Berlin Reified: Food, design and life in Berlin

Erntefest Domäne Dahlem (Squash & Thanksgiving)

Squash galore! Loyal readers will remember my elation on discovering the Christmas market at Domäne Dahlem. These scenes from the Erntefest make clear, I think, that this harvest festival was just as delightful.

Inked into my calendar is Domäne Dahlem's Textilhandwerksmarkt on November 10th & 11th, which will bring together over forty fabric artists from all of Germany: spinners and weavers will share space with carpet-makers, felters, and dyers, and indigo and batik cloths will be on display. The textiles fair concides with St Martin's Day; accordingly, goose is on the menu and a parade with lanterns is planned for the late afternoon. Another round of photos to follow...

Domäne Dahlem, Königin-Luise-Straße 49 (map)

Calling all quince lovers!

Five years ago, quince was just a lovely word, and I couldn't have picked out a knobbly specimen in a line-up. But then How to Eat lived for a long time on my bedside table, and more recently I ogled Melissa's gems and began daydreaming about quince champagne cocktails. And so on a recent morning, my heart beat faster on spotting a colleague's free crate of organic quince advertised on the company intranet, and I leapt to accept. After reading about quince bought for $1 or $1.99 per fruit, I felt like a king cramming two kilograms into my backpack before heading home.

The house is fragrant (pungent, David would say) with the mysterious pleasing pineapple/nutmeg scent. Over the last couple of nights I've made a robust batch of quince paste, and plan to do a quince variation on the Verlet tart this weekend.

But this will make just a dent in my supply, and while quinces are hardy, I think it's only sensible to pass on the largesse and offer some fruit to a good home. So, dear readers, please email me at the link to the left or leave a comment, and we'll work out the details of when and where. I'm happy to advise quince novices, and will even throw in a piece of my membrillo for good measure...

Mangold, Red chard, or Fresh from the market

I still smile in embarrassment when I recall asking a German waiter what Mangold was. Es ist halt Mangold he replied, flummoxed, and I decided the vegetable strudel sounded better anyway and ordered that instead. Eventually I spotted Mangold at the BioCompany and concluded it was akin to bok choy, and only recently did I bother to look up the word on Leo, where I learned it translates to chard.

Never mind: All this nattering is just to say that if you find a few of these bunches in the gorgeous ruby red variant, with leaves mostly intact and the stems radiant, then snap them up: the earthy beet-like sweetness is not to be beat.

With each bunch, chop off the knotted root end to free the stalks, then draw your knife roughly between where the stalks end and the leaves begin. Lay the leaves aside, then chop the stalks into 1/2 inch chunks and transfer to a bowl. Wash thoroughly. Cut the leaves into 1/2 inch strips, and wash as well. Mince two fat garlic cloves.

In a wide frying pan, heat a tablespoon of olive oil on medium heat 'til fragrant. Add the chopped stalks and cook for five minutes or so, stirring once. Salt sparingly. Add the minced garlic, and continue cooking with an occasional stir until the stalks are still crisp but the fibrousness has been softened by the heat (about 15 minutes total). Add the leaves and stir thoroughly from the bottom, then cook for 3-5 minutes, until the leaves are wilted and soft. Add another dash of salt, anoint with a squeeze of fresh lemon juice, then transfer to bowls or plates. Top, if desired, with a dusting of parmesan.

Butternut squash in Berlin

Oh, I searched, and for a long time the Vietnamese shop near Gaudystraße was my reliable source, but when they scaled back their produce selection I was out in the cold again, left to the vagaries of the Kollwitzplatz market, trolling through the half-dozen stands seeking the butternut squash I craved.

Then last Saturday, desperate to duplicate my mom's famous bhaji for Alistair and Sabine, I cycled to Helmholtzplatz more or less on a whim. Alongside the fetching little hokkaido squash at Gerd Carlsson's stand were four robust butternut squash, reasonably priced at €1.90 per kilogram; Carlsson reassured me that he has the squash in stock every week. So there you go!

After the crush of Kollwitzplatz, the Helmholtzplatz market is comfortingly small. You'll find Carlsson's stand at the northeast end beside the fishmonger's (opposite a stand that also has butternut squash, but at slightly higher prices). The Helmholtzplatz market is open Saturdays from 9 to 4 or 5.

