Discover all that the Berlin food scene has to offer, from bakeries to famous eateries. We recommend our top restaurants, street food and quick bites.
All recommendations have been reviewed and approved as of the publish date and will be checked periodically. If you think there is any incorrect or out of date information in this guide please e-mail us at goodfoodwebsite@immediate.co.uk Berlin is booming. To add to its deep-rooted creative culture, the German capital is now one of the world’s leading start-up hubs, with a thriving tech industry that’s attracted thousands of new global businesses to the city. Recent immigration has swelled Berlin’s population further, with a large Syrian demographic joining more well established Turkish and Vietnamese communities. The resulting impact of this new international culture on Berlin’s food scene has been dramatic; with scores of new restaurants offering a taste of new cultures and cuisines, there’s never been a better time to eat out. Treat your tastebuds by following this expert guide of the top restaurants and then check out our other helpful guides in our travel hub. We have guides for other cities, such as Paris, Edinburgh, Sheffield and Belfast. Best restaurants in Berlin at a glance Kin Dee Nobelhart & Schmutzig Frea Madame Ngo Panama Markthalle Neun Glut & Späne Il Pane di Sironi Big Stuff Smoked BBQ Kumpel & Keule Heidenpeters Lode & Stijn Cordobar Kanaan Store Kitchen Tulus Lotrek Einsunternull Zur Letzen Insanz Rogacki Kin Dee Combining two of Berlin’s biggest trends, fine dining and Thai food, Kin Dee might just be the city’s best restaurant. Chef Dalad Khambu takes flavours from her native Bangkok and locally sourced ingredients to create striking modern Thai dishes that pack a punch. Highlights from the menu include clams with house-made chilli paste and a sweet green curry with beef and aubergine. Tasting menu 79 euros per person. Nobelhart & Schmutzig This is Billy Wagner’s love letter to Berlin, with dishes made exclusively with produce from the capital and its surrounding areas – you’ll find no tuna, lemon, or even pepper on the menu here. Seated around a kitchen counter, the 10-course tasting menu is served directly by the chefs, and features crisp potato latkes with apple sauce, and venison tartare with red cabbage. Tasting menu 175 euros. Frea As the first zero-waste vegan restaurant, Frea has taken the city by storm with its menu of simple dishes made with local ingredients, including fresh pasta, pickles and sourdough, as well as kombucha and hazelnut milk made in-house. Any leftovers are converted into a soil substitute. Three course menu is 55 euros. Madame Ngo With one of the largest Vietnamese communities outside of Vietnam, Berlin is not short of restaurants peddling pho and banh mi. Standing out from the crowd is Madame Ngo, a smart destination in West Berlin from one of the city’s most successful restaurateurs Duc Ngo, also behind such hits as Cocolo Ramen and Kuchi. A big varied menu includes some French influences, but it’s the steaming bowls of pho made with the best German beef that are the real draw. Pho from 13 euros. Panama Set in a converted warehouse, this space is full of modern artworks and colourful tropical details. Head Chef Sophia Rudolph’s menu is as eclectic as the design, with a vegan version of tacos al pastor made with mushrooms; a seabass ceviche with cucumber and avocado; and curried cauliflower with cured egg yolk and soured cream. Mains from £25. Other top spots Streetfood It’s Markthalle Neun in the arty Kreuzberg district that has provided the launchpad for many of the new openings in Berlin. Every Thursday evening, it hosts a street-food market, everything from Thai tapioca dumplings to British pies, and – as everywhere – the progression from market stall to bricks-and-mortar is a tried and tested one. Try home-smoked fish from Glut & Späne; glorious focaccia, farinata (chickpea-flour pancakes) and Italian breads from Il Pane di Sironi; and pork belly, brisket from>Big Stuff Smoked BBQ. Butcher Kumpel & Keule not only sells the handsome looking cuts of meat, but it will grill it to order for eating at one of the market’s many tables. Perfect with beer from maverick craft brewer Heidenpeters who are creating massive waves with their defiantly non-traditional approach to brewing. The market’s most recent alumni are to be found not far away: two young Dutch guys who made waves with a series of pop-ups. Now they have their own Lode & Stijn; owners/chefs are Lode van Zuylen and sommelier Stijn Remi. Hyper-local food Just a few yards from Checkpoint Charlie, find the remarkable Nobelhart & Schmutzig. No photographs are allowed, so both the striking interior and the edgy, hyper-local food – they even avoid lemons, black pepper and chocolate – come with a frisson of surprise. There are blades of chicory, grown in the dark so it tastes almost like pear, laden with salty, delicate coral-coloured roe; ‘old dairy cow’ from Schorfheide served raw, with wafers of raw, pickled potato; an incredible potato soup poured into a bowl lined with black pudding, shot through with some sinus-clearing mustard. Cordobar, near seedy Oranienstrasse, is equally dedicated to off-piste wines, but is more up for a