"One on One" at KW Institute for Contemporary Art, Berlin

What do you do when you only have one and a half days in Berlin? This was the toughest decision to make during our plane ride. Armed with only a DK Top 10 guide and some scribbled suggestions from a co-worker about which restaurants to visit, we had no idea where to begin.

We really wanted to experience as much of the city as we possibly could - both the go-to tourist destinations (like Checkpoint Charlie, Brandenburg Gate, the Reistag, etc.) and those places that were slightly-off-the-beaten-path (refer to the previous post for an amazing bar that John found for a nightcap one evening).

And even though I gawped at the majesty of Brandenburger Tor set against the clear, blue sky we had on Saturday, and was moved by the personal accounts compiled in the rather ramshackle Haus am Checkpoint Charlie, it was an exhibition called "One on One" at KW Institute for Contemporary Art that left the greatest impression on me during my short visit to Berlin.

Arranged over three floors, the exhibition itself consists of several small, constructed rooms, which are accessed by one person at a time (hence, the title, "One on One"). Upon our arrival, we were given a guide/notes/floorplan to the exhibition and a door hanger, which is then hung on the door knob of the room you wish to enter to signal that the room is occupied. Clever, right?

Like this:

The fun part is not knowing what to expect in each room, but I'll admit that it was - on every occasion - a very intense experience. In fact, one performance piece was so terrifying and claustrophobic (I won't give too much away!), John said he felt genuinely afraid, but then countered this with: "... but it was one of the best things I've ever experienced!" Needless to say, I didn't go into that room.

I loved that the pieces forced you, as the sole occupant of each room, to engage with the artwork. Often when I entered a room - for example, FORT's "The Charmer", which contained a small but loud, humming refrigerator in a dimly, yellow-lit room with linoleum flooring and depressing yellow painted walls - I felt a strong urge to walk straight out. Some felt overwhelmingly foreboding, or sinister - others filled me with downright dread. But I didn't. Instead, I didn't think too much about it but let the art linger with me instead. As the viewer, you're free to view/experience the art however you'd like in the room you're in. I contemplated sitting down on the floor for a few. 

My favorite installation was Annika Kahrs' (which, I am about to give away, so if you're planning a visit to this exhibition, stop reading now!) and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since we left! 

As I opened the door to this particular room, I heard a beautiful recording (or so I thought!) of Brahm's Waltz, Opus 39. I'd actually been hearing it as I walked around the floor earlier, but was puzzled as to why it was repeatedly - and abruptly - starting and stopping. Upon entering the room, I found myself in a small corridor that featured a second, more ornate and beautifully decorated door to the left. As I gripped the handle of this door, the music became louder. I pushed the door open. 

Two pianists were seated at a grand piano, performing the Brahms. The catch? As soon as the door opened, they stopped playing, hands folded in their laps, and simultaneously turned to stare at me - expressionless, but with just a hint of disdain. I did what other people would probably do in that situation: laughed nervously, nearly apologized, and hastily retreated, closing the door behind me. Of course, the second the door closed, the music began again. I laughed, suddenly understanding that the joke was on me. I opened the door again. This time, I was braver, and walked into the room. I looked at the music over their shoulders and wondered what would happen if I played a line, an octave higher. They sat motionless and continued to stare at the music. I laughed again to myself and finally left the room for good, causing the music to begin again.

I've never experienced an exhibition that so actively engaged with the individual and was incredibly disturbed, delighted, and thrilled by "One on One". I doubt it'll be brought to London, but if you happen to be in Berlin in the next few weeks, I highly, highly recommend a visit to the gallery.

Berlin: Where (And What!) We Ate

So, I think you know me well enough to know that I'm fanatical about food. Always. What's a trip away without the obligatory food photos? And poor John. In each case, he waited patiently for me to take a photo and fiddle with my phone before even being allowed to take a bite. I'm awful.

