And the Katz Came Back…

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Well, more correctly we came back to the Katz. The Katz Orange. 22 Bergstrasse, Mitte.

Now, normally the first thing I do when I hit Berlin, and my Invalidenstrasse home, is to visit my very favourite restaurant for a long, lazy and first-class meal. But for the moment, thanks to the inevitable Berliner Baustelle, I’m not in Invalidenstrasse, so it’s taken four whole days for us to get ourselves to a Katzish dinner. But tonight was the night!

Now Humboldthain is not that far from the Bergstrasse, where the Marmalade Kat lives. I suppose we could walk it in 20 minutes. Hmmm. There, OK. Back? Oh no. So we took an ersatz bus. The free bus which is covering the route of the closed underground. Very nice, spotless bus. I should have taken a photo for bus-freak Gareth Valentine.

So we arrived at Bergstrasse. All the old pals were there! You can tell when a resto (or any business) is happy and prosperous. The staff doesn’t change. Hugs all round, welcome backs, and up to our favourite little corner table à deux. The Gold Fashioneds were already on their way. Oh, for those who don’t know, a Gold Fashioned is a whisky cocktail, with a huge Laphroaig iceblock, grand marnier and lots of Olli expertise. Olli is chief cocktail honcho here. It is a doozie on a cool night. And pretty good any time.

The slim menu has changed a little since last time, and some new delicacies shone from the page, but we agreed that for a first visit we should just stick to the Katz Klassic. The 12-hour-cooked cuts of meat. We were tempted by the pork belly (new), but tradition ruled and we went for the shoulder of lamb. Accompanied by a side dish of black beans with bacon and … dammit why didn’t I listen! ... the Katz’s incomparable goose-fat chips (you can’t really call them chips, they’re sooo superior) and a little bowl of roast veg. Perfect. And, oh my heaven, it was!

We relax, with the remnants of our (second) cocktail and wonder if we can manage afters, and … afters arrived! Compliments of. Welcome back! A sensibly-sized cheese board with a glass of delicious 2012 Beaujolais. That’s what I call a welcome!

We dawdled lazily through our wine and cheese, and then a wee devil said in my head: ‘you cannot leave the Katz on your first visit of the season without their turkish coffee’. So we didn’t. Oh, the Turkish coffee, here, is made into a martini … and it goes down a treat with a little light sorbet … Ahhhhh!

But it’s time to muffle up, go, find that bus, and head back to the Hochstrasse. Hugs all round and off we tramp into the spring night. Now I feel I’m in Berlin. The Katz Orange rules! And we shall do a bit of ruling with it in the months to come …  lead me on!

Splendid Berliner food .. for 10 to 100 euros

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One of the things I come to Berlin for is to eat. And even a rousing bout of jetlag cannot stop me ... I’ve been three days in town, and we’ve eaten out three times. I’m not talking Michelin star eating (which I’ve rather gone off anyhow), I’m talking delicious little meals in fun places … and on this occasion little meals for a digestive system havocked by a 36-hour air journey.

I’m living in a different area for these first few weeks. The Hochstrasse, in Wedding, just down the road from that magnificent mall, the Gesundbrünnen Centre. That I do know. I buy my clothes (H&M), my espadrilles (Nanu Nana) and my keyrings (Minuteman) there, and I needed all three. Plus groceries. And … ‘Gesundy’ also harbours one of my favourite light lunch places: Coco’s Thai resturant. A perfect place to assuage a small appetite and a dicky tummy.

While Paul hoed into a full scale plate of sparklingly fresh and lightly cooked veggies, I took refuge in one of their little bowls of chicken soup with mini-mushrooms, veg and noodles. It was so good, that I was tempted to order a second. But discretion rules. Our lunch – with two glasses of the best cold, lightly bubbling water in town (I suspect they have a spring under the floor) – cost us 10 euros all in.