party; Fat udon noodles ‘tantan’ – or dandan, featuring minced, spiced raw beef and coleslaw – shouldn’t work, but emphatically does. Pizza comes with black pudding, feta and wasabi. It may sound ludicrous, but it’s done with such a sure hand that it’s never less than delicious. Vegetarian food Find Kanaan, a snackbar in Prenzlauer Berg, where Jalil Dabit and Oz Ben David create hymns to hummus and shakshuka. As for their malawach, served ‘sabich’ style with grilled aubergine and egg – anyone who accuses vegetarians of being hair-shirted need only take one giant bite of this buttery, flaky bread, the stuffing spilling deliciously messily: sheerest luxury. A different kind of vegetable-based luxury is in store at the Berlin outpost of swanky members’ club Soho House in a landmark Bauhaus building – with a shady history – on the corner of Torstraße. At Store Kitchen Tommy Tannock and Johnnie Collins are stirring up something of a buzz. Not only do they offer a regularly changing, and intriguing menu of mostly vegetarian food, but also place lots of emphasis on smoking, pickling and fermenting. High-end dining Art and beauty also suffuse delicious, bijou Tulus Lotrek. In a beautiful old townhouse apartment in Kreuzkölln, partners Ilona Scholl and Maximilian Strohe have created something quite enchanting. The cooking is ambitious, frequently out-there – pairing lobster with pear, mushroom and horseradish is a risk that quite comprehensively pays off. Dishes appear restrained, but Max’s mantra of ‘pure indulgence’ shines through every mouthful and he plays fast and loose with the storecupboard of Asia. At Einsunternull, the mantra is locality and a parade of sublime wines. Dishes are plated like Japanese artworks, even humble ingredients such as button mushrooms are turned into things of paper-thin sophistication with toasted hazelnut purée. A chunk of intense beef spare rib, just rosy, comes with a pool of sticky, black, slow-cooked celery root. This is no place for a Bunterish blowout, but for those drawn to the intrinsic beauty of food, it’s unmissable. Old school German specialities Discover the city’s oldest restaurant, wood-panelled Zur Letzen Insanz, and its giant ham knuckles. Or Rogacki, a vast, eccentric food hall in a dusty corner of Charlottenburg, a palace of deli food forever frozen in time. How to do it: Norwegian flies twice-daily, except Saturdays, between London Gatwick and Berlin Schönefeld Airport. Fares start from £80.60 one way at norwegian.com. Rooms at Blue Home are from €110. For more information on Berlin’s sights, tours and events, visit visitberlin.de. Enjoy this? Check out more of our helpful foodie guides The best restaurants to eat in Exeter The best restaurants to eat in Cambridge The best restaurants to eat in Liverpool The best restaurants to eat in Bath The best restaurants to eat in Chester Do you have any favourite Berlin food hot spots? Let us know in the comments below... Travellers are advised to read the FCO travel advice at gov.uk/foreign-travel-advice for the country they are travelling to. Flights for this trip were provided by Norwegian; accommodation by visitberlin.de.
This compact city, set on the Bay of Biscay on France’s Atlantic coast, packs an astonishing array of stunning places to eat and drink into a small area
Travellers are advised to read the FCO travel advice at gov.uk/foreign-travel-advice for the country they are travelling to. All recommendations have been reviewed and approved as of the 01 February 2017 and will be checked and updated annually. If you think there is any incorrect or out of date information in this guide please email us at goodfoodwebsite@immediate.co.uk. Bistros, bars & brasseries If any small city in the UK was blessed with as many restaurants as La Rochelle, it would become a place of fevered foodie pilgrimage. Here, streets bristle with bistro after bistro, brasseries, bars and many, many seafood specialists. The locals deal with this bounty with a small so-what shrug: why wouldn’t we? But for us Brits, it would be as though Watford suddenly sprouted as many places to eat out as central London. We’re staying at the traditionally comfortable Hotel Champlain, perfect for exploring the ancient, porticoed streets. How to choose from La Ville Blanche’s riches? There’s everything from Michelin stars to converted boats selling fried seafood by the waterfront. The most heavily populated restaurant area, by the Vieux Port, is dominated by two imposing medieval towers, Tour Saint-Nicholas and Tour de la Chaîne. Quayside seafood Of the three quaysides, two appear to be entirely dedicated to eating and drinking. As is rue St Jean du Pérot, where we’re seduced by the famous Ernest le Glacier. We wallow in caramel ice cream spiked with local salt while watching the nautical life. The beloved André is a kitsch Disneyland of a fish restaurant (if they can drape it with nets, anchors and glass oats, they will), but a bit more our speed, across the inlet on rue Saint-Nicolas, is cool little cooperative restaurant Prao. With its brick walls and beardy barman, it’s the nearest La Rochelle gets to hipster. There’s no microwave, no freezer: they pride themselves on their freshness and locality (sadly, no longer a given in provincial