Metallic skies brightened by a slice of lemon tart. The little light bounces around the high-ceilinged rooms. A German mother neatly slices up a Wiener Schnitzel, to be divided between her son and daughter. A Spanish couple chases their toddler, laughing, around the sofas.
Consulting my archives, I see I last ate at Sarah Wiener's restaurant in the Hamburger Bahnhof on a similarly gray day. (And speaking of archives, if you'll permit me the segue, doesn't this Tuesday's opening of Living Archive – Archive Work as a Contemporary Artistic and Curatorial Practice, sound like one to mark down in your diaries?)
We were fresh from Beuys' slabs of lard, but that wasn't enough to put us off our cakes, which were, I can now confirm, what Wiener gets right: homemade in their essence, and with enough polish (that gloss on the tart, the moist heft of the Sachertorte) to feel like an occasion.