Sunday, I wrote two articles on C19th Leeds vocalists and, as evening approached, decided on another outing. We headed back to ‘Gesundy’ (closed for Easter) and a snack at the nearby Irish pub. No go. The Castle has dropped serving fish and chips. Funny place. Gloomy, shabby … well, I guess that fits with the surrounding streets which are an unkempt mess, full of rubbish. But The Castle had … Guinness on tap! To a New Zealander, doomed to Guinness in a can (ugh), that was heaven. So we paused and supped in the leprechaun’s cave … and we will return!

So? Dinner? As a resident, Paul knows the ropes. And he also knows what I like. He led me down a shabby street to one of those tinselled little Asian places that look as if they are for Asians only. Shalimar is, apparently, Pakistani. Tiny, cheerful, busy, lightning service … I can never remember the names of these Asian dishes, but anyway we shared a plate of those cheesy things in chickpea batter and then a spinach-based platter with rice … it was as light and spicy and delicious as could be, and I was not surprised to see the room filling with local Asiatics. Another winner. Price 20 euros for two.

Today was different. Today very good ‘penfriend’ Agnes was in town. Agnes is my favourite contralto (big, beefy bottom register), and she was in town for a performance at the Komische Oper that night before hightailing it back to Covent Garden at daybreak. Finally, we are in the same city at the same time? Lunch together was imperative. My pal Jens recommended a couple of Charlottenburg lunch spots, and we headed that way. Easter Monday. They were closed. But both Paul and I have a good nose for a restaurant, and we settled on ‘Paris’, a few metres away. A good fairy must have been watching over us.

As soon as we crossed the threshhold (welcome mat in French) and I saw the French bistro-style interior, my heart leaped up.

And it was right. ‘Paris’ is a gem. Wonderful service, a splendid menu … Paul and I jumped for the carrot and ginger soup. I know, we can all make carrot and ginger soup; but this was velvety and decidedly superior. Agnes had a first-class pepper steak and salad (well, she had a show to do! strength needed), Paul – who prefers veg – asked for spinach and broccoli and got the most lovely looking plate of perfectly cooked greens, and I?  Ohhhh. I had a real boudin noir. Memories of my days on the Côte d’azur and the back streets of Nice. And it was cooked just as it should be, with its little nest of apple. Bliss!  If they do a niçoise soupe de poisson and real, proper tripes … they’ll never get rid of me.

Well, it may be a touch of nostagie du temps passée, but ‘Paris’ today was the 10 out 10 place for me. Oh, price, with an excellent Bordeaux ... 108 euros for three.

I think I had better have tomorrow off. Roast cauli at Paul’s place, maybe. But all I can say is, culinary Berlin, in all its forms, has got off to a bonzer start this year. And we haven’t even been to the Katz Orange yet!

RIP, boudin noir. Sorry I forgot to photograph you before I devoured you but you were just too tasty.

A Berlin Maori Chieftain

As we walked, last evening, along Hochstrasse, Wedding, Berlin ... I still feeling rather jetlagged after my thirty and more hours journey ...  I was jolted back to the other side of the world by ... a C19th Maori chieftain. In Berlin?  I had to photograph him:

And the resultant photo came out as a weird mixture of C19th New Zealand and C21st Berlin ... which is, when you think about, somewhat 'me'....

A different pair of wings: a flight diary

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 It’s that time of the year, and I’m off back to Europe. It’s a glorious autumn day at Gerolstein and snow is forecast for Berlin, but who knows? I haven’t blogged so far this year, because its been a funny (peculiar) last few months: both Wendy and I had farm accidents, Wendy lost her Dad, the horses were pretty disappointing, and we came to a decision that we’ve ‘reached that time of life’ where we ought to stop pretending to be 25 year-olds (or in my case, a 60 year-old) and take things a bit more easily. Plan A has gone into action …

But, in the meanwhile, I’ve had a lovely Christmas holiday in Grafton and Yamba, to where I will soon return, we’ve had visits from both Berlinois Pauls, and Wendy and I became devotees of Masterchef, Australia! Laura, how did you manage to lose?

And now, it’s back to Berlin. And this year I’ve changed my airway. Not because Emirates gave me my ‘nightmare in the sky’ last year, but because Etihad offers some better options for me: no hair-raising change in Munich! ALL my boarding cards in my hand – Christchurch to Berlin – at check-in one, all I have to do is be trundled (or wobble) from one plane to the next. All the stress removed from travel.