Here are the highlights:

Kaisersaal Cafe 

We found this beautiful cafe while wandering around the Sony Center in Potsdamer Platz on Saturday morning. In search of a hearty, German breakfast that would keep us going in the -8 degree Celsius weather (which sliced right through my fleece-lined tights, btw) we stepped into the opulent surroundings of Kaisersaal, which was (unbeknownst to us at the time) originally part of the famous Hotel Esplanade where Kaiser Wihelm II hosted parties and the likes of Charlie Chaplin stayed. Virtually destroyed by the bombings in World War II, the Kaisersaal and breakfast hall were all that remained intact, and have now been incorporated into the Sony Center.

We were served by the most charming German waiter, who claimed that John's our German was so "gut", he assumed we were German and didn't need English menus. Obvs.

Anyway, we had this:

... which consisted of a selection of warm breads, cold meats, and cheeses, along with the most delicious scrambled eggs and chives I've ever had. The cafe was also empty (the center became busier as the morning progressed), so we had a lovely corner seat all to ourselves. Our energy-filled breakfast lasted us until the afternoon and I'm still thinking of the warm, freshly baked rolls above.

Lutter & Wegner

I'd been told before the trip that I had to have dinner at Lutter & Wegner on Charlottenstrasse as its reputation for being one of Berlin's oldest and most traditional German restaurants was truly one to experience. The restaurant's environment is relaxed, yet distinguished, and the guests dining there certainly dressed the part (minus one awesome guy with a huge, unruly beard and size XXL-tie-dyed t-shirt). Although the menu changes (for example, the current menu shown on the website isn't the same as the one we had), the choices are traditional: everything from currywurst to, of course, Wiener schnitzel, is on the cards.

I had a delicious ox dish in horseradish sauce with potatoes and swede, while stealing sips from John's crisp glass of Riesling (Lutter & Wegner's own):

And John had a very famous dish (so famous that the restaurant won first place in the [insert name of dish] championships), that I just can't remember the name of. The food had a real home-style taste to it: hearty and comforting. Perfect for a cold, winter's night but not over the top or overdone. I'm sure there are plenty of nice places to eat out in Berlin, but for that evening, we had both wanted to try something traditional and authentic.

Bar 3

Afterward, just to offset my guidebook restaurant choices for the day, John found us an ultra-cool (i.e. one that made Hackney hipsters look like the wannabes they are) bar for a nightcap - or, as he put it - one where "real Berliners hang out" called, Bar 3 (or "Bar Drei", if you're a "real Berliner"). With its dimly lit surroundings, beer served in slim, tonic glasses and chain-smoking, turtleneck-wearing, 30-something clientele, Bar 3 was clearly the place to be on a Saturday night. The barman (in vintage Nikes, natch) doubled as a DJ and we were lucky enough to find a seat to perch on before the room became too crowded. The only downside was that everything I owned (including my hair), reeked of smoke when we left. But at least we were in with the cool kids. And that's probably all that mattered at that moment.

G. Buchwald Bakery

I grew up eating apple cake and kartoffelsalat (potato salad) from our local German bakery in Washington. When the restaurant closed down, I was devastated. So when we practically fell into Buchwald after a hunger-building power walk through Tiergarten on Sunday morning and asked for "fruestueck" (sorry, I'm too lazy to do umlauts right now), the lady behind the counter gesticulated to the cakes and replied, in German, that only cakes and sweets were available - I nearly kissed her. For there, nearly center stage in the display, was the most glorious offering of apple cake that I have ever seen. And oh, was it divine. Who cares that we were having cake for breakfast?! The apples were soft, tart, cold, and juicy, carefully layered between a perfectly baked base and crumbly, iced top. John and I also shared a piece of the cherry cake and Baumkuchen - a dark-chocolate covered, layered cake baked over an open flame (it looks even more incredible than it sounds, believe me), which the family-owned bakery has been making for over 150 years.

