The Institution of Brunch

Sundays in Berlin, ah how wonderful. Every week it was a hungover day full of food and trodding around in my little 19€ sneakers, trying so hard to beat that foggy feeling in my head. Berliners are serious about brunch, honestly, it's an institution. They know where they like to go and how much it costs and how late they serve brunch till-- which is a very important thing, since if you've been out clubbing until 6, you aren't going to be waking up before 1. Unless your pounding headache wakes you up. So we'd meet at Malzkafe (right near the Kulturbrauerei, I never knew the street name cause I didn't need to) or Frieda Kahlo (up on Helmholtzplatz) if we felt like spending a bit more, and I'd quickly start to lament the lack of the bottomless cup of coffee in Europe. We'd charge the buffet and eat lots of cheese and croissants, and be glad that we made it to brunch before 3, when most places stopped serving it. Then we'd slowly make our way to the flohmarkt (fleamarket) and wander around Mauerpark, at times sunny, at times full of puddles, at times both. The Mauerpark flohmarkt was always a mix of nice food stalls & expensive vintage purses (the gentrification of Prenzlberg, our former neighborhood, has certainly made it to the flohmarkt), loud Turks selling 2 shirts for a euro (the true Berlin), and a mishmash of languages (what Berlin is becoming). After a few hours there, I'd probably succumb to the allure of a slice or two from Solopizza (Danzigerstrasse, of course) and throw in a complaint about how nothing was open on Sundays. Or maybe not, because Sundays sort of benefitted from this ritual of nothing else to do except down coffee and wander around in leggings and my cheap little sneakers.

sun & a puddle.

- Rosemary