Bundes Appetit
Adler
ul. Mokotowska 69Telephone 628 7384
Hours:
Mon.-Fri.: Noon-Midnight
Weekends: 1 p.m.-MidnightCredit cards and reservations accepted
On a recent sojourn to southern Turkey, where the spring warmth feels as soft as cashmere against your skin and the muezzin's dawn call to prayer never fails to tantalize, I rubbed shoulders great big, sunburned shoulders with what I think was almost half the population of Germany.
For Northern Europeans, the call of Turkey is as loud as a tabla drum. As soon as the mercury begins its rise north, they head south to fry their bodies in the Mediterranean sun and arouse their taste buds with the fare of this ancient civilization.
On the cobbled streets, cumin-spiced kebabs, lemon-dressed salads and honey-sweet baklava taste like manna from heaven. The baking smell of elongated pide pizzas fills the air, while old men sit in cafes playing cards, drinking sweet apple tea. For others, it's Turkish bira or beer or shots of the anise-flavored spirit raki, sipped in cafes with cushions and carpets to lounge on, that help make the long, hot afternoons pass.
No wonder tourists love to indulge their senses on these holidays, because, let's face it, the food of Germany a land of meat, potatoes, butter and cabbage, of Schlagerbands and lederhosen is far removed from this exotic fare. But what Germans do, they usually do very well: and that includes everything from the engineering in a Mercedes-Benz to Weißbier and of course, sausages.
So, after landing back in Warsaw, I decided it was time to revisit Adler (http://www.adler.internet.pl) the only German restaurant I know of in this city to once again sample the fare that fuels Poland's western neighbors.
From the outside, the peculiar circular building that Adler calls home has all the charm of a concrete beachside changing shed. Inside, the restaurant only takes up half of the space, the rest is devoted to the kitchen. And no wonder: They need all the space available to store and serve the piles of giant schnitzels, veal bones and the 105 pork knuckles its customers eat their way through each week not to mention all the links of Weißwurst sausages that must be hanging around.
In winter, it's a cozy den: all dark timber rafters, decorative sheaths of wheat, old steins across the bar and even a stuffed eagle (since "Adler" is German for eagle). The robust wooden furniture is from the Nibelungen school of design and when the lanterns are lit, and the snow beats on the windows, and all the diners' faces turn ruddy from drinking German beer, in the past I've found it quite a pleasant place to be. And so do enough Varsovians, which makes booking a table in advance advisable.
In summer, the restaurant spills outside into a shaded beer garden, complete with the ubiquitous lawn of AstroTurf, beer-sponsored umbrellas and lattice partitions to separate diners from the hoi polloi. It was such a balmy evening, we decided to sit outside and we did sit, and sit, and sit, before one of the young waitresses even acknowledged our presence.
But, with a menu in one hand and a Dab beer in the other, I settled in to reacquaint myself with the Adler menu. And it's pretty simple, divided into meat for starters and meat for main course. There are a few salads, some soups and desserts. And just to remind me of the size of the plates they serve, one of the waitresses passed by on her way back to the kitchen with a pile of chewed bones that could have come from a T-Rex.
So, in keeping with this meat theme, for starters David chose the Weißwurst. Imported from Munich, two of these sausages were brought to the table in a pot of steaming water, along with some sweet German mustard, hot mustard and horseradish. Not the most attractive things in the world, but if you like German sausages, then you'll love Adler's Weißwurst. It's a hefty portion for just one person, but for sausage fans, they're hard to resist.
For starters, I chose something that I have had a perverse curiosity about for a long time: smalec. I first came across it in Wroclaw when two young men sitting next to me in a pub-cum-restaurant, offered me some of their smalec. "What is that?" I asked. "Fat," they replied. Suffice to say I declined their offer.
This beer snack is basically a concoction of beef drippings, stirred through with tiny pieces of crispy pork crackling. It's not for the faint hearted or those with a weak heart for that matter. Even looking at it is enough to take six months off your life.
I had a minute spread of the stuff on a piece of rye bread, washed down with three large pickles. I watched in disbelief as two men at a nearby table, who also ordered it, ate it with relish. Obviously it's an acquired taste.
I prayed for better luck with my main course the stewed leg of veal with dumplings and vegetables. The last time I ate here, I tried the golonka, and in keeping with their "big is best" approach to cuisine, I was served not one pork knuckle, but two. I foolishly thought that the veal might be a bit smaller. I was wrong: The plate was the size of a tray with a great big bone on it that looked like something I'd feed a pet rottweiler.
"I think it looks like something out of the Flintstones," was David's description.
I concede that the succulent meat just slipped away from the bone, the gravy was delicious and the dumplings akin to blobs of white putty tasty white putty but there is something very disconcerting about meat in these proportions.
David's Wiener schnitzel was just as big and came with a great mountain of potato salad that was slathered in sour cream.
The meat was tender, but it looked like the chef had forgotten to pound this piece until it was thin and flat. As a consequence, while the flavor was good, with just a hint of lemon juice, the crumbs around this thick slice of veal were all loose and fatty. Compared to the last Adler schnitzel David had, he was very disappointed.
So it seems as though Adler needs to remind itself of the restaurant rule, that quantity is rarely better than quality.
"Unless you're Erik the Viking," David said.
I politely pointed out that Erik was in fact Swedish, not German, but technicalities aside, I had to agree with him. But it's worth going back to Adler now and then if you've got a craving for some big beef, or if it's just for their Weißwurst and sweet mustard.
Either that, or book yourself a holiday to Turkey.
Dinner for two, with some Dab beer, came to zl. 163 ($40.75).
On the menu:
Smalec beef drippings with pork crackling and pickles for two zl.14
Weisswurst zl.19
Wiener schnitzel zl.39.50
Stewed leg of veal zl.36.50
