Top 5 reasons to go to Berlin

Shopping. Specifically KaDeWe, but shopping in general. I used to hate shopping. Playing against type, I hated shopping and musicals. On the other hand I am adept at floral arranging, but I digress.

Still . . . shopping. I miss shopping. I didn’t used to shop (grocery shopping excepted) unless I was forced to and now, it seems, that I cannot have it, I miss it. Not just the actual shopping so much but I miss stores. Michigan Avenue in Chicago is a ghost town. The downtown of Milwaukee is urban blight.

In Europe there are still stores and shopping. I don’t know why this would be but it’s true. Ku’Damm the fancy shopping street in Berlin is a lively, happ’nin’ stretch of neighborhood, blocks and blocks and blocks long. There’s even a toilet store that sells those fancy Japanese butt washing toilets! There is no real way to describe KaDeWe though. Kaufhaus des Westens—Department store of the West, apparently named back when there was a “West.”

These pictures do not do the place justice. Not only is it glorious, there is everything one can imagine there. Art supplies, designer clothes, all manner of housewares, butcher shop, bakery, cakes (the Germans it seems do not eat cookies), breads, cheeses, wines, chocolate, shoes, watches, restaurants, delis, I could go on. Right now, in January there is a giant sale. Sixty percent off. Of course, not off of gloves since I need a pair having lost a couple in the confusion of my recent travels.

It’s open next Sunday—EVERYTHING is closed on Sundays! I’m hoping to spend a fortune.

I still don’t like musicals.

Half bad vs not half bad

Even I am sick of semmelknödeln, typing it alone is a pain in the klarn, as my father would say. But I had to go back to Joseph Roth Diele to get my dumpling. And I did. Husoor had the wiener, lentils and spätzle (there’s a combo for ya). This time there were no misunderstandings. The place was jammed. The semmelknödeln, though, was a disappointment I am sorry to report. It wasn’t inedible, I ate the whole damn thing but it did not meet the standards I’d set for it. Half bad, I’d say.

On the other hand a few days later I made the box-mix semmelknödeln. It wasn’t half bad. Aside from being boiled in plastic. Speaking of my father, he would not have liked this boiling-in-plastic concept. He thought plastic was poisonous.

I ate the poisonous dumplings with home-made chicken gravy (heated up with sage for a flavor boost in case there was a plasticky taste). There was not. Just plastic waste.

Yes, even here

I can feed my addiction to stuffing. This is leftover mashed potatoes, stuffing and gravy, the very pinnacle of deliciousness and comfort (not to mention lardassedness). I roasted a stuffed chicken for this very thing. Leftovers.

And it was worth it. We bought the chicken from a farmer in the aptly named “Farmer’s Market.” And it was really really good. But the stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy were the best. The chicken was only a means to an end.


Imagine my surprise/delight/horror when I saw a box-mix of dumplings in the supermarket. Not just any old semmelknödeln, but “der klassiker!” Generally speaking I am opposed to box-mixes but, hey, it’s Germany, I love semmelknödeln and I’ll try anything—yes, I have tried anchovies and they are disgusting. An added plus was that the box was like $1.50.

So when I was in the store reading the instructions, just kidding, I never read instructions. If I took delivery of an unassembled electron microscope I’d just jump right in discarding pieces that didn’t seem relevant or the right shape (as I imagine the shape ought to be) and get on with it. Come to think about it this may be why a number of things I’ve assembled didn’t function/look right/taste particularly pleasant.

Not that I was going to make them today, I wasn’t, but I did look at the instructions once I got home thinking I may need to get other ingredients. Box cakes need things; eggs, water and oil. Who knew? These could need Pflappenpfugen or eier or any number of things I am sure not to have on hand. I was completely confused. Of course the German is almost meaningless to me but the illustrations were . . . I had no idea what I was looking at.

And then I opened the box! OMFG. Each dumpling is in a plastic thingamadoodle. Ugh. Greta Thurnberg forgive me.

Just no. Although I will report further on this hellish nightmare. OK, not hellish on the order of any number of hellish things, but, you know, not Disney Princess Level. Basically “hellish” can have a pretty wide range—hangnail to squirrels-in-the-peach-tree to overnight in the Newark Airport.

