The Rake


I still keep a suitcase in Berlin,” the magnificent Ms. Marlene Dietrich once said.

And once one has visited this crazy cool city, one cannot contend with that choice.

Berlin buzzes on a one-of-a-kind kinetic frequency. The history, the significance, the culture, the sociopolitical cauldron, the diversity… it all adds up to a creative, exhilarating and mesmerising mise-en-scène. And, of course, the people. Oh, the people.

Please allow me to backtrack.

Our first night in Berlin was an après-Baselworld one. On the off chance you’ve yet to encounter the battle-scarred from this most gruelling of tournaments, let’s just say they will be tapering down from an adrenaline-fuelled high — also known as crashing — for at least 48 hours thereafter.

Arriving in Berlin, I received the most intriguing of text messages. (For the record, I incidentally won the lottery as organiser of the downtime itinerary, as opposed to bringer home of bacon, who was pretty much still recovering from aforementioned ultra-marathon.) High on my mini-blitzkrieg of a list of dining reservations was, of course, the unmissable Restaurant Tim Raue.

The capacity of this modest publication, the one. Kindly yours, Tim Raue.”

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