Ómós Digest #103: Berlin highs and lows
By Cúán Greene
Hello all,
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This week, we’re taking you to Berlin, where Cúán collaborated with Ora Restaurant. In this article, we’re talking white plate revolution. We introduce you to the joys of Spaghetteis, and highlight a new farm-to-table concept. Amidst all this, we delve into less joyous subjects like the increasing poverty issues in Berlin and (maybe not) further afield.
A platonic appreciation
For those infatuated with ceramics, the thought of white plates is a daunting prospect. White crockery has long represented a utilitarian and cost-effective method of serving food, hailed only by catering supply stores. It offers a sturdy, inoffensive, albeit uninspiring platform to adorn food. The high-volume hospitality go-to might simply be considered the brassicas of the Delph world: reluctantly chosen when margins are low with many mouths to feed. However, when London institution St John began serving pared-back dishes on the so-called “caterer’s” plate, a newfound appreciation was found. Perhaps both the brassicas and indeed white plates have been misunderstood. Suddenly with a new mindset instilled, quickly the ‘boring white’ became a perfect blank canvas for the restaurant's bold, flavour-driven cooking. Inevitably, the rest of London soon followed suit. The plates began to define a style of unapologetic, produce-focused cooking. The relegated cabbage was reintroduced and we were all given a gallant re-education about how delicious in fact it is - as long as it was cooked in butter, of course
A fortnight ago, I found myself in Berlin, cooking at a restaurant whose canvas was indeed the white plate. At Ora, the chef, an old friend from Ireland, who alongside a whole cohort of young and upcoming chefs, was beginning to shake up the city's dining scene. With the above in mind, I took Sam Kindillon’s cooking as an interpretation of what St John had begun, with additional finesse attributed to years of cooking in Copenhagen. I was excited to collaborate with him despite the anxiety in the back of my mind that my style was perhaps too process driven, often the form of dishes treated with equal importance to flavour. Nevertheless, together we created a menu that was in keeping with Ora and respectively Sam’s cooking style, brushed lightly with the ethos of Ómós.
Words can only grope clumsily at the experience of actually being in Berlin. Arriving at Warschauer straße, we’re immediately reminded of the enormity of the city. My last experience was over 10 years ago, and back then all I could afford in a sit-in restaurant was half a schnitzel. The majority of my meals were of the handheld kind: Doner, Currywurst, or Spaghettieis. The latter is an entirely German creation whereby ice cream is extruded from an attachment with a multitude of holes, causing the ice cream to nestle itself in the awaiting vessel, taking the form of pasta. Draped with strawberry sauce and a scattering of either coconut or white chocolate shavings, the dessert could fool even the most discerning of pasta connoisseurs. It's an act of comedic genius really.
Despite being heavily interested in food in my early 20s, much like Dublin, Berlin wasn't much of a culinary destination in the 2000’s and needless to say, we hadn’t come for the food. Sure I’d heard of Tim Raue, but considering I couldn't afford a bread-crumbed veal cutlet, there was little hope I was going to be dining at a 2 Michelin restaurant. Plus he’s meant to be a total asshole… But while TR's reputation has not changed today, Berlin’s casual to fine dining restaurant scene has - drastically. There is a whole cohort of young inspiring talent, truly defining their own style. Restaurants like Nobelhart & Schmutzig,