(And because this site is already threatening to become Grapes Reified, let me also recommend - surely for a few weeks only! - the French muscat grapes also on sale at his stand.)

Update: Mid-October now, and I spotted two full crates of butternut squash in the Prenzlauer Berg BioCompany. Fingers crossed they keep stocking it, though I'll buy from Mr Carlsson as long as his supply holds out.

Federweisser (Wine in the making)

I can only echo Hungry in Berlin's enthusiastic words on Federweißer, which was just coming into the shops during my recent visit to the Moselle Valley. Those in Germany briefly should be especially vigilant about seeking out this speciality: Federweißer's cloudy golden depths capture the essence of late summer, and it is rare to drink something so changing; I like catching it just before it tips into tartness -- more or less straightaway after buying a bottle -- when the muscat note is still dominant. To buy, my favourites so far have been the bottles sold at the BioCompany and those stocked by my beloved neighbourhood wine shop Nix Wie Wein. (While a rich onion tart is the traditional pairing, I've grown fond of Federweißer alongside cheddar.) And do rush - I meant to write about Federweißer when I began Berlin Reified last fall, but by late October it had already disappeared...

Curry leaves, or Finding Asian ingredients in Berlin

Oh, the Asian market in Kopenhagener Straße is such a gem! The latest thrilling developments are 1) packets of khadhi limba, or fresh curry leaves and 2) spiffy aluminum Vietnamese coffee makers for 1.99 alongside packets of Trung Nguyen coffee for 99 cents and cans of the beloved Longevity-brand sweetened condensed milk.

Kopenhagener Str. 2, Berlin-Prenzlauer Berg (map)

Organic Porcini Brie from Thuringia (Thüringer Steinpilz-Brie)

Alas, the weather's turned wintry again, and a creamy porcini-studded brie on little crackers is just the snack to nibble at while putting together a plum tart. I heartily recommend a wedge from Clemens Santüns' stand at the Helmholtzplatz market.

An embarrassment of plums, or Zwetschgen in season

When I can buy such a quantity of plums for such a pittance (28 plums for 77 cents!) I know it's time to get baking... Tortes, tarts and dumplings to follow!

Small green apples

If you read this tomorrow, then go to Ostkost on Lychener Strasse and buy a few of these little green apples. There's no way you'll know from the photo, indeed they look rebarbatively tiny and green, instinctively you assume them to be hard, but as my hand paused over the crate of Red Delicious I realized the scent was coming from somewhere lower, and looked down to find these a shelf below, and really, the perfume, it's just incredible.

Ostkost, Lychener Str. 54 (map)
Open M-F 8-20, Sa 8-16

Nefles (with thanks to Orangette)

How fortunate to have read Molly's post on Paris while I still had time to rethink the bruised fruit that I, too, had been turning my nose up at: Now nefles have been breakfast since Tuesday, and I impressed my French teacher immensely by knowing the word.

Macaron Caramel au Beurre Sale (Salon saveurs)

After trying and failing to be taken by a green tea macaron, I stuck to chocolate for a long while, but the tan rows of caramel au beurre sale macarons at the Salon Saveurs drew us in, and after a bite we were sold, sold, sold. The dense creamy interior reminded me of nothing more than the thoop sacer poli my mother would make for us: brown sugar mixed with thoop (or ghee) scooped up with bits of poli (or chapatis, round Indian flatbreads). I needn't describe a macaron, I'm sure - that crisp collapsing outer shell yielding to sticky interior, the luxuriousness of too much filling. These, promptly, became the grail of this trip, to be sought in all bakeries.

Our macaron was bought at the Artisan Fabien Foenix stand at the Salon Saveurs, which also featured delightful sorbets.

Outside the Salon, Fabien Foenix can be found at Mister Ice (!), 6 rue Descombes, 75017 Paris
Tel. 01 42 67 76 24
Open Tuesday-Friday 14-19, Saturday 11-13, 14-19.30

May strawberries

Can one blog about strawberries unadorned? Perhaps if they are tiny, and make one very happy.

