After a whirlwind trip to Lisbon, where the sun was shining and I was still sporting short sleeves, I turned my attention to Berlin. Quite the temperature adjustment. But oh, the autumnal splendor! The streets of Prenzlauer Berg were carpeted in colorful leaves, and Halloween brought out children in every imaginable costume, accompanied by gaggles of parents, beers in hand, making a proper festive night of it.
I've been under Berlin's spell for some time now. But there's one restaurant in Kreuzberg that has me particularly bewitched: Kanal 61.
I snagged a seat at the bar, where the welcome was as warm as the weather outside was cold. A Tonka bean-laced Old Fashioned got things off to a splendid start, while the glow of the open kitchen provided dinner theater of the most delicious sort.
And the food? Extraordinary.
First came a Gillardeau oyster dressed in pomegranate aguachile. Briny, bright, and just the right amount of zing. Then a luscious triple-cream Brillat-Savarin paired with quince and tororo kombu. Cheese, fruit, and a little Japanese umami magic. With a beautiful glass of white wine alongside, I was already a very happy girl.
But then came the Escabeche Mussel Toast.
Oh. My. Goodness.
Plump mussels perched atop toast with bagna cauda mayo, delivering a glorious combination of richness, acidity, and pure indulgence. Just look at the photo. Is that not a thing of beauty?
It's understandably one of the restaurant's most popular dishes. Yet, chatting with the executive chef, I learned he's itching to replace it with something new. A bold move, considering the devotion this toast inspires. But after tasting his cooking, I have every confidence that whatever comes next will be a little bit of genius.
Case in point: my duck, accompanied by chestnuts, chanterelles, and karashi mustard. Sublime. And that sauce! When the duck was gone, I took to it with a spoon, tilting the plate to capture every last drop as if it were the world's most glorious soup.
No shame. Not a drop wasted.
Apparently, my enthusiasm was infectious, because the chef invited me to see their pantry, housed in a rented garage just down the street. There, he generously offered me my choice of jams from the refrigerator.
Naturally, I accepted. Who turns down a chef bearing preserves?
The next morning, I spread my Mirabelle plum jam, fragrant with vanilla, onto a buttery croissant. Heavenly. Apparently, Kanal 61's magic travels rather well.
What makes this place so special isn't simply the extraordinary food. It's the warmth, the generosity, the sheer pleasure these gentlemen seem to take in what they do. You feel it from the moment you sit down.
If Kanal 61 were in New York, and assuming I could afford to indulge regularly, I'd be a fixture at that bar. In the meantime, I hope to return the hospitality if — no, make that when — the owners come to New York.
Hats off, gentlemen. You've reminded me that great hospitality is every bit as memorable as great food. And that's saying something when the food is this good.