France): we love our black pudding ‘samoussa’ with ‘black butter’ made from vastly reduced apple, and massive, garlicky sausages from a local farm glazed with their own barbecue sauce. Unusually, they also do a splendid Sunday brunch. They have a gift shop and deli down the road for those essential sea salt caramels and records. Why not? Local insider intel leads us to La Suite, whose chef, Johan Leclerre, is one of the ‘Meilleur Ouvriers de France’ (Best Craftsman of France). But, with its nightclubby champagne bar, snooty staff and tendency to over-accessorise – I’m not sure that foie gras really needs a balsamic glaze and discs of Chioggia beetroot – it’s not really our kind of place. In a teeny and exquisite square off rue Saint-Nicolas is lovely little La Solette Cour du Temple (11 rue de la Fourche), which benefits – as most places do when off the beaten track – from a very local clientele. We eat tartare and a croustillant de chèvre (goat’s cheese tart) under the trees. Then, rather than having dessert, we find ourselves repairing to Le Panier de Crabes next door (owned by the same people) for a spankingly fresh platter of fruits de mer. These sweet little neighbours provide my favourite La Rochelle lunch. Local highlights Rue Saint-Nicolas is also home to the ancient, semi-legendary La Guignette, where supremely saturnine men serve bottles of the eponymous liquor, as neon-bright and sugary as any alcopop. ‘What’s in it?’ I ask one. ‘Wine and fruit,’ he grunts. Hmm. It only opens for a few hours so I’m not sure why they’re so grumpy, but it adds to the enchanting vintage atmosphere. The streets of the old town are lined with shops selling everything from designer clothes to kitchen goods (we nearly acquire a meat slicer in the very well-stocked Culinarion but resist when I realise a) the price, and b) that it wouldn’t fit in our luggage. A stroll brings us to the mandatory Place du Marché. I had almost dismissed a visit to the inevitable town market on the grounds that, well, when you’ve seen one... How foolish of me – this one is an absolute beauty. A historic marché des halles is open daily for racks of oozing cheeses; piled-up rainbows of soft fruits; fougasses, baguettes and paniers from the bread stalls; and saucissons en croûte, salads, stuffed tomatoes, cheesy baked aubergines and pâtés. And, of course, oysters: we choose from the vast number on offer at Roumégous and take them to La Verre et L’Assiette to down with a glass of Entre-Deux-Mers amid the market’s bustle. This is our sharpener before heading to one of the many informal little bistros that fringe the market. Our choice – based only on the fusty cuteness of the interior – is L’Alcazar Café (aka Bistro du Marché, 8 rue Gambetta) where we have rough, meaty terrine studded with pistachios and glorious homemade chips with a rosy fillet mignon in cider sauce. For nightcaps, we wind up each evening in the buzzy, bar-lined piazza Cour du Temple. At Les Mauvais Garçons, like the titular naughty boys, we down shooters on the student-rammed terrace. My husband pines for artisan beer from L’Académie de la Bière across the way, but sometimes it’s fun to pretend to be down with the yoof. He gets his fix later at hip Captain Houblon, with its stock of more than 150 different types of artisan and micro-brewery beers. It’s hard not to fall a little bit in love with this compact, attractive city. But of course, one of La Rochelle’s top draws is the bridge over to the Ile de Ré, a tiny island that’s the distillation of everyone’s French fantasies, a necklace of towns linked by beaches and cycle routes that look as though they’ve been designed by Elle Decor. We go, with what appears to be an island’s-worth of wealthy incomers, to O Parloir. It’s the sort of place I imagine does well on TripAdvisor, but its swankiness seems to be missing the shabby-chic point of the island. Truly beautiful garden, though, and the mouclade Charentaise (local mussels in a light, creamy curry sauce) is a wonderful evocation of the sea. I also like the duck parmentier (a sort of shepherd’s pie), its mash pierced by a crisp bacon wand. Le Tout du Cru, a little gingham-draped raw bar in an atmospheric alleyway behind the main drag, enchants us. With fine crusty bread and sweet butter, we slurp oyster after oyster and a rather fine, nutty jamón Ibérico de bellota. Later – much, much later – we head for the deliciously raucous and Le Vieux Port booze-fuelled Le Bistro du Marin with what seems to be every stylish boat owner in the area, for Kir Royales and steak tartare. Oh, and more oysters – why the hell not? When in Charente-Maritime... The ‘5A’ andouillettes de Troyes (sausages made with pork and intestines) – which we can smell before it leaves the kitchen – well, they can keep that particularly delicacy. For a France that often seems hard to find in these homogenous, globalised, McDonald’s days, this corner of the country is pleasingly preserved in aspic. Gourmet aspic, of course. For more information, visit tourism La Charente Maritime Accommodation and assistance for this feature, was provided by La Charente Maritime, and Hotel Champlain. Is there anything we've missed or anything you want to hear more about? Let us know in the comments below...
