlocked the door to our Jewish haberdashery cum Hitler Youth ping-pong room. What I saw shocked me to the core. I immediately realised that our entire trip to Berlin was simply ruined. Soho House had given us a room so amazing, so fantastically huge and luxurious that instantly, there seemed no reason to leave the hotel. This was an apartment that I would have been more than happy to live in full time. The style was high-ceilinged parquet floor glamour meets English country house. Sound impossible? Well, they had done it, in my view. It had a massive kitchen with nods to the rural epicentre of the imperial Soho House movement, Babington House. Nothing but Bakelite, ceramic and enamel in there. Comfy sofas, a bookcase complete with a wooden step-ladder to fall off at our leisure, our own bar, two bathrooms, a roll-top bath, a massive bed, six giant windows overlooking Berlin, the list goes on and on. This pad was going to make sight-seeing very difficult because I find it strangely impossible even if I’m staying at the local YMCA.
Food
Where do you start? We can’t eat at the hotel all the time, can we? I throw myself at the mercy of the Wallpaper guide which knows I’m a high end gay, or at least aspire to be one. If I had a gay credit rating, it would be less “A Gay” and definitely more “BBB- with a negative outlook”. We made some choices. I checked with the reception and they confirmed that it was safe to leave the UK embassy compound as long as we were back before midnight (UK time).
The first night took us to a restaurant which was a "must do" in Berlin, according to Wallpaper. In a not-particularly posh area of town a gentleman named Tim Laue promised us the dinner of our life in a restaurant not creatively but confidently named “Tim Laue”.
Mr Tim serves food within a very crisp, functional space which gives a nod to the Far East and the colourful palate of budget airlines. We dined on no less than eight courses, three of them seeming to be in addition to those that we were expecting. Having chosen specific menu options, a new menu was printed just for us to refer to and to keep. It would be impressive to say that each course had its own wine but Mr Tim went one step further - one of the courses had a wine per ingredient. Peking duck (his deconstructed interpretation) had one wine for the breast, one for the offal soup and one for the liver. At one point, Hubby and I were shielded from each other by no less than eight glasses, each with a careful measure of wines that had been waiting for this moment for up to twenty years. Think amazing flavours, think Japanese Willy Wonka, think “fuckin’ ell, how are we going to pay for this?”
If we had known how much it was going to cost we might not have enjoyed it as much. In fact, I would have made a run for it and risked prosecution. But by the time the bill actually arrived, we were so blown away by the food that it seemed almost like a fair price. But let’s just say Wallpaper should probably not have this in the “must do” section of their guide. It’s a bit like saying you simply must buy a two hundred foot yacht and never go to work again. It’s a given, if you have the means.
The following night we availed ourselves to a smart but hearty restaurant called Alpenstück in a wealthy neighbourhood further West in the city. Schnitzel came three ways and so if you like baby cows, this is not the place for you. It was friendly and bustling with great service and lots of fresh alpine colours but lacked air conditioning. If Americans had been there, they’d have been hanging out of the windows by their fanny packs, screaming.
For the third night (again Wallpaper), we found ourselves in a brightly-coloured Mexican restaurant called “Tipica”, completely on our own. The evening started badly when we arrived and panicked, pretending that we had got the “wrong restaurant”. The waitress had obviously seen the whites of many an eye before and was not fazed at all. We should have trusted our instincts.
I would wager that none of the people there had ever been to Mexico. The food was heated in dishes in the microwave (quite blatantly by our waitress) and was boring, watery and rank. Ridiculously small wraps and doughy “homemade” tortillas completed the car crash. A tea light in a zany lime green box and the Gipsy Kings in the background does not Mexico make. We had to compliment these platters of boring fare with two emergency currywursts immediately afterwards. “Is it as good as they say?”, Hubby asked the guy at the currywurst place. “It’s sausage with tomato sauce”, he said, raising a single eyebrow and shrugging his shoulders. He was obviously deeply proud.
To complete the evening, Hubby spent twenty minutes throwing wine gums into my mouth successfully on Alexanderplatz. I managed five in a row at one point which I have to admit, I was pretty chuffed with. Other than the success of this confectionary distribution, this was not our best night out, gastronomically. If Mr Laue could have seen us now, we’d have been the ones bowing our heads, Asian style, and not him.
Sightseeing
Rooftop bar with pool and restaurant, overlooking Berlin. They were sights and I was seeing them. That’s all I’m saying. What more do you want?
Culcha and Other Bits ‘n’ Bobs
Notables were: Eurovision song contest from comfortable sofa in sitting room under blue soft blanket; Tin of complimentary shortbreads; Bus tour around the city; Preuzler something-something berg; Freuzberg something-something; Museum of islands; Tim Raue’s Willy Wonka Restaurant; The Tim Raue workhouse for people that don’t have a credit limit of $5,000 but didn’t think they would need it; Some 19th century apartment buildings that everyone makes you go to see that are a bit like the ones in Paris and lots of other European cities; Berghain / Panorama Bar German Discotheque and Niteclub – offers you the possibility of queuing for 2 hours outside a power station only to be turned away. Just stand outside Battersea at night, you’ll get the same result. Tall, spikey tower outside the hotel, looks pretty. Department store called kaufhauf or something. Currywurst. Unparalleled range of Haribo sweets freely available. Shoe shopping in kaufhauf – don’t do it - they don’t get the shoes for you in your size, you have to rummage through the boxes yourself. Like, hello? Spooky graveyard opposite Soho House with living woman lying on top of spooky grave. Berin’s Tegel airport - amazingly efficient satellite airport structure and very short taxi from and to the runway. Avoid untoasted rye bread which they will constantly peddle to you – honestly, you don’t need it in your life. Oh, and to the VW Tourag driver with all the Star Wars memorabilia stuck to his car that can’t drive – like, really? And to the lady in the bar downstairs who said it was closed at 9.30pm – we know you were lying, you should have just said we weren’t cool enough – we can take it. We’ve been turned away from hundreds of places, thanks, and some of them absolutely amazing.
And so, now armed with everything you need to know about Berlin, and safely back in Kennington, it's on to my recipe:
CURRYWURST
Ingredients
450g of bratwurst
Oil for frying
425g of ketchup
1 tablespoon white sugar
2 tablespoons chili sauce (optional)
1 teaspoon black pepper
1/2 teaspoon onion salt
1 pinch paprika
Curry to taste (usually at least a tablespoon in the sauce and more sprinkled on top before serving)
Instructions
Heat vegetable oil in a skillet and cook sausages until brown outside and heated through, turning periodically.
Pour ketchup into a small saucepan and add sugar, chili sauce, pepper, onion salt, paprika and curry.
Remove sausages from heat once fully cooked and slice into 1/4-1/2 inch thick pieces. Place on a plate and spoon sauce over top.
Garnish with additional paprika (if desired) and curry.
This makes plenty of sauce so if you don't want your sausages swimming in sauce, use it to dip your fries or roll in, or save it for another day. Or just bin it.
DVP
