There were punks, clubs and creatives, but no good food…

Zacapa Rum
Jul 27, 2017 · 8 min read

In the highlands of Quetzaltenango, Guatemala, 2,300m above sea level where time slows down, Zacapa Rum is aged to perfection in the mystical House Above the Clouds. A work of art, and an expression of patience, richness, quality and master blending, it embodies The Art of Slow — a philosophy of savouring the moments that matter, and discovering the amazing things that happen when we take the opportunity to reconnect.

In this series, we celebrate the outliers of creative gastronomy from around the world who’ve taken the time to slow down and reconnect with their craft — sharing the stories of the inspiration this has brought them. Through spending time getting to know the chefs and hear their stories, our writers uncover the moments of realisation and reconnection that set them on the path of discovery.


Arlene Stein isn’t a chef — but she may just be the most important person on Berlin’s budding food scene. Sean Williams met the Haupstadt’s connector-in-chief to learn about Berlin’s move from backwater to benchmark, and how slow food can play a key role in its future.

Arlene remembers the first time she got angry about food. It was her seventeenth birthday, and the Torontonian had persuaded a group of friends to splash their cash at Winston’s, a city stalwart where fat cats blew expense accounts and celebrities enjoyed scandalous affairs in semi-secrecy. ‘One of those places where people would have three or four martinis over lunch,’ Arlene recalls.

It may have been considered the Canadian city’s classiest restaurant, but the portions were tiny, the bill was astronomical and, to compound things, a cockroach was spotted climbing the restaurant’s walls. So hungry were Arlene and her friends afterwards that they stopped at a McDonald’s.

Winston’s went out of business in 1989 — a relic from a time when French menus and private booths were the hallmark of a great dining experience. For Arlene, her experience was the first step in a career dedicated to discovering good food, good drink and exciting young chefs. More than two decades later she’s built a reputation as one of Toronto’s top gastronomic leaders, founding the Terroir — a Chef Symposium that has become a staple of the North American food scene, by celebrating local food heroes and pushing Berlin’s cultural status forward through innovation and culinary discussion.

I met Arlene in Berlin, where she now lives, just days before her first Terroir event, which has become the latest focus of her zeal for gourmet excellence. She was entertaining food writers at the Michelberger Hotel, a trendy spot that has become an epicentre for weekend crowds drawn to Berlin’s creative heart, history and unhinged club scene.

Arlene is fast-talking, loquacious and friendly. She often slips into anecdotes when describing her industry: evidence of more than 20 years on the inside. Now, with all that experience, and using her power as a renowned networker, Arlene is pushing the concept of slow food in the German capital. As consumers become more estranged from the origins of their food, and the industry places more import on cost, convenience and bulk production, slow food became something of an antidote. Focusing not on how the food is made, rather it’s about reconnecting with the origins of the ingredients, and so creating a more conscious approach to its production and enjoyment. Arlene is committed to making it work, despite fighting an industrial agricultural complex that has the food world in a stranglehold.

By Thomas Angermann | Some rights reserved

Berlin’s food reputation among Europe’s major cities was as a backwater — helped little by the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989 and subsequent fall into poverty. Cheap schnitzels, stews and sauerkraut were about as ambitious as menus got. There were punks, clubs and creatives, but no good food — let alone any good, thoughtful production of it.

The city has a less-than-mouthwatering food pedigree to beat — its two greatest achievements have been in street food. The traditional currywurst — a spicy seasoned sausage eaten with fries — has become a staple of the city’s post-club set, and sandwiched shaved meat in bread, known as the döner kebab that we all love and regret today, transformed Berlin’s fast-food repertoire.

Now, Berlin is transformed: its crumbling streets and bombed-out buildings have been largely replaced by affordable apartments and exciting galleries, but when Arlene arrived, Berlin was an entirely different place.

‘When I came here in 2012, Berlin was a bit of a culinary wasteland,’ she says. ‘It’s so exciting to see how much energy is going into the food scene here, the drive.’

Part of that is thanks to a small collection of high-end restaurants. Tim Raue, a former gang member from the city’s Kreuzberg district, has been awarded a Michelin star for the Southeast Asian restaurant in central Mitte that carries his name. Others have won plaudits for advancing modern European cuisine — often expensive, and often in hotels.

