The next morning I wandered into KaDeWe, Berlin's largest department store — comparable, I'm told, to Harrods in London. William and I had our two-year anniversary coming up and I wanted to get him something special. The store, opened in 1907, now employs over two thousand people to sell its high-end wares on nine floors.
In men's accessories, I found a black leather wallet for William. The salesman, efficient and exceedingly professional, boxed, wrapped and handed me the gift. For a moment I pretended to be a rich European, as if this shopping expedition were an everyday occurrence.
Danke, I whispered. He didn't leak any opinion of me and I smoothly moved away, elegant KaDeWe bag in hand, and rode escalators to the apex of the building. As if cresting the peak of an oceanic wave, I arrived at the top floor and paused at the culinary vista spread before me.
Chefs in tall poplin hats and white twill jackets expertly flashed knives and sliced through roasted meats or filleted, pan-fried fish at myriad eating stations. A vast array of cheese, meat, fish, bread and pastries in sparkling glass cases overwhelmed my eyes and revved up serious salivating. The delicacies department in the KaDeWe is a glittering salute to all things gourmet.
For a late-evening picnic with William, I chose a tangy Roquefort and a chunk of Swiss. A thick slice of chicken pâté, a loaf of rustic farmer's bread, and a bottle of Riesling would provide a Willkommen for William. The next morning I would fly away for six days.
But now, perched high on a leather stool at a stainless-steel counter, I ordered a glass of white wine and feasted on a baked potato stuffed with browned mushrooms and sautéed spinach. On the side, a spicy red cabbage salad.
I ate and watched the hoi polloi of Berlin shop for...what? A special cocktail party, a business lunch, or just a family dinner. What a hell of a way to eat. I could live on the top floor of the KaDeWe.
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