DaWanda

After admiring the thriving communities of Etsy and suchlike from afar it's exciting to track the progress of Berlin-based DaWanda (recently relocated just down the road). To call it the European Etsy seems too simple, what with the many Europeans selling on Etsy and the increasing numbers of Americans on DaWanda -- but I figure another forum for handmade products made by creative entrepreneurs can only be a good thing. I'm excited by what I've found there and look forward to watching DaWanda grow. Two favourites so far are the gorgeous ceramics from Porzellanke and the Dutch Doormijzelf's playful puppets.

An evening treat: Lenôtre at the KaDeWe

This my evening treat: a wobbly wodge of lemon beneath a bare crisp veil of meringue, bought from Lenôtre as a reward for finally sorting out the details of our KaDeWe wedding registry and arranging for our presents to be delivered home...

Spreewald Pickles (Spreewald Gurken)

Ach, the interstellar charm of Spreewald pickles! I got to try a few in situ while in Lübbenau, spearing them with the hot-pink picks provided for that purpose. My favourite were the ones with the cobbled skins and mildly sweet, mildy sour, crisp interiors seen to the left (above). You'll find Spreewald Gurken in Berlin supermarkets too.

Astonishing mushrooms (1)

Fungi Delikat appeared at the Kollwitzplatz market one day with a gorgeous array of mushrooms. Visiting the market with my mom, she chose these to accompany our celeriac bisque. Fry on high heat in butter and olive, then top with chopped flat-leaf parsley, lemon zest, a finely minced garlic clove, salt and pepper. Fungi Delikat makes an appearance most (but not all) Saturdays at the Kollwitzplatz market.

Gool polis

Every expat food lover will know the lure of bidding international guests to bring along just a little something. With most friends I'm timid (vanilla extract, baking powder) but my mother is as obsessed with food as I am, and when she announced she was coming at the end of March, the wheels immediately began to turn.

Along with the molasses, jalapeno cheese, and soft brown sugar my mom brought a huge Tupperware filled with gool polis, which she made with a childhood friend who was visiting from India. They're round flatbreads stuffed with a mildly spiced, jaggery-based sweet mixture, studded with sesame seeds and best enjoyed smeared with lashings of soft thoop (ghee). Utterly addictive, we polished them off within days.

Bread drink (Brottrunk)

I wonder if I'll ever tire of examining the various odd beverages that line the shelves in the back room of the BioCompany. (Indeed, I wonder if those who read this will ever tire of my indefatigable enthusiasm for the BioCompany?) Spotting this bottle of Brottrunk (literally, 'bread drink'), I speculated it might be something along the lines of kwas, that mildly sweet yeasty beverage I occasionally order when visiting Voland.

It turned out to be something quite different. Made from whole wheat bread, sourdough, and water from the Herbach spring, Brottrunk turned out to be mildly sour, smelling slightly of very weak white wine or, perhaps, sauerkraut juice. I'm not sure I'll buy it again, but I don't regret having bought it once, if for nothing else than the rather fey advertising copy on the back of the bottle ("is healthy" and "good for your skin, digestion and blood" are a few of the bullet points).

Elderflower tea

I've always liked the idea of tisanes and herbal infusions, associating them as I do with daydreaming while looking out the window,but up till now have not really found herbs or combinations that I genuinely enjoyed drinking. Peppermint always seemed a bit too aggressive and simple for me, chamomille - inexplicably - has always made me feel nauseated, and the fruity blends Germans are so fond of taste artifically cheerful, even when the ingredients are all natural.

As a stalwart fan of elderflower's perfumed intensity, I found myself pausing over Sonnentor's brown-paper packet of dried elderflower leaves (Holunderblüten) while browsing at the BioCompany. After eyeing it over a few visits I was unable to resist, reasoning it was just the thing for my lingering cold, and brought some home with me.

It might, finally, be just the tea I've been searching for. Already I love the ceremony of crushing the little buds and stalks with my fingers and am taken by its mild, honeyed fragrance. And elderflower tea is touted as a cure for coughs, colds and the flu. Find it at the BioCompany if you're in Berlin or order from Sonnentor's website (only in German): a 50-g bag is 2.80 EUR; in the States, In Pursuit of Tea carries dried elderflowers as well.

Chestnuts in two forms (Milan)

The chestnuts I've been admiring in Berlin were out in full force in Milan: in huge round trays, roasted, and on a few market tables in long, mysterious strings...