So, stage one completed. Chaffeured by the lovely Jo to Christchurch airport, delightful check-in staff (Virgin), upstairs to the dreaded formalities, which weren’t dreadful at all, and on to the Air New Zealand international lounge where I am now esconced peacefully with bubbly water, ham and egg sarnies and wifi …   So far, totally happy and comfortable! Part 2 to follow.

Part 2. Yeah. Nice. Virgin hasn’t quite got Business Class into its Boeings, but the eight of us had nice big comfy seats and dedicated care from Eric, who was a real star, looked after us perfectly, and served us a really delicious chicken salad. And bubbly. And so, down into Melbourne. It was going to be a long pause … 6 hours (actually five, because flight one was an hour late) till the northwards flight … but at least, in comfort.

Wrong. Tragedy. Last year all over again. My trundler girl headed me to the lounge … sorry, we’re closing for the next two hours. Two hours, again, perched in a wheelchair in an seemingly empty airport … at least this time they didn’t throw me out. So I trundled myself round the vast halls, until I found a buxom lass cleaning a bar, and instead of sipping my complimentary champagne, I paid $7.50 for a glass of plonk. Micaela was a real honey, and she looked after me till her shift ended, when she trundled me downstairs to the nearly open lounge. Stress. Unhappy. Uncomfortable.

Part 3. Too many hours in a bigger Boeing, too much bubbly, too little food (too heavy! I wanted Eric’s nice, light salad), too little sleep … although the ‘beds’ were very comfy indeed … so, I got to the orange morning over the UAE in not the very best shape. Happily for me, Alex across the aisle turned out to be my good angel and he got me safely to land (via bus) and into my next chair. Abu Dhabi airport is monstrous, but the staff are grand: the mobility men trundled me for what seemed like miles, and the boys in the lounge fed and watered me and fussed over me, and at the last delivered me to my last flight. Which sat for an hour on the runway before heading for Berlin.

So, now I’m in the sky in my Air Berlin plane, feeling rather a fraud. The boys insisted on my being loaded on a lift! I told them I could perfectly well climb the gangway, if they would take my bag …

A combination of three different airlines, three different chairs-beds (Etihad’s was best), plenty of kind folk – Alex, Micaela, Eric, Jay, Edison – and when all’s said and done, what is my judgement in the Emirates vs Etihad stakes?

Well, it’s a close run thing. Etihad definitely wins on the check in. And no Munich. Emirates is a tad more luxurious. And doesn’t have a six hour changeover. But both left me stranded … I’ll think it over before I decide on next year.

In the meantime … two hours to go to destination. I’m about to have an arabic starter with campari and soda. And the sockets take NZ plugs (which Abu Dhabi didn’t). So I’m unwinding. But will I be glad when it’s all over!

Over and out. Tegel airport is as friendly and efficient as ever. Paul was waiting to taxi me to my friend Fifi’s lovely flat where I’ll be staying for a few weeks.

All decorated with my little homely things. Look, a peacock that doesn't sqwawk at 5am!

Coffee? Shower? Nice ideas. But instead I just fell into the big comfy bed and slept for eleven hours … yeah, so now its 3am. Oh, and it isn’t snowing in Berlin: it’s sunny!

Maybe I'm off on the right foot after all.

Gerolsteiner gymnasium … go!

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At last. I’ve been back in Sefton for two whole months (where did they go?) and, today, I finally got my garage-gym into action. It helped that it was a nice day. Warm, sunny and humid. And, that, for once, there was no emergency or tragedy on hand. We’ve had our fill of them these last weeks: Wendy’s black-eyed, cracked-crown encounter with Thomas (the horse), the presumed death of Boofie, the 4WD, just as we set out to the races, pulling Agnes and Mikie. The demise of the outside water pump, followed swiftly by the demise of its switch, and then by the loss of all water to the house. The next thing to go was the telephone …

Well, they’re all fixed (at a cost stressful and financial) now, the horse population has been imperatively decreased, and today I determined to start exercising. First the warm up: while Wendy fast-worked Agnes, I stood guard on Mikie. And, there in the sun, on the barn forecourt, I started marching, followed by all Nik’s various exercises that I could remember, while Mikie gaped at this unaccustomed entertainment. 