While we were eating, a man came in and selected around fifteen slices of different cakes - some covered in fruits as exotic as dragon fruit, and others topped with white, milk, and dark chocolate. I can't even begin to imagine what birthday cakes are like in Germany!

We were absolutely spoiled by all the amazing food we had in Berlin (especially the cakes!). I can't wait to go back and try other places too.

A Surprise Trip to Berlin

So, it's John's 30th birthday today (happy birthday, John!) and, as a surprise, I organized a weekend away to Berlin. Here we are enjoying a pre-flight meal at Cafe Rouge (it was the best that Gatwick could offer, unfortunately) while watching planes prepare for takeoff.

It was an amazing trip: Berlin is possibly the coolest city I've ever been to, in every sense of the word. At one point, I said to John that I could totally move there - and I meant it. It's like all the cool parts of London featured in one, centralized area - but with friendlier people and terrific architecture.

Stay tuned to find out more about what/where we ate and what we saw!

Dream-cation For My Parents: A Luxury Stay At Le Bristol Paris

As I get older, I'm finding it increasingly rewarding to give my parents gifts that I think they'll really love. After years of spoiling me rotten, I really want to return the favor - as much as I can afford to. For his birthday a few weeks ago, I bought my dad an iPad because I knew he'd been secretly wanting one ever since he got me one last year (and also because I thought that FaceTime would be a great way for me to stay in touch with my parents more often). For Christmas, my mom received a Jo Malone fragrance collection that she'd had her eye on for a while.

My parents are world travelers; they instilled in me a love for traveling, trying different cuisines, and exploring other cultures at a very early age. My dad, especially, has a penchant for France. He loves the culture, the food, the wine - I'm sure if he was fluent in the language, he'd have no hesitation of retiring there. As an architect, the buildings of Europe provide hours of sketch-book opportunities and endless exclaims of wonder and amazement from my dad. I took him to Paris a few years ago for a quick, weekend stay, and I'll never forget the moment he walked into the courtyard of the Louvre: I thought he was going to have a heart-attack! He stood, stock-still, in front of I.M. Pei's magnificent glass pyramid entrance and said, in a semi-choked voice, "I think I need a moment alone." Afterward, we ate freshly baked croissants in front of the Notre Dame. Those memories bring me both joy and tears.

I also have great memories of the quaint B&B I booked for us near Blenheim Palace in Oxford. Not only did the hotel's back door lead immediately to one of the palace ground's gates, the room we stayed in was called "Churchill", much to the delight of my British history-obsessed father. We had tea in town, where I showed him my favorite spots as a student, and took the Oxford Tube bus back to London. He sat at the front of the bus and stared out the window the entire journey back, like a small child, watching the English countryside whiz by. There comes a point in everyone's life, I think, when you become an adult, and you begin to view your parents as equals or - as I observed my dad that day - almost childlike. And those moments of revelation are the moments that make me really sad, because I feel like time is slipping away.

So, this morning, I'm dreaming of gifting a stay at Le Bristol Hotel in Paris to my mom and dad. This may never happen, as one night's stay in the lowest price room costs about as much as one month's rent for me, but still, I can dream - right? John recently stayed there on business and gushed that it was "the nicest hotel I've ever been in".  (If it looks familiar, that's because its panoramic suite was used as a backdrop for Woody Allen's Midnight in Paris. Yup. That one.) With beautiful views of Paris from atop private terraces and sumptuously decorated rooms, Le Bristol is where my parents deserve to stay. If my publishing salary can stretch, I may save up for it this year.

Tea and Cake at The Deptford Project

Yesterday, John and I celebrated our eight-year anniversary by going house hunting. On our way back from Greenwich, we stopped in for some tea and cake at this cafe, housed in a disused 1960's South East train carriage and part of The Deptford Project in South East London.

Here's the inside:

And a shot from above of our cake and dominoes game:

Sadly, the cake was dire (the icing seemed to be made entirely of cream cheese and hardly any icing sugar, and the cake itself was gooey and stodgy), but the staff was friendly and the cafe itself seemed like a terrific place to spend a couple of hours reading, sitting, and chatting away.