Marzipan fruits (Milan)

In a sweet-shop window at the beginning of the Via Torino.

Tiny oranges make an appearance

I was very excited to spot tiny oranges in the shop, immediately buying a half-dozen and pausing only for a photograph before devouring the juicy wedges. Clementines always sing of Christmas, and this lot was especially tiny and thus pleasing. (Of course, David pointed out the scale is hardly clear in this snapshot, but now that they're all gone you'll have to just take my word.)

The Christmas markets (Domäne Dahlem II)

Obviously, as much as the non-food delights captivated me, the food was what really got me excited. The first thing I saw when I walked in were the pillowy mounds of goat cheese pictured above, made from unpasteurized raw goat's milk at the Schleusenhof Regow. Just firm outside, with a tangy, melting interior, it made the perfect after-market appetizer later that evening.

While I normally like to focus on one thing, I feel reduced to paratax again, the 'and and and' of too much excitement. So, here a summary:

Scrumptious Christmas cookies from the Kreuzberger Brotgarten, all handmade from freshly ground organic wholegrains.

As we stood in front of this stall, a man walking past looked at the sign and commented to no-one 'One has so many reservations about eating horse.'

I was impressed by the homemade display of tiny schnapps bottles, each for one euro, with elderberry, sour cherry, and – my pick – quince schnapps, to be made into desserts that would no doubt dismay the stall owner with their creamy frivolity.

So far I've only seen such steamy display cases of fruit-filled yeast dumplings at fairs – one of my favourite treats.

Unremarkable but picturesque walnuts.

The Ausschank offered mulled wine, cold drinks and hot meals.

I never knew there were so many kinds of marzipan or nougat! (See their website for close-ups.)

Domäne Dahlem Adventsmarkt, December 9th-10th & 16th-17th from 11 am-7 pm. Admission is 1 EUR for adults, 0.50 EUR for reductions, and free for children. (map)

Stollen

Not the easiest of evenings, with too much work followed by Ikea furniture disintegrating in its Ikea way, but what comfort stollen can provide. While I'm usually scrupulous about italicizing German words, stollen doesn't seem to merit it, having been comfortably absorbed into my American consciousness at an early stage and age. Yet still, there is an especial everyday-ness to stollen here, where it's not limited to the international foods section but on every shelf in the local Arkaden, Christmas market, or, indeed, organic shop.

Bohlsener Mühle’s organic stollen was very delicious, with the crumbly fruitiness owing to the stollen estate, densely larded with sultanas, almonds and candied lemon and orange peels, spiced with cinnamon, nutmeg and cloves, sweetened with a mysterious, surely unconventional mix of raw sugar and rice syrup (though German shops teem with mysterious sweetners, which I will one day test and document).

And eaten with a bit of tea, as you contemplate the shattered Ikea wardrobe scattered across the bedroom floor, very comforting.

The Christmas markets (Gendarmenmarkt)

I had never seen chestnuts outside a French tin before coming to Germany, but they are everywhere in the late autumn, and irresistible. At the Gendarmenmarkt Christmas market I bought a hundred grams in a paper cone, piping hot, and munched away while walking around, admiring the porcelain wares at one stall and sampling the fresh nougat at another, giggling at the provincial German tourists pleased to find Grünkohl in such upscale settings, pausing to watch a nervous soprano sing ‘In excelsius deo’.

Weingut Caspari

Lucky us, wedding presents keep arriving, such as this lovely bottle from Kathy's favourite vintner. They've also got holiday flats at their inn adjoining the winery for reasonable prices: I'm already daydreaming of strolling along the Mosel. . .

Adventszeit

I love Germany's quiet attention to the seasons, the produce that appears and disappears like clockwork as we move through the year, and I love seeing the stuff of carols and fairy tales in the shops, the bunches of mistletoe and the paper cones filled with roasted chestnuts that I spy and can't resist as I go about my daily errands, buying pumpkin and pasta for the night's supper. I can't think of a translation for Adventzeit, the four weeks leading up to Christmas, where each Sunday is ceremoniously numbered and marked by a visit to the Christmas market or to a choir recital. This bouquet came from the flower shop at the corner of Danzigerstraße and Schönhauser Allee; as they queued, customers nibbled on the Lebkuchen (soft gingerbread), Zimtsterne (cinnamon stars) and Vanillakipferl (vanilla crescents) in the basket on the counter.

