Wild Sovereign Development Site

Tag: takeaway

  • echt Kinderbilder

    I just saw a Berliner sitting with legs planted apart in the sunshine and hugely enjoying his hot dog – or some kind of meat that will never die forced into a large white bread roll. In his opposite hand he held a catering-size bottle of red chilli sauce and was squeezing a gout of chilli into the open end of the roll each time he took a fresh mouthful. Though perhaps ‘fresh’ in this context is not quite the right word.

    The sun is shining. Four men spilled out of an art gallery wearing hats and overcoats and one said, “Das sind echt Kinderbilder!” – those are kids’ paintings – and all of them laughed. In unison like an old school barbershop quartet. I caught the eye of a little elderly lady wearing green and she gave me, astonishingly, her mute and carefully guarded smile.

  • lost in the cake station

    A literal translation of the conversation that took place between me and the gorgeous dark-eyed Turkish boy working in the Turkish deli just now:

    Me: Hi! Can we have two pieces of that, please, to take-with?

    Gorgeous dark-eyed Turkish boy: Sure! Rightfully to take-with or simply for underway?

    Me: Oh, just for underway please. We can take it on the hand.

    Gorgeous dark-eyed Turkish boy: So not packed-in. Does it reach, like this?

    Shows me two paper napkins and stands the slices of cake on them.

    Me: Yes, that reaches well, thank you beautifully.

    Gorgeous dark-eyed Turkish boy: Two Euros please!

    Me: Beautiful thank you, little bye-bye!

    Gorgeous dark-eyed Turkish boy: Little bye-bye! A beautiful day still!

    Elaborate German courtesy plus cultured Turkish hospitality. It’s like a match made in Heaven, if Heaven were an 80s cruise ship with lairy pure wool carpets and a big band.

  • beware of the god

    I passed a Turkish döner shop where they carve shreds of meat from a large, limb-shaped conglomeration that’s turning very slowly dripping grease into the grill. In front of the low window sat a patient Alsatian. His nose was lifted towards the man sunning himself on his elbows, dreamily staring along the street while the meat crisped up behind him. I said, indicating the dog, “Er hat Hoffnung.” “Is he yours?” the man said. “Oh no, he’s not mine, but I think he has hopes.” He was already dipping his curled fingers into the tray of meat shards, peeling off a long strip and lifting it over the sill. He threw the meat and the dog caught it. Gulp. Gone. I said, “Wow, aren’t you nice.” As I got back on my bike the man was delving back into the gleaming pile of flesh and the dog was gazing at him as at a temple statue that has moved and revealed itself a god.

  • while it lasts

    One thing I love about Germany is that you can find local bakeries who’ll treat you like diners in a restaurant. You can choose a bread roll filled with lettuce and cheese, or raw mince and onion (“builders’ marmalade”), or some kind of iridescent preserved meat with cucumber, and order a cup of tea and have it all brought to your table outdoors with knives and forks and napkins and not pay until you leave. You can sit under the bower of greenery and watch a skinny mother with a pram and a cigarette flirt with the shaven-headed dude who just leveled a trigger finger at a passing flock of teenagers. One of the teenagers says to her friend, “Do we look like school students?” Yes, you do. Enjoy it while it lasts!