Discover haute cuisine, farmhouse kitchens and an abundance of local produce in Austrian Tyrol, with Good Food's travel writer Marina O'Loughlin
Up above the clouds, dominated by the gasp-inducing peak of Wilder Kaiser, Angerer Alm (angereralm.at), the first stop on our adventure in the Austrian Tyrol, is – a word I rarely use – unique. Owner Annemarie Foidl fell in love with this enchanting 200-year-old wooden Alpine ‘hut’ aged just 19, and has been dedicated to it ever since. But even visitors have to be dedicated: for one thing, it’s only reachable by ‘gondola’ cable car (there is a road, but it’s private and snowed under in winter). For another, if you turn up expecting international luxury, you’re likely to be somewhat taken aback – it hasn’t evolved that much over the years. There’s no point expecting room service or spas. In fact, there’s no point even expecting an en suite. But who cares when the place casts a powerful spell? Never mind the view, which takes the breath away from even the most jaded of travellers – there’s a thunderstorm over the Kitzbüheler Horn while we’re there and I can’t even begin to describe the drama. There’s Annemarie herself, who, in addition to running the place in her beautiful dirndl outfits, is also president of the Austrian Sommeliers Association. Her atmospheric tasting cellar is home to more than 6,000 vinous treasures, from a Madeira dating from 1795 to an Austrian pink fizz, S’Uhudler, that tastes bizarrely like wild strawberries. Delicious local produce Dinner, served in the wood-panelled dining room, all traditional wood-burning stove and cute little carved chairs, delivers more amazement. Annemarie’s daughter, Katharina, and partner, Gerald Weiss, are in the kitchen; this family affair belies the sophistication of what turns up during our no-choice dinner. From almost translucent slices of local venison, with rowan berry and herbed cream (all foraged from nearby forests) to the berkäse, modestly named ‘mountain cheese’ with the fine personality of a Beaufort or Comté, it’s wave after wave of pleasure. I adore cheese dumplings, bathed in brown butter and scattered with colourful, edible blooms, and the local mountain pork from Brixentaler, a majestic animal, its cheek and fillet served with crisped polenta in a wine-rich sauce. Matched wines are as spectacular as the views. After a breakfast of homemade bread, smoky ham and preserves, made from mountain berries, we head off down the mountain to the pretty little ski town of Kirchberg in Tirol and the Hotel Rosengarten (rosengarten-taxacher.com), a study in restrained chic after our Alpine wonderland. Owner and hugely garlanded chef Simon Taxacher took over part of his parents’ hotel and transformed it from a traditional inn to this calm beauty with its two restaurants, luxurious rooms and views over the emerald hills. It’s the perfect base for exploring our surroundings, each tiny village with its own gasthaus or wirt (tavern or pub). The Tyrolean food is magnificently single-minded: hearty, rib-sticking and – frequently, as in the case of speckknödel (bacon dumplings) – an alluring celebration of stodge. Yes, there’s a time and a place for stodge, and thousands of feet above sea level is one of them. It’s visiting the 250-year-old farmhouse Gasthof Ruetzenhof (ruetzenhof.at) where we first realise that people here are happy to wear pretty much full national dress without a shade of irony. I find myself pining for a pair of lederhosen while eating chewy black bread thick with butter topped with smoky speck followed by our first schnitzel of the trip: glorious. The food may be simple, but most of the produce comes from their own farm – you can taste the integrity. After a long walk round precipitous, staggeringly beautiful mountain trails at what seems like the top of the world, our new chum, Patrizia – who doubles as a ski instructor, guide and also works in the Rosengarten’s spa – takes us to Gasthof Melkalm Kitzbühel (gasthof-melkalm.at), in almost weep-makingly beautiful surroundings. Is it the astonishing location that adds extra savour to our dense speckknödel on their bed of sauerkraut and my vast rösti heaped with wild mushrooms? Or my first experience of strange, herbal fizzy drink Almdudler? I don’t know, but I love them all. Reimagining Tyrolean classics Very, very different is Restaurant Simon Taxacher (restaurant.rosengartentaxacher.com). In this luxuriously paredback room we have a thrill ride equal to any temple of haute cuisine anywhere. From the champagne trolley with its fresh oysters, to the flurry of tiny ‘texture’ dishes that bookend the meal, Taxacher’s skill and invention are dizzying. He uses Tyrolean traditions and produce as the launching point for bravura creativity. The constituents of dumpling reinvented as something ethereal and witty: a light-as-air cracker topped with shards of speck. Each dish will deliver a surprise or three – tiny, impossibly delicate pasta parcels of navettes with ‘asparagus lettuce’, lardo & apricot; pale ale with sultry local eel & apple; a perfect disc of wobbly bone marrow topped with caviar accompanying folds of wagyu beef scattered with a powder of its own frozen fat; a sprig of succulent water herb or fragrance of pine or rare Japanese berry. Bread looks like conventional sourdough, but is made from fermented potato scented with foraged mountain oregano. Three hours pass in a blur of discovery, but despite the obvious technique and exploration of culinary boundaries, dishes never lose sight of the need to be delicious – even a gilded chocolate petit four spiked with crispy chicken skin. The whole thing is supremely elegant, innovative and accomplished. Michelin stopped its stars for Austria outside the main cities in 2009. Simon Taxacher formerly had two, every scintilla of which was richly deserved. He’s unbowed by the loss, his four ‘toques’ from Gault Millau proudly displayed in the kitchen. The Rosengarten may be sophisticated, but it’s still very much a family affair: his parents and sister all work in the hotel, and Taxacher’s partner, the charming Sandra Kobald, is the ultimate hostess. Apple strudel and beer cheese Outside the blindingly