Pear, quince and apple chutney

After getting excited about quince and buying one, I had to figure out what to do with it. Flipping through Deborah Madison's Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone, a chutney recipe jumped out at me, and I made it with some modifications. The cooked fruit has a pleasing translucent stained glass quality, and tasted wonderful with my pancakes this morning; the friends we visited this afternoon for Kaffee und Kuchen (actually waffles and tea) were very excited about the small jar we gave them.

Pear, quince and apple chutney

• 1 large quince
• 3 apples (I'm very into Elstars at the moment)
• 2 pears (I used one Green Anjou and one Red Bartlett)
• 1 C honey (I tried acacia, but I imagine any fragrant liquid light one would do)
• 1/2 C apple cider vinegar
• 1/4 C balsamic vinegar (I used white, but would try red next time to accentuate the pinkish undertones)
• 1/8 C dry white wine (eg Riesling)
• 3 small cinnamon sticks (about 1 inch each)
• 12 cloves
• 12 peppercorns
• 3 small dried red chilis

Core the fruit and cut into small chunks; keep fruits separate. Combine the honey, vinegars, wine, 1 cinnamon stick, 3 cloves, 3 peppercorns and 1 chili in a medium heavy-bottomed saucepan and heat to a boil. Simmer each fruit turn by turn with a third of the aromatics (cinnamon, cloves, peppercorns, chili), then remove to a large bowl with a slotted spoon. (I cooked the quince for 20 minutes, the apple and pear for ten.) Spoon the fruit into a medium-sized jar and add the remaining syrup. Madison says it will keep for several months in the refrigerator.

Organic oils

The possibilities for fun at the Kollwitzplatz market are never-ending, with just the right balance between food and non-food items, and an endless array of samples. And where else could I watch linseed oil being made before my eyes?

Uwe Leue is a civil engineer by profession, but has been making oil for years. All his homemade oils are unfiltered, organic, and taste strongly of their source; at his stand, little dishes of sunflower, walnut, hazelnut, almond, poppyseed, black cumin, Bärlauch and sesame oils sit in a row waiting to be tried. (And Mr Leue is very patient if you try them all...) After much sampling I settled on the sunflower oil, which was flavourful but neutral enough, I thought, for the aioli I was planning to make that weekend.

If you look carefully at the mill above, you'll see a drop of oil just hitting the trough resting on the lip of the oil jar. The fibres left from the seeds – the brown rope curling out the front – are used as animal feed.

Mr Leue explained that in Berlin and Brandenburg, linseed oil was traditionally used to top a dish of boiled potatoes and quark – a meal of the poor, but made gourmet with the right ingredients.

Ölmühle Gatow at the Kollwitzplatz market, Saturdays 9 am - 4 pm
(To check if he's got a particular oil, call Mr Leue at 0173 871 3824.)

Battening down for the winter

Like the busy ant I have been readying for winter. After an unseasonably warm September and October, autumn proper has set in with a chill. And so I have been hustling about, buying woolen insoles to tuck into my winter boots, stocking up on extra-rich face cream, and tonight after dinner I climbed up on a chair to extricate my last cherished jar of Green & Black's hot chocolate.

My friend Alison bought my first jar of Green & Black's for me while visiting a few years ago. We were walking through Helmholzplatz when we came across a new chocolate shop, and seeing how thrilled I was she offered to to buy me one thing. After extensive, careful inspection of everything in the small but crowded shop, I settled on the hot chocolate mix. "Organic raw cane sugar, cocoa powder, dark chocolate and vanilla"  –how could I resist? In the crisp March  days that followed a mug became my daily (or twice-daily) pleasure and I polished off the jar in weeks. When I went back to in't Veld I was crushed to learn they no longer stocked the mixture.

