Exploring the best of Berlin's growing Jewish food scene

Clockwise from top left: chocolate babka from Fine Bagels, assorted smoked fish from Rogacki, The Mogg pastrami on rye and lamb stew with chickpeas

While the portions at Mogg are known to be generous, I wasn’t prepared for just how generous they would be. If I’d stacked the two half-sandwiches, stuffed thick with beautiful pink pastrami, one on top of the other, they would have been as big as my head. And this was their ‘small’ option. The pastrami was warm and marbled with fat, the mustard was just sharp enough to cut the richness of the meat, and the salad-and-pickle was perfect for tiny nibbles. That meal filled my stomach, satisfied my soul, but unfortunately left no room for their equally famous matzo ball soup.

I ask Fleischhacker what’s led to the growing popularity of Jewish food all over the world. “It’s fatty and salty, I think that helps,” she laughs. But, she also points out that the deli style of service is convenient. “Even if you’re not going there for a five-hour meal, you can sit there, have someone take care of you, and have a warm soup on a cold day. It’s a little bit of comfort. Or if you want to pop in, get a sandwich, and pop out again, you can also do that.”

Then there’s the fact that Jewish cuisine has grown in popularity across the US, and the US in turn wields considerable influence on popular global culture. “The fact that Germans look at ‘deli’, which is a German word ‘deli’,” she emphasises, “and see it as American, whereas technically it came from Europe, is bonkers.” It was Ashkenazi Jewish food that originated in Eastern Europe, and then travelled from Poland to America, where it became the popular deli food that we know of today, before taking a circuitous route to Berlin.

But deli food is certainly not the only type of Jewish cuisine in the city. Restaurant Pasternak, named after Russian author Boris Pasternak, is a charming, old-school eatery that’s located at the corner of Knaackstrasse, fairly close to Synagogue Rykestrasse, Germany’s largest synagogue. The establishment serves Russo-Jewish food, and features a seasonal menu that extends from the traditional Russian borscht and soljanka, to Jewish specialities like kreplach dumplings, pargit steak and latkes. It also happens to be one of the few places in Berlin where you can actually get the famed Jewish fish dumplings or gefilte fish. There are also dishes with both Israeli and Sephardic influences, like the adafina—a thick stew with chickpeas and meat, often lamb. They also do a range of vodka cocktails that are just right when the weather’s turned cold, and very helpful when it comes to washing down their sweet almond curd and raspberry blinis.

Pasternak serves Russo-Jewish food

There is another reason for the massive rise in Jewish cuisine in Berlin. The city has always attracted youngsters from around the world, who’ve been drawn to its vibrant art, music and culture scene. And that young population includes a number of people from Israel. Add to that the fact that chef Yotam Ottolenghi and his recipes have become increasingly famous over the past decade—Levantine food is definitely trendy now. “The fact that Ottolenghi became so popular definitely plays into people wanting to make hummus at home,” Fleischhacker says. “In the early 2000s, when we wanted to make hummus at home, we could only get chickpea canisters of a kilogramme or so, and that too from specialty shops. Whereas now Rewe [a German supermarket chain] has cans of chickpeas. So things are changing quite quickly.”

 But it isn’t just chickpeas that you can find at most supermarkets in Berlin; you’re almost certain to find tubs of hummus as well. However, if you are not hankering after store-bought hummus, Berlin’s got you covered. Kanaan, started by Oz Ben David, an Israeli entrepreneur, and Jalil Dabit, a restaurateur from Palestine, claims to serve “the best hummus in town”. The Prenzlauer Berg restaurant that serves vegetarian and vegan food has become massively popular over the five years that it’s been open. Go there for a weekend brunch of an assortment of salads and dips, eggless omelettes, and shakshuka. Or stop by for dinner with food of both Israeli and Palestinian origins. There’s stuffed pine leaves, several hummus options, and even a twist on the Berlin currywurst, complete with a vegan sausage.

And where Kanaan is every inch a reflection of Berlin’s hipster vibe, Rogacki is an establishment that takes you back in time. Located in the more upmarket Charlottenberg area, it is a humongous delicatessen that first opened its doors in 1928. It isn’t Jewish per say, but as Fleischhacker explains, “It has so many foods that overlap with Jewish cuisine.” Today, it’s considered something of a West Berlin institution, also put on the map by the considerable praise Anthony Bourdain, the late American celebrity chef and author, once heaped on it. While the front of the store has a section of wine, cheese, meat, and charcuterie, the true treasures await in the large hall at the back. Rockagi’s speciality is the smoked eel and fish that are made there, in its capacious smoke rooms, every single day. But there are endless other options: Soused herring or matjes, cod fillets, pikeperch, lobster, prawns (many places that serve Jewish food in Berlin are not strictly kosher), oyster, head cheese or sülze… the list goes on.

In the centre is an area where you can stand and eat what you’ve ordered from the cafeteria-style counters that line the room. And looking at the people in the centre of that room, I realised that Rogacki caters to as wide a variety of people as the food it has on offer. It doesn’t just cater to the older Berliner, who leaves with a bag of meat and fish for to cook up a feast at home. It isn’t appealing only to the individual who stands there washing down oysters with some white wine. And it isn’t just a stop for the hungry office-goer who has nipped over for a quick, fuss-free lunch of fried plaice or scholle fish with potatoes. Nor is it a place that draws the attention of just camera-toting tourists.

Instead, right there, is a metaphor for Berlin itself. A big, cosmopolitan melting pot. And it also reminds me of the way food brings different people together. The way the smell of cooking can often stir in us a longing. And the way that meals you’ve never had, but only read of in books and watched on television, can cause a lifelong hunger that might someday be satiated.