Alle I Manged

Frankfurt-Berlin

Arrived at Frankfurt-Main central station for the first time, witnessing a ‘European Conservative’ image of nu-Western capitals - any reading about the scene here hadn’t been sufficient or scintillating so I didn’t expect to have a riotous time - some quiet supermarket müller and fritz-kola, and maybe a couple of fast-food outings (better versions of things you might find in England but not necessarily better than in Scotland). A döner and a jianbing at miscellaneous places around town were good enough at a sub 10 euro mark, but the first exciting thing happened when taking a tram from West to East and out the windows I saw the storefronts on Münchener Str. - Kabul Restaurant! Lahore Kebap Haus! Ghormeh and Gheymeh! Anjappar! and suddenly - a spooky alleyway that promised sheeryakh, the hand-churned Afghan ice cream that gained some note in London last month due to a Ruby Tandoh/Vittles listicle that declared WataniBox’s version the best ice cream in London.

I can’t say I know much about Afghan culture - maybe more than absolutely nothing, based on a teenage reading of that one book for a GCSE; a quick study of its role in the Cold War; and watching the beautifully Cannes-approved Orphanage.

I ate some chapli and Bukhari rice as a child being whisked around Bur Dubai and the depths of Sharjah - in the shadows of a grandfather intimately well-versed on the broader subcontinent, but I think this contributed more towards a generalized kebab-cuisine appreciation than any knowledge of regional cuisines. And I don’t think I knew what a karahi was until I came to the UK - the same for a jalfrezi, vindaloo, dopiaza, gosht, saag allooo… anyway. I wrote about another ‘Ariana 2’ here for Eater a while ago.

The alley proved to disappoint but we were pointed in the direction of Ariana - quickly sat down, and ordered some mainstream hits of Pathan cuisine - kabuli pulaow, mantoo, the smallest order of kebab possible (1 stick actually), and some bamiyah under the guise of health. And of course a ‘medium’ sheeryakh, out of 3 options that started at medium (tall is small…).

Mantoo and pulaow

In rapid succession came the okra, the dumplings, rice and then the kebab - I’m not sure if any aushak was on the menu (a mantoo variation where the mince is piled on top of the dumplings rather than stuffed inside), but that along with some borani banjan could also be ordered next time. Pulaow with a slightly too large lamb-shank had more cardamom than I’ve experienced in this dish before - but with the right amount of muttony grease, julienned carrots, and raisins - the elaichi bites were more welcomed than irritating. Mantis had a keema filling that reminded me of something I would have at home with a parotta or roti - minus the peas, which I kind of hate, and the heartburn that comes with eating spiced meat wrapped with white dough toasted in ghee. The lentil and cream designs on the plate held everything together - and I dipped the pieces of lamb kebab in it as well. The single skewer dripped fat onto a piece of naan when lifted from its plate - all the lamb fat in and around the dishes gave the whole meal a meaty umaminess. Enough of all this - we had to move onto the dessert we came for. Ayran was downed - I got up to take a photo of this:

Has anyone been to a CZN in the last 3 years?

The calm gaze of an authoritative man presided over Ariana - and floated above the skinny sheeryakh churner, not exactly Sam Bagshi.

Lots of fake flowers

Just as the medium came - a brawl broke out on the street, perhaps people in different fonts arguing over the origins of something. Sitting inside with huge windows open - the cool Frankfurt air on the left and the scent and heat of the grill on the back and right created a comfortable atmosphere, the skirmish seemed to quickly resolve. The ice cream looked more like a mastic-heavy scoop of festok than the sheeryakh I had a few weeks ago - which looked like an unfriendly softy covered in pistachio glaze, sitting on top of a smashed piece of baklava.

Watanibox pop-up at Bake Street

Should have got an x-large ffs

The petal goblet held a kulfi-redolent scoop that was solid on top and liquid at the bottom - not sure if it was rapidly melting from the heat of the restaurant, or some cream and pistachio granules were poured into the cup before the scoop was plopped on top. It was a great finishing flourish to a wonderful meal - well-textured, with the taste and mouthfeel of a Desi LOTTE Coolish - a sprinkling of toasted vermicelli or something parallel to the croissant crisp at Bake St would have made this sublime.

Berlin

A lightning stop in Berlin after several years - and I went to a couple of places I remember from before - Five Elephants was actually nothing special, and neither was Bonanza.

At Khartoum Sudanesischer Imbiss - a place I’ve went to once before and maybe recommended a dozen times to various people, I had a plate of falafel, halloumi, fried carrots, grilled chicken, a piece of khubz, lettuce, pickled cabbage - tied together with a seasamy-peanutty sauce that reminds one of a less chunky satay sauce - more like one you’d find on a gado-gado. The big homely appeal of places like Khartoum, that Nile Valley always had, that I said Orient Xpress Kitchen has for example, and anywhere run by someone familial and God-fearing - they make you feel welcome by letting you ask for whatever you want. I asked for a plate of these ingredients and waited outside with a honeydew pop, and waited to see what would come out.

Sudan special

I sat in the bright sun and looked at the trains passing by - and realised that what makes these European cities, Japan, and certain stills and reels of Hong Kong and San Francisco look so cutesy and pleasant is the sight of above-ground trains moving somewhat slowly.

At night we went to Berlin’s Edgeware Road - getting off at Hermannplatz off the U7/U8 and walked down an Arab-barrio covered in more Palestinian flags than a single Ukranian one. Dead singing legends aplenty.

Bektoub ismak….ya Neükolln

Enta konditorei?

Many choices of kunafeh spots, halawat el-jibns, arabisches eis and baklawa, shawarma spits the size of small tornadoes, miscellaneous kebaberies, and a supposedly famous broasted chicken spot which didn’t seem to command as much loyalty as Best Broasted.

Aldimashqi - the ostensibly tarbooshed Syrian spot. Really dislike the word ‘fleisch’

Sharwama was a mallet-sized belter reminding me of Amman-style - wrapped tightly and pressed - better than the RISA platter which was an insipid variety of fried chickens.

Fez-tivus…

Walking down the neglected streets looking at salons, shisha spots, travel agencies and money exchanges - Karama/Edgeware/Park Royal all mish-mashed.

The Kunafeh King in the background was on IG/TikTok live displaying his dessert wizardry - something I’d watch I think.

Mastic ice cream slices and slices of Nablusi - some suleimani would have hit the spot.

Quiet luxury nuts a bit excessive

Wacker’s Coffee - which I don’t have any pictures of, seems to be the local Algerian. Lots of out-of-towners like us grabbing novelty French biscuits and various rare and common bean varieties. Beautiful storefront, store, and packaging. Better this than the elephants and bonanzas. A short walk away the Kleinmarkethalle is also a powerful stroll.

Crocs…

Haha