Top 5 reasons to go to Berlin

Joseph Roth Diele. Really just the sweetest nicest little restaurant I’ve ever been in. The food is good, not gonna get a James Beard Award but the food is certainly, like grandma made (OK, not my grandma, but someone’s). My friend Karen and I went for lunch. I was insistent that we get there before noon while she dawdled along gawping at shit and there I was hurrying her up. She was like Jesus! OK! Alright already, I’m coming! Jeez.

We sat down at 11:55 (despite her efforts to slow me down) and exactly at noon the place filled completely up—with people standing outside waiting to get in.

Unfortunately they got our order mixed up with the people behind us who then left in a German huff over it. I’d ordered the semmelknödeln, bread dumplings in mushroom gravy, and Karen had ordered the spätzle with mushrooms and mushroom gravy. What we actually received was spätzle with Swiss cheese and spätzle with onions and speck. I knew it was wrong when they set it down but the people who work there do not speak a word of English and the top of my head got sweaty just thinking about saying “Oh pardon me I believe I’d ordered the . . . ” And the possibility that I had mistakenly actually ordered these meals existed and I didn’t want to make a fuss, you know, being conflict avoidant and all. Fortunately I was unable to witness the snafu behind me. Karen took the brunt of it. The lady seemed to think it was Karen’s fault. I stayed out of it. I didn’t want to get involved.

I do want the semmelknödlen so I will be going back.

Back in the USA for a sec

Before I left I made a family meal. Greek. The meal included feta stuffed fry bread. But I decided not to fry but bake it instead. This worked in theory but in reality the cheese held the bottom down while the top rose. Not that they were bad, they just weren’t what I expected. The inside was sorta empty. Nonetheless, they were delicious. But what was really delicious was the next day when I browned one under the broiler, slathered it with butter and ate it with eggs. OMFG! So fine.

OK, back to Berlin

Top 5 reasons to go to Berlin

These dumplings. I cannot say I am an expert in dumplings. I almost never have them. I am not even sure where I can get good ones in Milwaukee. I have never had what I thought was a good one—even at places with supposedly good ones.

But in Berlin, Peking Ente, Jesus, these are fantastic. (Note adept chopstick usage.)

Berlin, two weeks later

There was a good possibility that I would not make another attempt to get to Berlin after the trauma of my recent holiday excursion to Newark and back. But, like giving birth, the horror of it faded sufficiently and I rebooked. This time through Dublin (there are no direct flights from O’Hare to Berlin).

As a precaution I brought a box of Dots as self-care in case I was delayed and forced to sleep in an airport terminal. Stupidly I put the box in my luggage so if I had wanted them I wouldn’t have been able to have them. I didn’t need them after all since I did make it to Berlin—not without the requisite amount of anxiety provoking delay.

We landed in Dublin 5 minutes before the flight to Berlin closed. The flight attendant, when I asked if I was going to make it, said it was 15 minutes away so I sprinted through the Dublin airport at 5:50 am. So that was fun. The distance from the gate from which I deplaned to the gate from which I’d depart was more than a mile (my iPhone told me). I made it.

And now I have Dots to enjoy at my discretion in Berlin. I may possibly be able to buy them in the American Food Store. But, really, I don’t want to go anywhere near that place.


I didn’t/don’t have a lot in my house since I am in transit. I think.

I have oatmeal so I made mush, as my childhood hero Shirley Temple called it derisively. In an attempt to take it something it out of that particular realm I added some stuff to it. Black currant jam, almond butter, honey and butter. The almond butter was a mistake. The oatmeal had vague undertones of peanut butter and jelly which is not a favorite combo nor was it my intention. I ate it but on the whole, meh.

The next day I tried raisins and pecans. Again, not gonna want the James Beard Award with that.

Then I went to the store and got milk and cereal. Enough with the mush.

On the other hand, I leave for Berlin (again) today. I may need some rib-sticking, gut-busting, oatmeal fortification.

So this arrived

Again people, Apple tags. Get ’em.

Unfortunately the bag of home-made peanut brittle (friend gave it to me and I love the stuff) I’d thrown in at the last minute opened up and little to microscopic pieces of peanut brittle went into every single crevice, fold, pocket, wrinkle, nook and cranny it could get into. That was fun.