Zwiebelfisch, der

My first favourite bar in Berlin. Yes, I admit it’s the cat (because it adds majestic presence to the place, and my god, it’s cuddly). But not only. It’s got this old-school-West Berlin bohemian atmosphere that feels refreshingly outdated next to all that Friedrichshain-Kreuzberg-Prenzlauer Berg hipness. Cold-war-time theatre posters, photographs of writers filling their notepads next to their beer, tin signs with ridiculous wordplays (“Ich komm zum Glück aus Osnabrück.”) all add to the vibe.

Locals stooping over their glass of Schultheiss look like they already discussed Nietzsche and the latest production of the Theatre of the West in the 70s and still seem open to whatever the chilly Berlin winter wind blows into the door. On a Sunday night we had trouble finding a space which at least I didn’t expect.

For the linguistically interested: The term Zwiebelfisch (“onion fish”) originates from the historic book printing business, defining a font mismatch of one letter within a word. Nowadays, it’s better known as the knit picky column of the same name, a pamphlet adored by those who see the future of the German language doomed by anglicisms, the misuse of apostrophes and mixing up of genitive with dative.
Funny, yes, but I find the generosity and down-to-earth charms of the real Berlin Zwiebelfisch more inspiring. So nicely cliché. And with a cat on the window sill…