The Bird is no secret; all of Berlin already seems to be very much aware of this haven of American cuisine hidden behind Mauerpark, which makes coming in without a reservation a rather dangerous gambit.
It was the only sunny table in the almost empty restaurant, the winter sun tentatively highlighting a ‘Reserviert’ sign, yet a quick question-mark smile and I had taken a seat, basking in the light and leafing through Aroma‘s extensive menu.
In its ideal state, a well-stuffed bánh mì is a perfect combination of French baguette and Vietnamese crunch, spice, and meat–and at Cô Cô they come real close.
I like my bars empty, I do. Matter of fact, I prefer them that way. Not that I don’t like having other people there, just that I appreciate that certain surplus of personal space that comes with, say, a library before closing time, or a second-hand record store on a Tuesday morning.
Shrugging off my coat and sitting down at a wooden table with a tray full of deliciously different fishiness, I took a sip of the crisp Riesling Michael Wickert had offered me. As I tried a bite of hot-smoked salmon with a chaser of onion confit, any hint of my mild hangover suddenly disapparated.