snow-white winter season, everything round here is vivid green, every cuckoo-clock house foaming with flowers, every slope of mountain populated with contented-looking cows tinkling their bells. It’s little wonder the dairy produce is so exquisite: each farm makes its own version of berkäse, and a trip to dramatically located Kasplatzl (kasplatzl.at), a working farm open to anyone, is a blast, not least for our introduction to its vaulted cheese room, honking deliciously from its many cheeses in varying stages of ageing. On certain days, they cook vast vats of käsespätzle (like a gooey mac & cheese made with tiny dumplings) and barbecued sausages. I fall in love with their ambrosial blueberry mustard. The dairy produce makes for wonderful ice cream too – deliciously counterintuitive in a part of the world known for its snow. Back in town, we fall into a huge apple strudel blowsy with thick cream, and a vast sundae with a gravy boat of hot bilberries at local favourite Konditorei Lorenzoni (cafe-lorenzoni.at). I have a curious habit of going to ski destinations without the slightest intention of putting on skis. The surroundings are so breathtaking, the produce so fresh and delicious, the food so intensely comforting, why should skiers get all the fun? Kitzbühel is the chic-est skiing destination round these parts, and I love sitting on the terrace of the classic Huber Bräu (huberbraeu.at) in the candycoloured main street with its shops of designer trachten (national costume), eating roast potatoes rich with black pudding, and ‘beer cheese’, watching the jet-setting world go by. We make a pilgrimage to butcher and deli Metzgerei Huber (huber-metzger.at), with its gleaming counters groaning with a universe of sausages and cured meats (our suitcases are predictably fragrant as a result). We have enormous fun jumping in the cable car to the legendary Hochkitzbühel bei Tomschy (beitomschy.at) with its awe-inspiring panoramic terrace, where we have the area’s beloved kaiserschmarrn: a thick, chopped-up pancake dredged with icing sugar and served with stewed plums. I guess the rest of the guests will be skiing off all the calories, but not us: we shamefacedly slope back to the cable car that’s virtually attached to the restaurant. Our final meal is back at the Rosengarten, for its bistro Rosengarten Light. It may be less formal and starry, but the food is every bit as exquisite – even kalbsrahmbeuschel mit grießknödel, which turns out to be veal lungs and heart with a semolina dumpling in rich, riesling-spiked cream sauce. It’s an extraordinary feat to make a delicate grammelschmalz – rendered pork fat studded with crisp shards of crackling – but they manage it, and it’s gorgeous. Their schnitzel is featherdown-light and the wines with each course as sprightly as a ski-jumper. Despite the dumplings, despite virtually bathing in luscious Austrian wines, despite a determination to eat all the berkäse, the clean, sweet air and life-enhancing views of the area have an unexpected effect on me. Without even hitting any of the region’s many spas, this part of the Austrian Tyrol has made me feel thoroughly spring-cleaned. Who needs skis to thrill to this ravishing part of the world? All you need is an appetite. How to do it: Marina stayed at Angerer Alm in St Johann in Tirol (angereralm.at) and Hotel Rosengarten in Kirchberg (rosengarten-taxacher.com/en). What are your favourite wintry Austrian hotspots? Let us know in the comments below... All recommendations have been reviewed and approved as of the 01 December 2016 and will be checked and updated anually. If you think there is any incorrect or out of date information in this guide please e-mail us at goodfoodwebsite@bbc.com. Travellers are advised to read the FCO travel advice for the country they are travelling to.
Marina O'Loughlin explores the finest food in the Etna region of Sicily, including fresh lemons, homegrown pistachios and acorn-fed pork.
Travellers are advised to read the FCO travel advice at gov.uk/foreign-travel-advice for the country they are travelling to. If you think there is any incorrect or out-of-date information in this guide please email us at goodfoodwebsite@immediate.co.uk. It’s impossible to escape Mount Etna’s majestic, lowering presence on Sicily, the volcano’s smoke-puffing peak looming into view around every corner. The ancient little towns that cling to its slopes look slightly charred, the low-slung buildings coated with a light lacquering of sooty dust. The churches are made from volcanic stone, dark and brooding. But the fire-breathing mountain makes its presence felt in other, less melodramatic ways. The volcanic soil is almost miraculous – everything seems to grow bigger, sweeter, more packed with flavour than anywhere else. The grounds of our temporary home, the ravishing Rocca delle Tre Contrade, sprout groves of fat lemons, vegetable and herb patches, and fruit trees as far as the eye can see. G&Ts feature lemons plucked moments ago. The villa’s produce turns up at the table too: forest fruits for breakfast, freshly podded peas and garlands of herbs at dinner. This meticulously restored piece of Sicilian history is usually booked by larger groups, but we’re lucky enough to have it – and its breathtaking infinity pool – to ourselves. Our hosts, Jon Moslet and Marco Scire, are thoroughly immersed in the region’s culinary traditions: they’re installing a cookery school in the building’s lower floors, due to play host to a number of big-name chefs. And they’re determined to show us the best butchers, and where to buy the finest fish: at their suggestion we make a pilgrimage to nearby Riposto to watch the fishermen unload their catch of velvety red prawns, tuna, sardines, swordfish and local exotica I can’t put a name to, straight onto the market’s marble slabs. Or where to find the most delicious arancini stuffed with pistachios in the unassuming Nuovo Caffè al Portico (+39 347 554 0535) in Carruba. They organise an outing to the Nebrodi Mountains, a national park. The landscape starts to change dramatically – stark monochromes of rock and silver birch, glittering veins of petrified lava – as does the weather; it feels