Terracotta pots brim with herbs, trailing over cement flooring as a mini basketball hoop hangs in the corner. The sturdy white monobloc chairs are a back garden classic. Ari’s diner hides in plain sight, in a Hinterhof you might otherwise pass without a glance. Inside a former car garage, the brazen open kitchen and red floor were non-negotiables, matching owner Arianna Plevisani’s vision. “There are things that are really tough to know unless you’ve actually worked in a kitchen, so it was really important to me to have control of the design process,” she says.
Chef Plevisani’s path to this point was arguably kismet, though not linear. Raised in Lima by Peruvian and Italian restaurateur parents, she was immersed in food culture from childhood. “Every single moment of connection in my family happened at the table over food,” she recalls. Yet she was discouraged from following in their footsteps, knowing firsthand how gruelling the restaurant business could be. She leaned into the arts instead, studying in New York before moving to Berlin in 2012.
I think I slowly opened the restaurant that I wish existed with the food I’d like to eat.
For years, she worked in startups, but food ultimately drew her back in for the long haul in 2017. Working in Berlin kitchens like Jaja and Château Royal, she honed her technique before leaning into private dining and pop-ups. Opening Ari’s was both a professional and personal turning point. After separating from her partner and years of concept development, she was ready to create something on her own terms. Then, following a year of searching for a location, the garage space offered by a friend was a stroke of luck.
The resulting space is rooted in intimacy: an American diner in form, but Latin in style and spirit. “I think I slowly opened the restaurant that I wish existed [in Berlin] with the food I’d like to eat,” she says. While Ari’s is a diner, it doesn’t resemble the tired stereotypes of a greasy spoon café. The food is both familiar and surprising, threaded with the flavours of Plevisani’s home country. “The concept is comfort,” Plevisani explains. “It’s food that’s familiar but also has its own twist.” And for the crowds gathering at her garage-turned-diner, it’s exactly the twist they were waiting for.
“It’s funny, I just feel like recipe development is my superpower,” she shares. “Constraints actually make me more creative. This is a small kitchen, so I have to keep the line tight, and that leads to things I wouldn’t have thought of otherwise. We also want to offer something for everyone.”
The banana split, at first glance, looks classic, but instead of peanuts, it’s topped with pumpkin seed brittle: nutty and opportunely allergen friendly. She opted to make the Green Goddess salad (her most requested item at pop-ups) plant-based for inclusivity. Her Caesar salad swaps in pickled carrots and crispy buckwheat and skips the classic croutons, keeping the crunch while becoming gluten-free. Meanwhile, other dishes are too delectable to alter. “There are certain things I don’t mess with. The pancakes are finalised; the syrup, the pancakes, there’s nothing I would change about them,” she declares.
The Kreuzburger is the crown jewel and the most ordered item on the menu. It’s a €12 burger laced with aji amarillo and topped with ultra-crispy shoestring fries, something Plevisani grew up eating in Lima, where fries tucked into sandwiches are pretty much mandatory. “Some people say [the Kreuzburger is] too expensive”, she says. “We try to keep it as affordable as possible without compromising a liveable wage. We offer table service for the community aspect; though more costly, it contributes to the identity and universe I’m trying to create, which is rooted in Latin American warmth and hospitality.”
That universe also includes weekly rituals: ceviche on Saturdays, pollo a la brasa on Sundays. Without a rotisserie, Plevisani debones, marinates and roasts the chicken, rubbing it with the same spices you’d find in a Peruvian pollería, served alongside sauces like ají verde and garlicky chicken shop mayo. “In Peru, Sunday roast chicken is the meal people bring home, so no one has to cook,” she shares. For her, seeing Berliners adopt that tradition still feels surreal. “It’s been almost magical in a way that I opened up this place in Berlin that serves Peruvian food in a garage and we don’t even have a sign up, but people are lining up to eat pollo la brasa.”
I have a backlog of a million recipes I want to add to the menu … I’m always being chased by food I wish I could serve all the time.
Other dishes reveal her desire to layer flavours across cultures. The chopped cheeseburger nods to New York bodegas. Sandwiches are served on Turkish bread, typically used for Köfte im Brot, a Berlin influence. Limited-time specials sometimes appear on a whim: disco fries if there’s leftover mushroom gravy, or tres leches. “I joke that I’m feeding my inner child here,” says Plevisani. “I have a backlog of a million recipes I want to add to the menu … I’m always being chased by food I wish I could serve all the time.”
The community has also embraced Ari’s. When a burger bun delivery fell through, Goldies loaned her some without hesitation. Romeo’s sold her a secondhand oven cheaply. “There’s so much exchange and camaraderie from chefs here,” she notes. She gives that same love back to the neighbourhood. Locals have become regulars, familiar enough that Plevisani remembers their orders as they sit down. She’s introduced a 10% discount for single mothers, recognising a group that lacks support.
Berliners love their hidden gems, and Ari’s fits right in, while also pushing the city’s food scene forward. “The food landscape is so welcoming,” Plevisani smiles. “People are happy to see Berlin’s food culture growing.” In the end, Ari’s represents Berlin at its best: stumbled upon, enjoyed without hurry and left with the promise of coming back.
- Ari’s, Glogauer Str. 2, Kreuzberg, details.
