Snow suits the Literaturhaus. The light in the conservatory goes slate-blue at cake time. We lift flutes of sparkling wine (it's Christmas Eve) and watch snow drift into piles on the windowsill.
At breakfast-time, too, the rooms are hopping, but the generosity of space in this stately villa absorbs the noise. I have a crisp rösti topped with bacon and fried eggs; my friend orders the scrambled eggs. The clientele is that ballyhooed Charlottenburg mix, staid or sleek (new APC next door!), of young and old.
When the waiter brings S colored pencils in a cloth roll, the tips are all sharp.
The simple bistro dishes are solidly prepared. A chestnut soup, half cream, half air, was outstanding. The other day, reunited after a weekend away, we sat beneath the high windows and celebrated with slices of Torte (fluffy poppyseed custard, mocha-caramel Baumkuchen, raspberry yogurt).
The cellar is a bookshop, replete with small-press gems.
Upstairs there are readings, of course; the International Mahler Orchestra does a chamber music series. This Saturday the music will travel, with a three-part concert (Purcell, Schubert, Brahms) moving between three rooms of the Literaturhaus.
PS: Sun suits the Literaturhaus too, of course, if it comes: light filters through leaves in the vast garden, the fountain tinkles.
PPS: Tranquil saunas in West Berlin to recommend?