And though I found my dream home (which would set us back, oh, about a cool £2m) in Greenwich proper (on a street named "Royal Hill" no less) I can see why places like New Cross, Deptford, and Peckham would be authentically "cool" places to live - without the try-hard aspect that Dalston and much of East London seem to have.

Meanwhile, if there's a generous benefactor out there who would like to help me out with that house on Royal Hill ... you know where to reach me.

Snow Day

So, it snowed about ... oh, half an inch, maybe? And, of course, all of Britain freaked out. All planes were grounded, people were falling over everywhere, headlines splashed the front pages saying things like, "CHAOS ACROSS BRITAIN" and "STRANDED ON THE M4 [freeway] AND LEFT TO DIE". Okay, maybe I made up that last one, but seriously - these people have never experienced an East Coast winter. We used to have two or three feet of snow at Mount Holyoke and I'd pray for my classes to be cancelled, only to be repeatedly told that everything would be running as usual and all assignments would be expected on time. Sigh. I would have cried, but I think I tried that once and my tears nearly froze on my face. L. L. Bean got a lot of business from me my first year.

Watching the snow flurries from work (above) was a real treat, however. Snow tends to make everything prettier - even if it's just a light dusting. Like icing sugar.

London Art Fair + Dinner at Masala Zone = Winning Combination

Yesterday, my co-worker gave me her private view tickets to the London Art Fair, which I've always wanted to go to. It takes place every year at the Business Design Centre in Islington, which is super convenient for us, since it means a quick bus ride home (hey, I'm selfish on weeknights like that). Featuring over 100 galleries, many of whom I recognized from working in illustrated art publishing, the fair showcased 20th-century modern and contemporary British art in an open "gallery" setting (as pictured above). Even though it was exceptionally crowded when we arrived at 6:30, it was still lovely to be able to dip in and out of each gallery with a glass of champagne (for John) or Macallan whisky (for me - I know, I know) in hand.

I didn't know if photos were allowed and thought that artists and gallery owners would be sensitive to this (though I saw lots of people snapping photos on their phones), but one of the first pieces I happened upon was this gorgeous installment:

If I had a few spare thousand pounds and a large white wall in my non-existent swanky, £2.5 million+ London home to spare, I'd definitely shell out a few pounds for this beautiful, vibrant painting. Unfortunately, I didn't catch the artist's name, so am not able to credit him/her properly here, though would be happy to if someone reading this knows.

Having said that, when I do own my own home (which I hope will be soon!), I would love to spend my money on original artwork for my walls. It's unique, special, and so meaningful to have. In fact, I was particularly taken by Alexander Korzer-Robinson, who makes book sculptures out of old, discarded encyclopedias:

 Not only does his work represent the many dreams of my childhood, but I love the statement behind his craft (which can be read on his website I linked to above). The 2D photos don't do it justice and I've just discovered that he also sells hand cut prints, which are totally affordable at around £100-195. That's what I'll be saving up for on my next payday. 

After browsing the fair for a good hour or two, it was time to search for some food and we headed up Upper Street without much enthusiasm for the myriad of restaurants available to us before hitting Masala Zone, which - despite it being a chain - I'd never tried before.

 

But OMG, it was DELICIOUS. I ordered the "Regular Thali", which includes your choice of one curry, a poppadom, dal, two chutneys, sag aloo, a potato dish, AND rice. Whew! I'm not sure how John coped with the "Grand Thali", because I felt super full after mine (but that didn't stop me from running for the bus later). The service was possibly the friendliest I've ever had in London chain (not known for smiles around here) and it was just a really fun place to be. Now I think I might be addicted.

I went to bed last night with Alexander Korzer-Robinson's books swirling around in my dreams and my stomach threatening to burst, but just felt so lucky to be living in such a culturally vibrant city.