November newsletter 2009

good cateress newsletter, November 2009


On a recent beautiful Fall afternoon, my friend Andrew and I are walking on the Upper East Side, having had a very unsatisfying lunch. Andrew suggested having a coffee and cake at this ‘wonderful’ coffee shop that is in the shopping arcade under the Plaza. I had no idea there was anything under the Plaza, I knew it has reopened as co-ops, but that was about it. Sure I said. As we walked over, Andrew included the word Austrian to the cafe. My heart briefly lifted about this, then fell as I reflected on the lousy ‘Austrian/German” cakes/cafe experiences of late. I had not had a decent ‘Torte’ since Kleine Konditorei closed on 86th Street, more than 20 years ago. An early joy of living on the Upper East side had been the remnants of the old German Town; bakeries, shops and restaurants filled with all my childhood favorites.

Entering the door to the Plaza “mall” , descending on the escalator, my spirits lifted further. Yes, indeed a real germanic bakery. As we headed to a comfortable corner table, we passed a case full of Tortes. My eye immediately spotted a Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte, Black Forest Cake, it even looked real. Sadly in the 1970’s in England, and I suspect America, Black Forest cake had been abused and debased in to many forms, all rather sickly and too sweet, some even had ice cream rather than cream.

Growing up in Germany, one of my ideas of heaven had been a visit to a local Konditorei after a nice long walk or swim. The glass cases filled with Tortes filled with nuts, chocolate, fruit, oozing richness. So many choices! I vacillated between Haselnusse torte and Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte, but always finally went with the Black cherry. Mum would bypass all that cream, chocolate and sugar for cheescake. I was always surprised, why go for a plain cheesecake? I would ask for a taste, offering a taste in exchange, always confirming that I had made the right choice. And yet, I grew to enjoy the baked cheesecake and loved it more with sultana’s - golden raisins. The creamy richness, sweet but not too sweet.

In the 70’s mass manufacturers not only destroyed Black Forest Gateau but introduced us to the no cook, ‘american’ style cheesecake, with jellied fruits on top. A totally different cake, surely, they should have a different name?

Back at Demels, the cafe under the Plaza, as I walk around the display cases recognizing each and every cake. Oh my, there is the Hazelnut, and a Sachertort, each one looking better than the other. But I had been let down so many times! Then on my final walk by I see it, tucked up high in a corner, the Cheesecake and it looks just as I remembered it. I looked closer, yes, the consistency looks right. I find the lovely “European Style” waitress. I ask her, Is the cheesecake the real thing? Do they make it themselves. As she starts to explain that they make their own Farmers cheese for the cheesecake, the bells and whistles rang in my head, I knew it was the real thing, I waved goodbye to the chocolate.

The cheesecake was divine, it had me at the first mouthful. Savouring the second mouthful, I picked up the menu, to glance at their other offerings. Oh no! Fruit Brandys! and there is an Apricot one. Mum and I loved Apricot brandy. Andrew twisted my arm, and we ordered one each. So subtle, so smooth and at the back was the clear taste of apricot. All in all a heavenly experience, and great people watching.

With the german cheese cake on my mind; the BBC world service had been talking about the 20 year anniversary of the tearing down of the Berlin Wall.

We lived in Berlin from 1962-5, Dad was part of the Brixmas operations, that kept tabs on ‘Russian bloc’ troop movements. The Berlin wall was omnipresent for us. As children I don’t think we were aware of quite how new it was, or how dangerous it could become. We were definitely aware of ‘Exercise Rocking Horse’ alerts and preparedness, and I was aware of dad being tense, anxious at different times. But we were children, mock ‘exercises’ were woven into our games.

We did know that we lived in a land locked island city, surrounded by the enemy. For family holidays, we had a 2 - 3 hour drive along a solitary autobahn, along which we could not stop or exit, after passing through the two checkpoints; British, East German/Russian, no bathroom stops. The German guards would search the cars, passing mirrors underneath, it was only later that I realized it was to check there was no human underneath. The German cars were more seriously searched and occupants questioned. We always left at 4am to beat the traffic, not on the road, they were pretty bare and desolate, but to beat the queues at each checkpoint.

As a family we all had our Soviet identity cards, which enabled us to go to the East and shop. The best “Berliner” doughnuts and flaky cheese sticks came from a bakery in the East.

Our first winter in Berlin, I remember going with mum to Potsdam. There was a weekly British Army minivan that took us to shop. It was bitterly cold, there had been a lot of snow, all the rivers and lakes were frozen solid. We had recently been to the Grunewald and people had been skating on the lakes but also driving and spinning their VW bugs on the ice. It had been amazing to walk on the ice lake. At the checkpoint into Potsdam, which was on a bridge over the River Spree, while the Russians soldiers took all our documents to check, we watched as other soldiers laughing, fired shots into the iced over river. Simon and I tried to see what they were shooting at, and turned to mum asking why they were shooting at the ice? So that no one can cross the ice into the West, we were informed. It didn’t make sense, but OK, if that was what they wanted to do!

We frequently visited Potsdam over our years in Berllin, there was a British Mission house on a lake, some friends of mum and dads were the residents. So we would go and have barbecues in the summer, we could go our rowing on a boat and fish but we were not allowed to swim; the word “Typhoid” was frequently muttered. We could see and hear the East Germans having fun in the water, so it was something else that didn’t make sense. There were East German housekeepers, one was a good cook and the other the food was awful, I wonder were they Stasi spies or have I read too many mysteries?

All our visitors to Berlin wanted to see the Wall, Brandenberg Gate, the Blue Church - Kaiser William Memorial Church; the golden angel -Siegessäule (Victory Column), which I remember climbing, and then hugged the column too afraid to go to the edge and look over. The Wall, took precedence over it all, we would climb the outposts and gaze over into the East. We rarely saw anyone but the guards, it just seemed a sadder, darker place.

I suspect that Berlin as my first taste of city living made me want more. The Arts, mum and dad were often at the opera and ballet; they saw Rudolf Nureyev and Margot Fonteyn dance Swan Lake, I cried myself to sleep because I could not go!

This poem seems particularly apt as a Nor’Easter blows outside and the last leaves come down.

"How silently they tumble down
And come to rest upon the ground
To lay a carpet, rich and rare,
Beneath the trees without a care,
Content to sleep, their work well done,
Colors gleaming in the sun.
 
At other times, they wildly fly
Until they nearly reach the sky.
Twisting, turning through the air
Till all the trees stand stark and bare.
Exhausted, drop to earth below
To wait, like children, for the snow."
  Elsie N. Brady, Leaves
Happy Thanksgiving