The King

So I’ve written before about Berlin and it’s wonderful ethnic population. We’ve got more Turks than anywhere outside of Turkey and a whole bunch of Syrians and other Middle Eastern dudes. This makes the street food in Berlin mostly Schawarma’s, Doner Kabob’s, and Falafel. And for the most part all of these are 100% similar and they all taste the same, with a few exceptions for culinary greatness that Peter and I have been mapping around the city. For example, Beruit Express has the best Schawarma. It’s like eating a spoonful of gravy. When you’re done you almost always have to order another one right way. For Kebaps, it’s hard to bean Mustafa’s. These guys put Feta cheese and lemon juice in there and use these little tongs to hand pick the veggie ratio so that every bite has just the right amount of potato and salad and sauce. They’re the Cirque de Soleil of Berlin cuisine and I will surely miss them when I’m gone from here.

But all of these pale in comparison to the wonder and spectacle of the King of Falafel.

Peter discovered The King without me and nearly drove a wedge in our friendship by hiding it from me for weeks. But I understand his theory. Part of what makes the King cool is that he is underground. As soon as he becomes mainstream he’ll be corrupted by his fame and lose his soul like the others. The King is the real deal.

The King of Falafel is a closet of a food stand. You blink and it’s past you in a second. Theres a Middle Eastern hot tea vending machine in the doorway that you sneak by to get inside. The sign is hand painted on the building ghetto style. Once inside there is room for 3 or 4 people to stand in line. No more. The King is there, or sometimes his wife. He is a stout little man wearing an apron and he doesn’t look friendly because he is not. There is a sign on the wall that explains the rules for ordering from The King. You can’t hang out inside, eat fast on the sidewalk, and then go on your way. He’s the Soup Nazi of Berlin.

But it’s worth it. The Falafel is worthy of it’s name. They are truly fit for a King. They put a huge block of fried middle eastern cheese in the middle and drip so much yogurt sauce into the middle you’d think he gets the shit for free. The falafel itself is crisp and tangy and full of spice and exotic flavors I’ve never tasted before in my life. You close you eyes when you bite on impulse, as if your mind knows that you are having a religious experience.

But the coolest thing about going to King of Falafel is the King himself. He is a grumpy asshole and I wouldn’t put it past him to take