And yet I do enjoy a challenge. Over the past few years I have determinedly scouted out Green & Black's hot chocolate in various and sundry places; my current jar is one of four I bought at the Lincoln Center Whole Foods while my friends waited patiently upstairs (no doubt thinking a bit wistfully of the other more thrilling things there were to do in Manhattan). And my next? Well, let’s see how soon I can get to another country with a G&B stockist…

The incredible no-peel squash

As you may have guessed from my excited talk of broth, I recently made a batch, serving half straightaway, and keeping the other half to replicate a hokkaido soup Joanna cooked for David and me a couple of weeks ago. She dictated the recipe to me as we queued at a vegetable stall, waiting to buy our bunches of radish, unfiltered apple juice, damsons and other goodies. I still had to phone her up at the last minute to check the details, and she, ever patient, confirmed that yes, you really don't need to peel the squash before using it.

Hokkaido squash soup

• 1 liter / 1 quart broth (you can also use a bouillion cube or canned soup - vegetable or chicken would both work here)
• 1 Hokkaido squash (approx. 1.5 kg / 3.3 lb), organic if possible
• Nutmeg
• Salt
• Turmeric
• Chili powder
• Cumin powder

Cut the squash in half and remove the seeds and fibres. Chop  into large (1.5 inch) chunks. (As mentioned above, peeling isn't necessary.)  In a large soup pot, bring the broth to a boil, then add the squash and cook uncovered over medium heat until very soft, 30-45 minutes. Use an immersion blender to puree the soup. Add a pinch of nutmeg, a dash of chili and cumin powder and turmeric, and salt to taste. Serve garnished with tiny chunks of papaya or guava.

Chai on the go

The first time I drank proper Indian tea was the summer of 1997, when I was living with a family friend in Flushing while doing an internship at a poetry magazine. She had gone to medical school in India and developed a taste for the sweet dark concoction that came of boiling Brooke Bond Red Label tea leaves in water and generous spoonfuls of sugar, then adding half-and-half.

My second taste was during a few months I spent in Dharmasala, where every day I visited the tea stand with their two bubbling tureens of tea, which they scooped and deftly poured from cup to cup several times before finally handing it down to the waiting customer.

Since then, the taste has been something I always crave. Only recently I found a recipe that half-replicated the brew I recollected, but office life does not lend itself to pans simmering for half-hours at a time. (Our kitchenette is pleasant enough, but we've only got an electric kettle and a microwave oven.)

And so I was delighted, on an excursion to Mariage Freres last September,  to discover their Chandernagor. Theirs was the first chai blend I found that captured the requisite spiciness without a jarring chemical vanilla overtone. Yet my 100 grams were quickly gone, and the second 100 grams too that the friend I visited in Paris brought when she came to see me in Berlin. I was set to buy half a kilo, reasoning if you're going to do something, you may as well do it right, but then hesitated, looking at the online blurb: "En hommage à ce fameux comptoir français des Indes, ce mélange réussi d’épices impériales: clou de girofle, cannelle, gingembre, cardamome et poivre. Chaud au palais." Hmm...

I went through to the kitchen and got out a jar that had formerly housed sunflower honey, poured some spices into my mortar and roughed them up with a pestle, then added them to the jar, along with some black tea, and gently shook everything together. After leaving the jar for a day to let the flavours meld, I tasted the results and was utterly satisfied.

Chai on the go (after MF's Chandernagor)

• 10 green cardamon pods
• 10 whole black cloves
• 8 black peppercorns
• 1 cinnamon stick (1 inch)
• 50 grams /1.75 oz / 1/2 C loose black tea (I used an Assam TGFOP from my favourite Berlin tea shop)

Use one rounded teaspoon per serving.

Suppengrün

The altered palette of produce options in Germany endlessly charms and frustrates me. Butternut squash, ubiquitous in America and its recipes, is an elusive quarry, while the once-exotic quince fills baskets everywhere. Suppengrün is an item I'd never even guessed at before coming here, but stumble across constantly at my local organic supermarket or the many Vietnamese-run fruit & vegetable shops.

A tidy packet consisting of a quarter of celery root plus greens, a length of leek, and two lumpy carrots, Suppengrün provides you with the basics for stock-making in the amounts you need. (In some weird way I've always thought of Suppengrün as Germany's answer to the Italian odori that Nigella Lawson writes of.) Chopped up with some parsley, herbs and onions, it makes a perfect dark and aromatic vegetable broth, reviving by itself or providing a flavourful base for soup.