The Berlin Secret Restaurant Series: Cantina

Berlin, Germany

Before I continue with the "secret restaurant" series, I have been asked to explain what makes a "secret restaurant" "secret". Right. Good question. As I mentioned, it is indeed perplexing to be classified as secret when you have been written up in the NYT. There are perhaps different categories of secret and the two which I am posting in this series fall under the category of real restaurant (i.e. professional kitchen and professionals chefs) in a location that was not originally intended as a restaurant- in the two examples in this series that location is a club. Cookies Cream is above the Cookies club and Cantina is in the backroom of the bar Tausend. There are other secret restaurants in Berlin that are located in residences, in someone's living room where the chef is an amateur and so is the kitchen. There is no bill for dinner but rather a suggested donation as these establishments are not licensed to serve food or alcohol. Unfortunately, I have not yet made it to one of the home-spun secret restaurants but intend to as soon as possible. In the meantime, I submit for your perusal the second in the series and my personal favorite...

Catina. In Tausend. Found at the bottom of the steps up to the Friedrichstrasse S-Bahn, opposite side of the river from the Reichstag. Go around the corner from the main entrance. Around the back. Ring the bell. Enter the kitchen. And then behold....


The Miso Cod with pickled ginger. Oh. My. God. Our mustached, soft-spoken and very patient waiter recommended this. About three times. Before I finally said, 'I think we'll try the miso cod.' He smiled approvingly. The meat slipped off the fish like catching a greased watermelon. It was like this fish had been brined in vasoline. The texture was firm, the fish fatty and the miso was subtle and delicious. I still dream about this.

The ceviche. Oh. My. God. A white fish and squid marinated in lime, tossed with red onion and topped with red chillies and coriander. Corn and sweet potato on the side. I wanted to rub my face in the plate. I may have - but have you ever gotten red chilli in your eye? Not fun. I abstained. But this was every bit as good as the amazing ceviche we ate in Lima, Peru, where ceviche was born and raised. And maybe better - because we were in Berlin, rather than the cerviche capital of the world. But we would not have been blamed for mistaking Cantina for a cevicheria in Lima.

Seared tuna with foie gras served over wild herb risotto. Perfection on a plate. I can't even talk about it. Lick the screen. Go ahead, lick it. You know you want to.

Beef skewers. Topped with red onion, cilantro and chillies. Oh. My. God.

The creme brulé. Very good.

I would say more but I think these pictures speak for themselves. And if they don't let me say it for them, "Deeeeeeeeellllllisssssshhhhhuuuuouuuuus!!!!"

The Berlin Secret Restaurant Series: Cookies Cream

Berlin, Germany

So by now you may have heard of the secret restaurant trend in Europe – Berlin, London (watch this space for what may become one in Hamburg). This article in the NYT documents the author’s experience in a few of the better-known secrets (as someone put it, "how 'secret' can they be if they are in the New York Times?’ Point well taken.). With only 36 hours on a quick trip to Berlin at the end of October, I decided that this was the place to start.

I had first heard about Cookies Cream from my friend Eva who was invited to a dinner there for the premier of Tilda Swinton’s film, Julia, at the 2007 Berlinale film festival. She raved about the amazing vegetarian food served in this strange back-alley hidden restaurant, and about Tilda’s hot young lover. Anyway, I was intrigued – was it something that was set up especially for the evening, a one-time deal catered by the Westin Grand, the hotel whose dumpsters you have to walk past to get up the back staircase? Turns out, no. In fact, when I spoke to my neighbors, Berlin transplants in Hamburg, about my „secret“ dinners, they were rather unimpressed that Cookies Cream was considered a secret.

We had an 8 o’clock reservation. Everything about the place said clandestine, from the obscure entrance, to the very unfinished look of the bathroom, to the open kitchen.

Walk past the Westin Grand main entrance and take a right into the first alleyway.


Presumably the Westin Grand's garbage. You are in the right place. Keep going.


Ah, chandelier-lit dumpsters. So romantic. Pass underneath the chandelier and up the stairs to the right. The Cookies Cream placard is there on the wall. Ring the bell, someone will buzz you in.


Up the backstairs to the dining room...and you enter into a large divide space. The open kitchen is to the left and the dining area is to the right. White brick walls, white tablecloths, a large painting of square pastels with the word "fick" (f*ck) printed square in the center. The ceilings were high and lofty, the place was unfinished and polished at the same time. The details were purposefully makeshift - the sink in the bathroom designed to give the impression that the water would spill onto the floor, the seemingly random hole in the countertop were printed receipts sprouted. Somewhat contrived, but went with the theme.

The menu was vegetarian, not vegan, and looked ambitious. We opted for the 3-gang / three course and the "house" drink, a rubarb vodka cocktail. Again, dining companions are for sharing and so my fellow diner Lowri and I passed the plates between us.

Above, the Tete de Moine on a spinach tartlet, smoked topinambursalad with black nuts, sauce cumberland.

The Tete de Moine is a velvety swath of cheese swiveled off a large round mold. It sat atop a palak-like creamy spinach on what I can only describe as a cracker and next to a smoky sauerkraut (the topinambursalad – I am still not sure what this is). The black nut shaving was very earthy, like a ground nut but not as bitter, and the cumberland sauce was a sweet preserve. All together complementary, the smoothness and sharpenss of the cheese, creamy spinach and rough and smoky kraut worked well together.

But we really liked the stuffed brioche.


Presenting the stuffed brioche with quail egg, truffled foam of potatoes, red wine shallot.

The egg was silky and the potato foam hinted at celery, very faintly. The carmelized shallots were rich and sweet and tangy and the brioche wore them well.

As for the mains, we were tempted by the pine nut potato roll with beetroot carpaccio, marsalla lack, horseradish, coloured beetroot cooked in sea salt and the puree and grilled hokkaido pumpkin with gnocchi of chive, gelly of balsamico, red wine sauce and wild herbs. However, we settled on the parmesan dumplings with cilantro carrots and Amalifi lemon sauce and the tomato tandoori risotto with backed praline of goat cheese, chickweed and tomato fumet.


The tomato tandoori risotto defined fusion. You expected something a little more... Italian. But the spices were Indian, tumeric, cardamom, and the heat of the chillies. The goat cheese praline was an unexpected twist and lent the missing creaminess to the rice. A winner.

The parmesan dumpling with cilantro carrots and Amalifi lemon sauce. Dumplings in my book are the ultimate comfort food. What could be better and more threatening to south beachers than a big ball of warm dough. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. The parmesan made it salty, savory, and the rest of it did't make that much of an impression because I was so overfocused on the dumpling itself, with a nutty pesto like mixture on top. It was perfect.



Dessert, parfait of haselnuts, fruit salad. The salad was light, cleansing and the parfait surprisingly was too, even though it was richer. An appropriate ending to a meal whose main course was cheesy dough balls.

Overall a lovely evening, an inspired meat-free menu and intrigue.


Next stop: Tausend's backroom Cantina... I am still dreaming about it. O. Ma. Gah.