To my delight, the horses’ tie-up rail is just the right height for my lunges and press-ups (once one has shovelled away the latest horse-pats). Ooh, those press-ups were tough after two months’ holiday. And I don’t think I did them quite right.

Agnes and Wendy arrived back just as I was finishing my arabesqueical leg-swings…

Un-gear Agnes, then off to the ‘gym’. Dumbells. Only 5k, but they felt at least a kilo heavier. Fifteen repetitions both arms. My plastic kettlebell (I’ve forgotten how many kilos. 12, I think) for 15 of my best squats, then on to the TRX. He doesn’t seem to mind being on a square beam. A selection of Holmes Place routines. I enjoy the TRX. Then on to the floor. It was impossible, in Rangiora, to buy a decent floor mat. But hey! What is this in the barn, covered in hay? A spare floor covering for the horsefloat. A bit grubby, and covered in peacock droppings, but worth a go. I had to get Roger, the blacksmith, to lift it for me, but having been installed, de-peacocked and given a swift brooming, it is perfect!

I must have done my standard 30-40 minutes. Room for improvement. Quality and quantity. And .. urgh! I’m 80k again! After having descended to 75. No nude pix this week!

Oh, hell. A peacock just flew full bore into the window. Not ‘in through’, ‘in to’ … time to go and smell the roses..

Flaming Agnes 2014

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It’s mid-November. I’ve been back at Gerolstein for a month and a bit. And today my racing season began. Wendy and I have got four racehorses this season, Mikie (Fifteen C) who won a race last year, Agnes de Gerolstein (who almost won several times), plus Thomas and Rocky (Rock of Ages) who haven’t yet had a race. The first three are more or less ‘ready’ and Rocky is closing fast. There is one slight problem with having such a big ‘team’: we have a two-horse float. Well, we’ll face that one when we come to it!

It was Agnes who launched our season. She’d missed a needful trial because of the float problem, but there was a nice little race suitable for her (ie standing start, 2000m) at Timaru, so off we set, to predictions of hail and thunder, for 2 1/2 hours drive south. The storm hit us a bit after half way, but Timaru itself was dry if grey

I like Timaru racecourse. It has a happy, countrified feel, and plenty of room for the horses. Agnes, a notable misbehaver pre-race, was as calm and good as the little girl with the curl in the middle of her forehead. But she likes Timaru too. She ran third at her last start there, when I was in Berlin. Following in the footsteps of our Boofie, Cliffie and Wilma who have all won on the track.

Punters don’t back our horses, tipsters don’t tip them. Agnes had had three placings in her last five starts, most of the others sported a lot of zeros. But she was eighth favourite of eleven when they headed for the start. And the rain started (briefly)… and the wind blustered (determinedly) …

She got away from the start pretty well, and was tucked in the one-one until the champion driver, Dexter, decided to take his horse to the front, leaving Agnes in the ‘death seat’ outside the leader. Ouch. What would Chris do? Well, fate and the wind decided for him. As they raced down the straight for the first time, the wind gusted and prematurely took Agnes’s hood and earplugs with it! That, to a horse, means ‘go!’ and she went! For the whole final lap she laid it to Dexter’s horse, which was well and truly cooked by the final turn and disappeared backwards. Agnes led them down the straight, but in the last hundred metres the effort (and the truncated preparation – just two workouts) told, and she got bombed just short of the line. Second! Great delight in the Gerolstein camp. Seconds are good. You don’t go up a grade … But I was just happy that we have a competitive horse, and I’m sure she’ll run some nice races in the coming months.

Home. To find that Richie and Johnnie had unlocked their gate and gone for a nice wee gourmet tour around the track…  horses!

Well, tonight its Mikie’s turn. At Motukarara. Against much better opposition. He usually takes a few starts to ‘warm up’ …  and then Tuesday, Rocky and Thomas to the workouts … its going to be all go. But Agnes has set us off on a positive note …