more like Scotland. The woodland is alive with wild ingredients, including fiddlehead ferns, wild garlic, berries, lampascioni (an edible wild hyacinth bulb) and cardoons. With Sicilian humour, there’s something called cosce di vecchia – old lady’s thighs – because the leaves are wrinkled and hairy. Lunch for our band of hungry foragers is a bit special. In the rather functional-looking Hotel Mazzurco in Cesarò (+39 095 773 2129), just where the mountains proper begin, chef and son of the house Gianluca Barbagallo – who has one of the Three Little Pigs tattooed on his arm – serves up a feast: own-made salumi, including the beloved Sicilian gelatina, lemon-scented pork jelly studded with piggy bits. A whole acorn-fed Nebrodi baby pig, slow-roasted in a woodburning oven, is exquisite: the skin lacquered into a caramel crisp, the meat succulent and fragrant with garlic and wild fennel. There’s a salad of sweet ruby blood oranges, more fennel and wrinkly black olives to counteract the opulence, tangles of prized sparacogna (a bitter wild asparagus) and potatoes layered with olive oil and rosemary. The pork is every bit as glorious as its celebrated Iberian cousin. For a brief foray away from the mountainside, we head for Taormina, long the chic destination for film stars and millionaires, thanks to its ravishing location and yearly film festival. You can imagine bumping into La Loren round one of its steep, cobbled corners. Instead we find Tischi Toschi; recommended to me by Yotam Ottolenghi, a tiny little joint down a hidden alleyway. We sit outside, thrilling to the powerfully Sicilian flavours: wild fennel ‘meatballs’ – meat-free polpette – topped with fennel seed, tiny dark raisins and pine nuts. Handmade carob tagliatelle dressed with sardines and toasted breadcrumbs; ‘slow food’ sheep’s cheese, maiorchino. A cocktail on the terrace of the super-swish Belmond Grand Hotel Timeo with its gasp-making view is the perfect sundowner, but I’m pining to get back to Etna. We drive through Bronte, otherwise undistinguished, but the source of those preternaturally delicious pistachios, which turn up in everything from cannoli to fabulously intricate pasticcerie, to plates of pasta dressed with a pesto of the nuts – just about my favourite pasta dish ever. Caffetteria Luca is the Mecca for everything pistachio: we land on a public holiday and the atmosphere is of barely contained mayhem, musclebound dandies jostling with novice nuns for a taste of their delicacies: elaborate, glistening cakes, cassata, whipped mounds of authentically grey-green gelato. Back at Rocca delle Tre Contrade, a special dinner delivers a virtuoso showcase of the region’s bounties. Peas from the garden whizzed into a velvety soup crowned with crisply fried calamari; ricci – sea urchins – to be scooped out of their spiny shells, singing of ripe peach and the sea; a series of local fish served raw and translucent, dressed simply with oil, pepper and tiny slivers of tarocco (blood orange), including the famous red Sicilian prawns of almost candied sweetness; homemade spaghetti, fat and gorgeously al dente, into which the fragrant flesh of those ricci has been emulsified; a semifreddo of local pistachio. It’s as good as any food I’ve ever eaten in Italy. No exploration of Etna would be complete without mention of its extraordinary viniculture. Volcanic soil, obscure indigenous grape varieties, high altitudes and pre-phylloxera vineyards make it a place of pilgrimage for wine nerds – and me. The wineries range from little more than shacks to large, glossy outfits. At Pietradolce, we stand outside an old hut above the ancient vines, some planted in the shape of amphitheatres, tasting their rare Vigna Barbagalli, all jammy red berries and spice. Glugging back the wines where they’re actually grown is something of a primeval pleasure. At the other end of the scale is Barone di Villagrande, the region’s oldest winery. Run by the latest generation of the noble Nicolosi Asmundo family, it is stunningly beautiful. We’re shown round the cool, fragrant, ageing cellars, the bustling wine production rooms, to end up in the restaurant, a shady, geranium-lined bower overlooking the vines. Each course is accompanied by one of their wines – a frisky, perfumed Etna Rosato the colour of a blush; the harmonious, fruity Etna Rosso. We eat hand-rolled trofie dressed with a pistachio cream and strips of cured Nebrodi ham; foraged wild vegetables stuffed into teeny pizzette Siciliani; a velvety purée of artichoke; and more of the pork, slow-cooked and scented with lavender. Little almondy cakes are served with their opulent malvasia, a sweet ‘passito’ wine made from sundried grapes. We learn that the estate sends its homegrown beans to feed the donkey farm next door, and in return receives its manure to boost the growth of the vines – a lovely piece of co-dependence. Our route home takes us via Pasticceria Russo in dusty little Santa Venerina, a confectioner and café that retains the elaborate Belle Époque fittings from when it was a pharmacy. It’s a typically Italian collision of exuberance and austerity: the dour little salon contrasting with the bustling bar where locals shoot dark, fierce little coffees and sweet, lemony iced sponges, tortine paradiso (the inspiration for the Kinder cake of the same name). In the shop, the elderly owner pulls out glazed drawers to let us choose from a riot of fruit made from marzipan: prickly pears (bastardi) to perfectly formed chestnuts and figs. The beautiful vintage packaging, unchanged from the café’s early days, is reason enough to visit. The little place leaves a powerful impression. Much as wonderful, wild Etna does. How to do it Marina stayed at Rocca delle Tre Contrade, which sleeps up to 24 people (smaller villas are available) – book exclusively through The Thinking Traveller. Specialising in an insider knowledge of the area, The Thinking Traveller can organise food trips and cooking classes. Any Sicilian hotspots you think should be featured? Let us know in the comments below.
Do you make your kids sandwiches with sourdough and forage for your food? If the answer is yes you might just be an extreme foodie...
