by Danielle Bonnici
My Denver-bred husband was craving Mexican food. Not authentic, arroz con frijoles or tamales, but the Tex-Mex style of his hometown. Back in New York, we made quesadillas, nachos, Mission-style burritos, all topped with chunky salsa fresca and homemade guacamole. But here in the heart of Berlin, this was a bit of a challenge. We lived in the more genteel area of Schoneberg, where gourmet shops and natural food stores were well stocked with local, organic apples, kales and roots, fresh cheeses, chocolates, artisan breads, and olive oil rich sauces imported from Italy and Greece. Avocados? Sometimes. In BioCompany on Haupstraße, they were small, hard, ovals. In the Riechelt down the block, they were large, genetically modified monstrosities, with unnatural smooth skin. Both varieties lacked the creaminess of the Hass avocados we used to buy in Queens. The alternative was pre-made guacamole spread, a nasty concoction that looked like greenish cream sauce rather than the chunky guacamole of Tex-Mex cuisine. There was also the problem of tortillas. Germans are known for their bread, but their tortillas were rubbery, sweet cardboards. And the salsa. Our friend Riechelt sold Del Fuego brand. Not bad, but lacking in kick and too sugary for the real deal. Zucker seemed to be a required ingredient in all packaged German foods, including beans, vegetables, and even hummus. Despite these obstacles, I was determined to figure out a way to make the food Dennis craved.
We had come to Berlin because I was offered a job at a German-American high school. We knew we were taking a huge risk–I’d left a job with the Department of Education, and he’d left a budding career as a coffee roaster in an up and coming roastery in Brooklyn. But what did any of that matter given the opportunity to live and work abroad? A lot it seems. While things only went well for me, Dennis had struggled. After a month of working at a café, the management refused to pay him. Apparently this is a trick played a lot on newcomers, and without a visa my husband had no recourse. He was unemployed, far from home, and the only person he knew was me. Always an avid runner, and without anything else to do, he ran for kilometers along the Spree, burning up energy and calories at an alarming rate. I didn’t want him to waste away, so Tex-Mex had to happen.
With some exploring, I managed to find beans nicht zucker in Oz-Gida, the delightful Turkish supermarket a little bit further down on Haupstraße. A friend from work said there was nothing we could do about the avocados, but recommended Aqui España in Charlottenberg for our other quandaries. My husband and I were feeling intrepid, so one day after work, we embarked on the journey to the mini-Spain of Berlin. An S-bahn, U-bahn, bus, and 25 minute walk brought us to the tiny market. As soon as we walked in, I smelled the familiar gamey scent of jamón. I raised my eyes to the ceiling to see rows of the stuff hanging. The cramped aisles were crammed with olives, oils, pimentón, saffron. An entire wall was dedicated to the wines of Spain and Portugal, and one diminutive section was devoted to the salsas and sauces of Mexico and South America. Finally! Three mini-shelves of salsa! We grabbed at the jars with greed, drinking in the ingredients, desperate to find edible, sugar-free salsa. We found a bottle, not unlike a bottle of beer, made in Mexico. It looked chunky and delicious. There was also tomatillo salsa, refried beans, masa harina, and a beautiful tortilla press. We loaded our arms and with all haste made our way to our apartment in Shoneberg to make burritos.
The tortilla press worked perfectly. The tomato salsa was spicy-rich with garlic and cumin and chili, but was as salty as the German brand was sugary. After every bite we needed to drink so much water that our stomachs filled with liquid rather than Tex-Mex goodness. So we were back at the beginning.
Some weeks later, a mission unrelated to our desire for Mexican food brought us to KaDeWe, a massive, seven-floor department store, the sixth floor of which was a gourmet shop to put all others to shame. There were little restaurants representing every country, rows of chocolate, a champagne bar, wine bars, cheese bars, olive bars, tea bars, an exotic fruit and vegetable stand, and finally, a tiny aisle devoted to American food. This aisle contained: Hershey Bars, Swiss Miss, Pancake Mix, Jack Daniel’s barbeque sauce, Reese’s peanut butter cups, Chips Ahoy, and finally, a whole variety of Old El Paso Mexican products, that reminded me of my childhood taco night. That night, we made a Tex-Mex feast with homemade tortillas and guacamole, delicious homemade beans, and topped it all with good old American salsa. It almost seemed like we were back in our tiny Astoria apartment, like we were back home.
Danielle Bonnici is an English teacher, traveler, and yogi who lives in the woodlands of Queens, NY.
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