Cheese is the best thing there is, unless you’re lactose intolerant. I thought I was, at least until very lately, but it turned out to be an imaginary intolerance. Actually, it was a severe case of media brainwash, thus called by my physician, but that’s a totally different story. Anyway, as I said, cheese is the best thing there is. Especially this one, imported from Burgundy, France, by my parents who came back yesterday, served tonight for dinner with baguette and some other fine stuff and, most importantly, with a (actually, two and a half) bottle of Maranges, a very fine Burgundy wine, with a nice aroma of almost overly ripe cherries to lighten the almost overly creamy heaviness of that wonderful cheese. A cheese, of which my parents couldn’t recall the name, otherwise I would have told you, please believe me!
In December of 1980, I ate my very first merguez on a Christmas market in Baden-Baden. I still remember it strangely well, for some reasons I can still recall that very unusual taste, although it looked almost like a German Bratwurst, it tasted nothing like it. First of all, it’s lamb, and then are Arabian spices in it that in these years weren’t too common; actually, if Baden-Baden wasn’t so close to the French border and hadn’t been such a worldly place since the 1800s due to its casino, merguez wouldn’t have been on a German Christmas market menu, trust you me, no chance, none whatsoever. Today, however, you get them everywhere. Even at Aldi, Germany’s cheapest of supermarkets. Times do change, and sometimes even for the better. And so does my routine: instead of the hummus I usually serve merguez with, I had them with homemade ratatouille today. Really good a combination.
It just so happened that some days ago, when temperatures were still a little higher, I felt like pasta for lunch but didn’t have much time to prepare a complicated sauce, you know that kind of Bolognese that needs a day or two to develop all of its aroma or that sauce that Sophia Petrillo from the Golden Girls starts cooking days in advance and that therefore needs a very special occasion. This day’s lunch, however, was no special occasion at all, nor had it been a special day, I was just hungry and so I improvised and made a cold sauce from freshly cubed tomatoes, olive oil from Sicily, and lots of basil. It looked so yummy though that I thought I should immediately post it on Instagram. Now, that freshly invented sauce of mine needed a name. As it consisted of the two main ingredients of Insalata Caprese, apart from the third one, namely mozzarella, I named my dish Spaghetti Caprese. Of course, shortly after I had posted my lunch, some guy on Instagram would correct me and tell me that Italians called it Spaghetti alla Litigata. Quite humiliating, don’t you think? One is so proud of one’s pasta, done on a whim, just like that, from the hip and ever so yummy, and then one is outed as a Non-Italian!
Fall is near, autumn, too. Even cappuccino cups remind us ever so ostentatiously that summer will soon be over; way too soon, if you ask me. Summer, however, fights back big time; the moment, I took this photo, temperatures resembled the ones of a heatwave, 32 degrees Celsius. But, alas, we cannot be fooled, can we?
Green. I’ve said it before and I say it again, Berlin is very green. Trees everywhere, offering lots of shade and making the urban air somewhat breathable. If I were in charge, meaning if I were either God or Donald Trump, cars would be forbidden altogether. Except maybe for Aston Martins, Bentleys, and la déesse. But that’s a completely different story. Anyway, on a hot summer’s day, Berlin’s trees provide enough shade for strollers and flaneurs to survive global warming, its architecture offers some diversion, and in the same spirit, its restaurants are contributing some nice sunshades to dine under.
When you live in Berlin, you’re far better off than when living in Zurich. Zurich has just one lake, not even a very big one, whereas Berlin has lots of lakes, just lots. One of the biggest, if not the biggest, but I’m not one to compare, is the Wannsee. It’s really close to the city while giving you the impression of being far off anything remotely architectural (I feel transferred to Finland at times), if it weren’t for the Funkturm, Berlin’s iconic radio tower. That tower’s height of 368 metres, Germany’s heighest building, just doesn’t allow it to disappear in the skyline, and helps keeping your feet on the (ever so urban) ground. There are many places to go to on this very ground, but Wannseeterrassen offers the best view with your happy hour drink or your Caesar’s Salad or whatever you’re having. Anyway, I can assure you won’t ever regret coming here at sunset, when the light turns everything incredibly beautiful, romantic and just, well, stunning. Even Rusty couldn’t take his eyes off of that lake… it’s just too good to be true…
We’ve been enjoying a wonderful summer this year, I must say, lots of hot days to be peacefully spent in our garden, having an equal lot of cold drinks with another lot of ice cubes in’em, who can abide a lukewarm gin and tonic, I ask you, and finally, lots and lots of roses to marvel at, smell, and fall in love with. I’m quite passionate about them, I guess you’ll see why, in all the forty-two pictures I’m going to share now…