Sick of schnitzel? Try something a little different
You’re never more than a few paces away from a good Schweinshaxe in Munich. But what if you’re after a change from the Bavarian classics? We checked out two more avant-garde eateries.
You may get the impression Bardales doesn’t quite know what it is. Its heart, according to owners Cecilia Bardales and Katharina Kubsch, beats to the rhythm of South America—which is a nice way of saying, “go easy on those images of poncho-clad waiters with big moustaches, serving up terracotta platefuls of all-you-can-eat empanadas, because that’s not really what we’re about.” Indeed, the food, as the proprietors are keen to stress, is far from monocultural. Though dishes are based on South American flavors, they are adapted to give them an international twist. The atmosphere, too, is rather non-descript. There are no panpipes wailing away in the background and not a cactus within sight. The artwork at the time of our visit, in fact, almost looked more Asian than Argentine and the leather armchairs in one corner more Cuban than Chilean. To top it all, when the bar at Blutenburgstrasse 2 opened a few years ago, Bardales and Kubsch claimed not to have a target audience—a strategy that prompted ridicule from gastro journalists, who predicted an early death for the venture: “How can they possibly succeed when they don’t even know who they’re aiming at?” Yet, somehow, they are succeeding. And what may sound like a random mish-mash of tastes and ideas comes across as a simple, genuine and timeless concept. In fact, I like this place a lot. I like the fact that it serves a fabulous Bombay Crushed cocktail—a heady mix of Bombay Sapphire Gin and crushed kumquats. I like the fact that the menu has a relatively small selection of dishes—always be wary of places that boast seemingly never-ending menus, as it is logistically impossible for small kitchens to prepare them all fresh. And I like the fact that the service is professional and friendly. And that’s to say nothing of the food itself. I’ve eaten there twice and on both occasions have been impressed by the quality of the individual ingredients, the care that has quite obviously gone into preparation and the successful and interesting combinations of textures and flavors. This is fresh, exciting stuff at honest prices. Try it—and feel your taste buds samba with delight.
Never mind samba—I felt like I’d been tangoed after a meal at what is allegedly one of “Munich’s most talked-about restaurants.” Much as the soldiers standing guard at Buckingham Palace are forbidden from smiling or laughing as tourists taunt them, the waiting staff at Essneun (Hans-Sachs-Strasse 9) appear immune to the incredulous sniggers of diners faced with some farcical culinary concoctions. Honestly, I did begin to wonder if I was on candid camera as they explained the menu, as if it were the most normal thing in the world to stuff a fish with Wrigleys breath fresheners, let alone recommend a wine to go with it!
Ah, the menu. A challenge in itself. Not only is the handwriting almost illegible, but even if you could read the thing and had a perfect command of German, you’d still struggle to know what you were ordering as the combinations of ingredients are so out of this world that it would never occur to you that the people who thought this up might actually be serious…
As an amuse-guele, we were presented with a plate of what appeared to be phallic-looking giant red and black spears of asparagus with a jar of baby food and two mini milkshakes. The asparagus turned out to be beetroot and squid grissini, the baby food was a sweet peach and celeriac dip and the milkshakes were salty mango drinks. The idea of an amuse-guele is to excite the palate and raise anticipation of what’s to come—and, in between tears of laughter, we began to wonder what we’d let ourselves in for. The mains arrived—cheeks of veal wrapped in tonka fish with an artichoke and amaretti ravioli, and wild boar roulade with a fig and dragon fish salad. I can’t say it was easy on the tastebuds—although the individual parts were well cooked, there were a lot of flavors and they didn’t really complement each other. The creative highlight, however, was the dessert. A slice of tart, with a chocolate crust and a red-pepper jelly was set on a ramekin dish of papaya chutney surrounded by a rosemary soup. On the edge of the bowl was a silver spoon filled with white powder. It was at this point that our consistently helpful waiter came unstuck with his English. “It’s Bräusepulver,” he said. Ah. Fizzy powder, I replied. “Yes, fizzy powder,” he repeated, straight-faced as ever. The idea was that we sprinkle this fizzy powder (you know, the sort German children dissolve in water for a sparkling drink) in the soup and eat it with the tart. The only blessing was that this artificial powder was so sweet it masked the taste of the cold, wobbly red pepper jelly. Try as we may, we couldn’t bring ourselves to finish it, a fact that had not gone unnoticed by the ever-attentive staff, who offered us coffee followed by an espresso-based cocktail on the house.
All in all, it was a pricey (€ 100 for two) but unique culinary experience. I’m still not sure whether we were simply at the mercy of an over-zealous chef, desperate to make himself a name—any name—on what is a tough gastro scene, or whether we were in fact victims of a calculated ploy—perhaps the whole venture is a clever swipe at Munich wannabes who’ll pay through the nose for something, just because it’s “the thing to do.”
Would I return? Never say never. The décor is very groovy—white leather seats, pink lights, little nooks, mirrors—almost as if you’ve been thrown into an Austin Powers movie. The service was some of the best I have experienced. And, as for the food, well, it certainly makes a change from schnitzel.
