Berlin has caught my eye a couple of times over the past week or so. For odd reasons. The first thing I noticed was that the man who invented the doner kebab has, sadly, passed away at age 87. His masterwork was created in the western part of the German capital in a little eatery called the City Imbiss. Mahmut Aygün, a Turkish immigrant, slotted a few slivers of meat into some pita bread, added a few strategic bits and pieces, and a culinary revolution was born. It was 1971—the year of the Apollo moon landing; the year of the “Referee’s Revolution,” which saw George Best of Manchester United being sent off in a match against Chelsea; it was the year of the kebab.

700 million kebabs
It’s been a long time since I last got to clumsy grips with one—after a few beers, as is often the way in the UK. But never say never again. I recall a great cameo piece in a show called the F Word, hosted by Gordon Ramsay, the brilliant, stocky, insanely competitive chef with an often colourful turn of phrase. You might have seen his show on the Food Network. Ramsay got a food critic from The Times called Giles Coren to check out exactly what went in to the great, oozing, conical mass from which many a 2 a.m. feast is carved. Coren duly headed for a factory in Burton on Trent in the English Midlands that churns out 50 tonnes of meat a week, serving the UK’s habit of 700 million kebabs a year. He was happy to report that the composition was made of lamb breast (too fatty for the shops), shoulder, neck end, garlic, salt (masses of it), coriander, oregano, and nutmeg. That was about it. And he happily ate one, sober and on camera. But perhaps the most interesting take-out from Coren’s report was this: a doner kebab has to be lamb. If it doesn’t say “doner”, it could be lamb and beef.

I can’t honestly tell you if the City Imbiss is still standing. If it is, they should put up a commemorative plaque. 

Trouble under the tarmac
The other Berlin story that came to light was a little unnerving, but probably nothing to worry about. Tegel, one of the city’s three airports, stands on a silent and sinister mass of unexploded bombs from the Second World War. This spring, the authorities plan a major excavation and clean-up job to make the airport completely safe before going ahead with runway development. Of course, everyone’s staying calm and business is carrying on as usual. It’s a legacy that Berlin, like so many other major European cities, has learned to live with.

Trabant safari—it’s the only way
If you are planning a visit, here’s a chance to see Berlin from a uniquely authentic perspective. The Trabant is an icon of the former East Germany, a smokey, two-cylinder lawnmower on four wheels that seats four adults in genuine discomfort. And yet these little cars are loved deeply. Not least because footage shortly after the Wall came down in ’89 reveals a gleeful stream of these ubiquitous GDR machines crossing from east to west, their owners high-fiving anyone within reaching distance. This is why the Trabi-Safari is such a neat idea, assuming you have an open mind and an eye for an anecdote.

The Trabi-Safari was set up in Dresden 10 years ago by lovers of these flimsy, unconventionally engineered cars—they’re built predominantly from cotton-reinforced plastic so forget about crash protection—but most of the business is in Berlin.

In a multi-coloured convoy of Trabants with names like Lotti, Erich, and Bärbel, you can enjoy a walkie talkie–guided self-drive tour, taking in sights including the Wall, Checkpoint Charlie, Brandenburg Gate, and the gleaming, central Potsdamer Platz.

If any car embodies the shifting political and social landscape here, it’s the Trabant. Around 30 years ago, people had to wait up to 15 years to get one. In the early ’90s, they were practically giving them away. Now, tourists are paying as many as 120 euros to borrow one for an hour. More at
www.trabi-safari.de/?lang=eng.

Wreck dive, anyone?
As I said, Berlin clearly isn’t the only European city troubled with UXBs (unexploded bombs). London has its own concerns, including something of an elephant-in-the-room situation. In August 1944, a US merchant ship the SS Richard Montgomery sunk in the dark, muddy waters of the Thames estuary, breaking into two huge pieces a few miles from the heart of the capital. Bad news. Worse, however, was the fact that it was laden with thousands of gross tons of desperately needed munitions. It’s still there right now, masts askew and clearly visible, cordoned off with buoys and warning signs.

According to the Marine and Coastguard Agency, the load is around 1,400 tons. Or about enough to create a sub-atomic catastrophe, devastating nearby Southend and Sheerness and causing havoc to local oil refineries. The official stance is to maintain the hands-off approach. Don’t mess with it, basically. And watch. Carefully. The agency puts it like this: “Whilst the risk of a major explosion is believed to be remote, it is considered prudent to monitor the condition of the wreck.” Right-o.

London looks like one of the Wonders of the World when you’re flying in over the estuary, above the city centre, and then over Richmond Hill into Heathrow. This story makes you see things in a different light. Just briefly, mind. Out of sight, and all that…

See you next time.