Four years of high school German and all I got out of it was the ability to ask someone for directions to a bus stop* and a drinking song.
In München steht ein Hofbräuhaus (Eins, Zwei, g’suffa! )
Da läuft so manches Fäßchen aus (Eins, Zwei, g’suffa!)
Da hat schon mancher brave Mann (Eins, Zwei, g’suffa!)
Gezeigt, was er so vertragen kann (Eins, Zwei, g’suffa!)
(And, at a much later date, a very large appreciation for bier.)
Tapas: a selection of small dishes that, when combined and shared between friends, make a meal in themselves.
The idea sounds appealing, doesn’t it? And what’s not to love about communal dining? Everyone gets a bit of everything, no-one’s stuck with a dish they’re apathetic about and certified greedyguts gourmands like myself get a little bit more than their share, without anyone else kicking up a stink.
I feel like I have stepped into an alternate universe. It is dark and woody. Exposed beans frame the room and the odd, uncloistered lightbulb casts a careless shadow across mahogany leather banquettes. High cavernous ceilings at the entrance give way to cosy, cloistered spaces, and, turning a corner, the amber-lit bar appears. Complete with a montage to the food eaten in the form of a hanging sculpture of skulls. It’s a touch macabre, but, oddly, fits with Chophouse’s earthy yesteryear feel. …continue reading chophouse