One thing is for sure, there’s never been a better time for us to fuel our obsessions. Restaurants in the UK are better today than they’ve ever been – as The Guardian’s (anonymous) restaurant critic, I’m lucky enough to be able to scour the country for the good stuff, and there’s a lot of it out there. Once, venturing beyond the big cities meant menus pockmarked with the offerings of mass caterers; today, more and more independents are not only cooking everything from scratch, but baking their own bread, fermenting their own pickles and curing their own charcuterie. On the home front, keen cooks are also basking in a golden age. We can take advantage of supermarkets stocking anything from arak to za’atar as a matter of course, and the high streets brim with independent food stores, delis and coffee shops. Formerly stodgy old Britain is now a food lover’s paradise. Are you an extreme foodie? How many of the below extreme foodie traits apply to you? Let us know in the comments below. 1. You’d never ever call yourself a foodie (shudder) but for some strange reason, there isn’t a better word to describe you. Foodist or foodista are no better – and foodie seems to just stick like treacle. Our kingdom for anyone who can come up with an alternative (let us know in the comments below). 2. You're perfectly happy to walk a mile to the place that roasts its own Tanzanian coffee beans. Anyway, you're wearing your Fitbit/Jawbone/whatever fitness tracker - it gives you goals and makes you feel better about the fact that you're going to add a single-estate chocolate brownies to your coffee purchase: a not-too-hot flat white with perfectly tempered milk. 3. The fishmonger knows you by name and calls you when razor clams are at their peak. You have kindly introduced him to the concept of ageing fish, just as you do beef, to his secret amusement. But you have the last laugh as you cut into the firm creamy flesh of a Kentish sole that has dry-matured for a week. 4. Your children’s packed lunches regularly feature your own-mothered sourdough. That sourdough mother has a name. And gets more attention than the cat. 5. An increasing passion for kitchen kit is threatening your marital harmony. 6. No-reservation restaurants hold zero appeal – the idea of missing out on dinner is way too painful. But you have no problem with standing in line at a streetfood stall, particularly for the Mexican one that makes its own pico de gallo and mole poblano. 7. You don’t need to Google pico de gallo or mole poblano. 8. Three years ago you switched from drinking vodka to collecting gin… your current favourites are made by two local enthusiasts on their kitchen table, or are imported from Austin, Texas or Portland, Oregon. 9. Gin and tonic? Pfft. Gin is for making shrub cocktails with your homemade sipping vinegar, a habit you picked up in the Napa Valley. You are SO over Aperol Spritz. 10. You care about what’s happening in the food world, but diet fads? No thanks. To you that’s the domain of yoga pants-wearing Instagrammers who don’t eat anything, unless it has been processed to oblivion in a Nutribullet. 11. Nutribullets are for making nuanced spice pastes for your exquisite Thai Massaman curries. And the two-blade attachment is wonderful for freshly roasted coffee beans. 12. Your lust list includes a state-of-the-art oven/coffee maker/Thermomix. You’d rather have a wall-sized fridge freezer with all the attachments than a performance car. 13. You plan to open your own charcuterie or artisan sourdough bakery business as soon as you possibly can. You can’t imagine anything more fulfilling than a life built around food. 14. Gardens are not for flower beds or shrubberies, but for ranks of your own vegetable plots, fruit trees and rows of aromatic herbs. You have built your own outdoor wood-fired oven and BBQ – on which you only ever use off-cuts from your grape vine, cherry or fig tree, or fragrant woods such as beech or apple – and a couple of smokers. Why a couple? One for meat, one for fish, obviously. 15. Pig’s ears, trotters, brawn, haggis, lights, you name it, you’ll eat it. You were devastated when those ‘black pudding is the new superfood’ headlines turned out to be a hoax. 16. You eat your sushi with your fingers, as this is how they showed you in Tokyo’s Tsukiji market, the one where you inadvertently ate the cod sperm. Delicious. 17. Pickling? Tick. Fermenting? Tick. Foraging? Tick. You’ve found a ripe seam of ceps while out on your foraging jaunts and you’re not telling anyone about it. They’ll have to prise the location out of your cold dead hand. 18. You have taken several butchery courses, and own a set of your own tools. Your knives are more precious than your jewellery. 19. You know your cider house txuleton from your 18-year-old Galician ex-milker. And you’re obsessed with ‘super-aged’ meat – up to 120 days at the likes of the Lake Road Kitchen in Cumbria. Do you consider yourself a foodie? Share your love of grub with us in the comments below...
Scandinavia is the hot foodie destination right now, and Oslo is the rising star. Marina O'Loughlin travels to Norway to find the best places to eat, from ultra-modern Michelin-starred restaurants to cutting-edge fusion food.
