De Maufel Charlottenburg, Berlin
At the recommendation of an Azerbaijani friend, I’ve come to Luxembourgish restaurant de Maufel (The Mouthful). It’s been quite the odyssey to get here (here being suburban Charlottenburg), on account of a public transport strike. So, I am eager for the mouth filling to begin. I get the impression said train strike has kept many less committed diners at home, as the restaurant is noticeably vacant. One other solo diner is sitting opposite, and somewhere behind me in a back room, I hear a large party of revellers. They’re providing comforting background noise, without which I fear the place might feel rather lifeless tonight.
I order a glass of Luxembourgish Rose Crémant (Caves Krier, Remich) as I take in my surroundings. The décor is simple and orderly, with stark black and white features and just enough lighting. I’m in no position to appreciate the single large art piece in the room, as it’s hanging on the wall directly behind my head. The table before me…..is undecked! Misled by de Maufel’s website and the Azerbaijani. No tablecloths. I will be deducting a half-point for this deception.
My waitress, who is friendly but formal, brings my aperitif, some crusty bread and Frischkäse, tarted-up with paprika and red onions. This is a fine start. The Crémant is berry-heavy, awakeningly crisp with a lovely, lively finish. I choose precisely the wrong time to go to wash my hands, as I wander wide-eyed into the hinterparty of twenty or more diners, one of whom had just launched into an emotive speech.
The menu, entitled “Vorhaben”, is Spring-themed and promises good mood, positive energy and optimism. I decide the 4-course pre-set dinner is the way to go, which seems to surprise and please the waitress. The journey begins just a few minutes later with a warm potato-foam and chive amuse-bouche that is creamy, salty and redolent of bacon fat. Quite delicious. My first course – smoked Oldenburg trout with cauliflower essence and salsify & chive crème – calls for white wine. I plump for a glass of Chateau Millet, Côtes de Gascogne. It arrives in a smart glass, and this is all I can find to say with any certainty. It is no pretentious exaggeration to say this is an enigmatic wine. With almost no nose, only the faintest green tinge that could easily be an artefact of my scarcely lit surroundings, it is not floral, not herbal, grassy or mineral, and in no way fruity. It brings to my mind thoughts of sliding along a very smooth, creamy declining plane. Not something I thought I’d ever write about a wine.
While I’m boggling with this, my first plate arrives, containing a neat oblong of trout, bedecked with all manner of goodies and sitting in an unexpected broth. Golden mini-sprigs of cauliflower and sunflower seeds provide a pleasant crunch atop very moist, barely perceptibly smoked fish. Coils of pickled radish bring tart relief from the bright green vegetal crème and room-temp umami liquid. This is a triumph, a masterful first act that is not to be missed.
I continue trying to decipher my palate-confounding wine until the second course arrives, mushroom risotto - zweierlei (two ways). Again, this looks like a feast in and of itself. I attack first a sticky, crunchy arancini filled with molten cheese and flecked with slivers of sharp spring onion. Then I turn my attention to the risotto itself, a mound of toothsome mushrooms and unsticky rice, topped with a small (perhaps quail) egg yolk ingeniously cooked in honey. This is rich and sweet and subverts the forest-y flavour of the mushrooms and the one or two pickled mushrooms (of an unfamiliar variety) that are hidden in amongst, like deliciously acid landmines. This is another success; extremely comforting, but I’d say far more Autumn than Spring.
I am sold on a pro-Luxembourgish experience; alas my first choice from the short list of open reds, a Luxembourgish Pinot Noir, is out of stock. I fall back to a glass of 2021 Saint Antonin “Cazalet“, Faugères, Languedoc, and await the next course. The chatter of the folks in the backroom momentarily recedes and I’m briefly aware of faint big band music and a muted trombone. Before too long, another dramatically presented plate arrives, this time containing Tafelspitz (beef cheek) with confit leeks, marinated apple and Béarnaise. The meat is sweet but just slightly over-done, necessitating a sharper knife than I’m given. The demi-glace sauce is hefty and hyper-stimulatory and needs the leek and apple combo to bring it back from the edge of overpowering. Again, this dish is taking me to an Autumnal place. From a Spring themed menu, I think I wanted something else, perhaps intensely green, vital….priapic!? My wine choice is rather better. “Cazalet” hits me with creamy cranberries at the outset, then en-leathers the tongue for a rather rough finish. Altogether pleasant.
The other solo-diner chap, who incidentally had appalling posture and motivated me to take meaningful steps to improve my own, is gone. I’m now alone in the large Saal and I’m feeling peaceably at rest. I’m given a roughly ten-minute pause before the dessert course, a goat cheese panna cotta with pear sorbet, granola, green apple and Obstler-soused raisins. This is unquestionably the highlight of the evening. Before I attempt to describe it, I must say that I would happily come back here, to the Outer Rim that is Charlottenburg, just for this dessert. It is a divine creation. The panna cotta is light, non-gelatinous and barely sweet, it balances the crisp granola and slap of green apple. Meanwhile, the booze-soaked raisins punctuate my cold, creamy pear sorbet. Poetry in a bowl, to the last de Maufel.
After good strong coffee and an ill-judged pear Obstler, my dinner is complete. I’m well into a third hour, so my protracted, ceremonious dining box is positively ticked. As I’m the only one here, besides the revellers in the back, whose raucousness has diminished post prandium, bill payment is instant. Here’s my final tally….
Atmosphere 6/10
Food & Drink quality 8/10
Service 7/10
Value for money 9/10
** Minus half a point for lack of tablecloth
7.0 / 10
“Try it on a weekend. Come back for the Summer menu. Never order Obstler, you don’t like it.”
