What Even is “Going for Brunch” These Days?
It’s been a while, hasn’t it?
Going out to eat, enjoying the city, traveling just to eat everything. Opening hours remain uncertain in some parts. And even if it might rain we prioritize outdoor seating and tables that are 1.5 meters apart. We can’t explore like we used to, and some regions remain in full-on lockdown.
But parts of the world are beginning to breathe again, and with that comes some space to try new food or relish in all-time favorites.
Things may have changed, but my stomach roars on.
I can only watch so much Binging with Babish on YouTube before my tummy is screaming at me and my brain is whirling as it imagines layers of umami and novel combinations of spices. Netflix’s food series aren’t helping either: not with brilliant chefs creating masterpieces of edible art.
Dammit. My heart strings can only be played so much before they snap.
And so I usher in the first in a series of articles designed to bring you with me to restaurants around the world. We’ll explore countries like Singapore, Denmark, Thailand, and Germany. We’ll fill our bellies, and listen to the food tell its story through digestive gurgles.
Sometimes we’ll go back in time. (I can do that. I have a Tardis.)
Maybe we’ll get inspired to cook new dishes, or to hunt for local restaurants that serve something hitting the same notes. At the very least, we can note places to visit once the world is no longer in the Upside Down.
Father Carpenter, Berlin
10 August, 2020
Let’s go for brunch down in Mitte, yeah? I’ve got someplace on my radar. I’ll send you a pin. Its got courtyard seating. I’ll put us down for a table if I arrive ahead of you.
No, there’s nothing mind-blowing on the menu, but that’s okay. As the cafe’s name implies and as we’ll soon learn, the dishes are constructed with care and experience. Seems like Berliners know this. The restaurant is packed and it’s not even 11am.
They’re understaffed, and even masked you can see that the waitstaff are stressed. On top of managing a growing line of waiting diners, they have to explain that menu cards have transformed into QR codes taped to the tables. That they keep their patience and friendliness despite all this—despite all the measures imposed by the German government to allow the restaurant to be open again — is incredible.
Oooo I think that’s our food coming!
Wait, close your eyes for a second. Let it be a surprise.
I wonder, can even a modest meal like this transport us elsewhere? Is there more to the eggs and toast on my plate? I think so. There’s always a little more, if you know how to look, how to smell, how to be still and truly taste what passes over the tongue. How to have a little more fun with food.
Yes, yes, you can open them now. If you’ll come with me.
These are gentle hills. Pastoral, comforting, like those we pass via train in the German countryside. Golden yolk breaks like summer sunshine. The crust glistens and carries an edge of salt. It cuts away with just the right resistance — no arm workout required.
Mushrooms rise from a bed of creamy feta, their rich earthy flavor melding with that of the za’atar, with the mild tang from the cheese and the spritz of acid from plump roasted tomatoes. The juices seep into the loamy bread. A restrained canopy of microgreens lends a bitter element to each bite, balancing the ecosystem.
Here we can relax in the harmonious execution of familiarity. A deft hand cultivated this. A wise hand that doesn’t care for the radical. Tucked away from the jiving food scene of Berlin. This courtyard cafe offers a modern breakfast without stretching itself into experimentalism, don’t ya think?
That doesn’t mean there are no hidden treasures to uncover here though.
These neighboring hills take us by surprise.
While exploring the lush green avocado we stumble upon kernels of gold: tiny nuggets of sweetness that, while unconventional, grow on us. As someone with mostly negative corn experiences growing up (boiled corn, bland and acting as nothing but filler), I would never think to add roasted corn to avocado and pesto. Yet it works. It’s different, but it works. And the discovery is fun.
Ah, you notice how my fork hovers with the slightest hesitation. I’ll admit it. If I carried a microplane and lemons on my belt, I’d add a touch of zest to bring this dish just an inch more alive, rounding it out with some needed acidity and a dusting of yellow to tie in with the corn.
I finish my brunch satisfied, sip the last of my espresso macchiato. The food even distracted us from the season’s swarm of wasps, which is no small feat considering that there is no eating outside without such company this time of year.
For a solid brunch off the busy streets of Berlin, yes, I’d recommend Father Carpenter.
Confess your hunger. You’ll be in good hands.
This is an experimental series and I eat up constructive criticism like olives served with cold beer.
Enjoy this piece? Hate using your imagination and want more photos? Find a God-forbid typo? Let me know.
— Seph