Travellers are advised to read the FCO travel advice at gov.uk/foreign-travel-advice for the country they are travelling to. All recommendations have been reviewed and approved as of 1 August 2016 and will be checked and updated annually. If you think there is any incorrect or out-of-date information in this guide, please email us at goodfoodwebsite@immediate.co.uk. This is the most visually perfect thing: a deep bowl full of velvet-crimson rose petals, on top of which is what turns out to be onion fermented into unexpected sweetness, studded with fresh cow’s milk yogurt and dusted with dehydrated, crystallised rose powder that glitters like mica. This is the curtain-raiser for an unforgettable meal, 21 courses of innovative food from Esben Holmboe Bang’s team in Oslo’s Maaemo – just awarded the full three stars from Messieurs Michelin. The accolades are unsurprising: Maaemo’s food defines the word stellar. Whether it’s a tiny snack of chicken skin topped with langoustines’ claws and brain meat (honestly, delicious) dotted with delicate dried flowers, or northern reindeer scattered with lichen in a moody pool of juniper berries, it’s a thrilling distillation of Norway on the plate. There are more staff than customers in this extraordinary Bjørvika restaurant – also home to the eye-popping Opera House: walk up it, right onto the roof, to build up an appetite. This is a meal I’ll remember for years to come. "The one name on every insider’s lips is Pjoltergeist, a dark, loud space in a former Hells Angels bar in Fredensborg." Maaemo may be the most luminous star in town, but Oslo is heaving with exciting places to eat. From the glittering, fjord-facing promontory of Aker Brygge, where every second striking building houses restaurants, art galleries or chic design hotels, to ancient Gamlebyen and grungy Grønland, it’s impossible to go hungry. There are restaurants and cafés at every turn. The one name on every insider’s lips is Pjoltergeist, a dark, loud space in a former Hells Angels bar in Fredensborg. We turn up with Oslo foodie celebrity Andreas Viestad, who orders up a meal shimmering with Nordic produce, Icelandic traditions (chef Atli Mar Yngvason is from Iceland), Japanese flavours, Korean spicing and recherché wines, natural and biodynamic. Apparently, this rackety little joint is a favourite hangout for chefs post-service, and I can see why: the creativity is feverish. Takoyaki – gooey, Japanese streetfood-style octopus balls – arrive with shavings of katsuobushi (bonito flakes) trembling in the heat; whalemeat sashimi (don’t panic, it’s sustainable minke whale, its purple meat in a pungent, sesame-rich dressing; the fluffiest homemade bao buns with langoustine claws – all astonishing). There’s tartare of just-charred horsemeat, cloaked in a creamy sauce of bleak fish roe. One outrageous dish – richest butter and cream-laced potato purée soaked in truffley chicken jus, studded with potato crisps, crisped chicken skin and vast amounts of black Périgord truffle – is something I would happily die eating. Pjoltergeist is a rock-and-roll roller coaster of a restaurant, and I love it. "The air is perfumed by the signature dish, a huge shoulder of lamb served family-style under a bush of burning rosemary." In addition to being a food evangelist, both on TV and in print (his book Kitchen of Light is essential reading for fans of Nordic cuisine), Andreas co-owns what he describes with supreme understatement as ‘a little bistro’ in pretty Bislett. Why is the restaurant called St Lars? The bustling, atmospheric room delivers the answer: St Lawrence was martyred over flaming coals, and the house motto is: ‘If it can be grilled, it will be grilled.’ The air is perfumed by the signature dish, a huge shoulder of lamb served family-style under a bush of burning rosemary. From the ‘snouts and ears’ – crisp puffs of piggy extremities – through a tartare of rich horsemeat with lichen (again!), the meal is butch, uncompromising and delicious. And, dear lord, the chips that arrive with a massive, fire-crusted entrecôte steak and Béarnaise: triple-fried Norwegian almond potatoes laced with whole, unpeeled cloves of garlic for squeezing on top –bliss. St Lars is wonderfully Norwegian, an edgy adventure. Oslo excels at cutting-edge cocktails. At Himkok, they distil their own spirits – vodka, aquavit, seemingly a gazillion iterations of gin in beautiful, vintage-style bottles. And Fuglen, just behind the National Gallery, where old and new – adventurous Scandinavian cocktail ingredients served in a perfectly preserved Modernist interior – meet so successfully that they now have a branch in Tokyo. (And you can buy the 20th-century Modern furnishings.) They also sell their own coffee, and coffee is big in Oslo: Tim Wendelboe is world famous, but the smart money is on Java, in St Hanshaugen. This is a wonderful little foodie strip: neighbours include a lavishly stocked deli Gutta på Haugen: truffle fries, yes please; and Smalhans (smalhans.no), the nearest democratic Oslo gets to hipsterdom. Brick walls, funky artwork, organic, local food. I love the beetroot hummus, a wonderful cultural mash-up of eggs with kimchi, tortilla chips and broccoli guacamole; and cinnamon buns with lemon curd ice cream. Yes, there are beards and tattoos, but there’s none of the attitude. Another newly dynamic neighbourhood is Vulkan, in the heart of the city’s super-cool, formerly industrial Grünerløkka district. The street art here alone makes it worth the trip, but for the avid foodie there’s treasure upon treasure. Bang in the middle is the Mathallen food hall, rammed with stalls: Basque pintxos to French duck confit to Norwegian seafood. Anni’s Pølsemakeri is where to come to fill suitcases with pungent Norwegian sausages and cured meats. Like me, Norwegians love sausages. Our only slight failure is when we attempt to do a ‘lunch crawl’ around Torggata, to explore Oslo’s new wave of ‘trash gourmet’ outfits, dealing in designer versions of burgers and tacos made with fine, frequently organic ingredients. The city doesn’t have much of a lunching culture and most don’t open until late afternoon, so we cool our heels in Crowbar, with its dizzying collection of house-brewed beers, and Culina, a Tardis of a kitchen shop rammed with professional cheffy kit – not exactly a hardship. And we retrace our steps to Youngstorget, a square lined with cafés and food trucks to find Fiskeriet, where counters heave with the Norwegian waters’ bounty: fat, shocking-pink langoustines, mountains of rosy prawns, slabs of cod, both salted and fresh, rows of oysters. The lunch counter offers us mussels and a ‘Taste of Norway’: smoked eel and hot-smoked salmon, dill-cured and sweet herrings with dark rye bread and crispbread. To check out the likes of Arakataka and Piscoteket and Kontrast, we’re just going to have to go back. Back to further explore this intriguing marriage of fjord, mountain, forest and thrilling urbanity. Sure, my wallet may take a battering – Oslo’s reputation for expense isn’t unfounded. But you know what? It’s worth it.