That doesn’t enthuse Arlene much. ‘Michelin isn’t really a benchmark for me anymore,’ she says. When it comes to connecting with her craft, she looks to the dynamic Berlin for inspiration: the young, creative city that’s breaking rules and serving exciting, cutting-edge food at a fraction of the cost of elsewhere in Europe. She admires Raue and his contemporaries, but, for her, Michelin isn’t the be-all and end-all. She says, ‘I think it’s outdated, and it’s emblematic of an idea that is 1980s to 1990s at best. The type of restaurant that’s still getting two or three Michelin stars tends to be very static and conservative … and everything has a certain rhythm in terms of the way the service works, and the engagement with the customer. It’s boring, really.’

Arlene compares Berlin to a Rust Belt city in the US, such as Detroit — somewhere that once had immense stature and wealth, lost it all, and which is now enticing a world of creative young people back in. From oppression and the collapse of it, comes a compulsion to connect, create, express — something that Berlin has in bulk, and Detroit too: its history is riddled with poverty and industrial turmoil, but now it’s becoming an example of culture and purposeful creation. ‘In Berlin, the thing that captures you is the personality,’ says Arlene. ‘You’ve gotta be here to see it.’ Berlin knows that more than anywhere; it still hasn’t recovered to the four million-plus inhabitants it had up until the breakout of the Second World War, when it was considered one of Europe’s most beautiful and important cultural centres.

The war — and subsequent division between communism and capitalism — decimated the city, but it is now on the rise, enjoying an upward trajectory not dissimilar to the rise of the celebrity chef in North America. Arlene became enthralled by books about the culinary industry, and the TV stars crowned by the 1993-founded Food Network. They made becoming a chef akin to how Berlin was described by former mayor Klaus Wowereit: poor but sexy.

‘People became foodies,’ Arlene says. ‘I don’t know how many people come up to me and ask “How do I get into the food business?” Twenty years ago it would’ve been, “How the fuck do I get out of the food business?”’

Arlene was used to industry toil. As manager of Italian restaurant Milano’s, life was far from glamorous, she says. ‘We had nitwits in front of house making lots and lots of money,’ she adds. ‘It’s hard to give that up when you make a third of what your staff does, but if you want to have anything credible, you have to go back of house.’

Arlene took time off work to have her first child. Then, as a manager of events at the University of Toronto, things changed. She brought people together for a craft beer show, and wondered if her talents managing and meeting people could be used to promote Toronto as a foodie capital with a real connection to its produce.

In 2007, Terroir — French for ‘earth’, and emblematic of its grassroots formula — was born. Now it’s a key multiplier in Canada’s food industry, bringing together business leaders, chefs and media to seek out new talent, and discuss how to get bums on seats across the city.

Around the same time, Arlene became interested in slow food, a movement founded by Italian chef Carlo Petrini in 1986, and which now has just under 80,000 members worldwide. The movement aims to make people reconnect with the food on their plate, and link chefs with local farms and food producers to create more of a holistic culinary process.

Arlene says, ‘It was just a desire to really understand food systems and food production, and also to be connected to the producers who were making the food. It’s about a deeper connection and relationship, and an understanding of where your food and beverages come from.’

Eventually, thanks in part to Arlene and her charges, this new way of thinking gained a foothold in Toronto. By supporting producers and creating a strong alternative to the industrial agricultural complex that commands so much of our food chain, chefs could serve diners food with provenance that was guaranteed and local, and, enjoy a deeper and more rewarding relationship with the food they were serving.

Berlin is years behind, Arlene admits. But its youth and energy suggests that it can, too, become a centre for new, more connected dining. Leading eateries such as Ernst, Barcomis and the super-hip Nobelhart und Schmutzig are showing that Berlin can do high-end food at affordable prices.

She believes the key to success is scouting producers who are linked to a specific chef and showing them that to build and broaden their business, they should consider opportunities beyond those partnerships. Arlene says: ‘They exist, they’re developing and they want to be able to work with the industry.’

And why wouldn’t they? Slow food, and the reconnection to our cuisine and environment that it fosters, is a thriving movement, and, with pioneers such as Arlene onboard, its trajectory will be anything but slow. ‘Get that right’ she says, ‘and Berlin might actually draw tourists based on its food scene alone — rather than the usual combination of sightseeing and seedy nights out.’

The Art of Slow

The Art of Slow is about savouring the moments that matter, and discovering the amazing things that happen when we reconnect. In this series, we uncover the stories of the people redefining the world of creative gastronomy, their inspiration and their moments of reconnection.

Zacapa Rum

Written by

Crafted in Guatemala, Zacapa Rum is a work of art, and an expression of patience, richness, quality and master blending.

The Art of Slow

The Art of Slow is about savouring the moments that matter, and discovering the amazing things that happen when we reconnect. In this series, we uncover the stories of the people redefining the world of creative gastronomy, their inspiration and their moments of reconnection.

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