Berlin lives through its institutions – but as of this summer, there’s one fewer. Rogacki, the iconic delicatessen and, above all, fish market on Wilmersdorfer Straße in Charlottenburg, has closed its doors – at least for now.
Its longtime owner, Dietmar Rogacki, died in May in a house fire at his single-family home in Spandau. Even before that, we’d heard the beautiful 1970s-style market was struggling. The recession had taken a toll, as had the passage of time. Whether the store will reopen – and if so, in what form – remains uncertain. To reflect on its greatness, we’ve translated this warm and keenly observed profile of Rogacki by Jochen Overbeck, from TipBerlin, originally published in 2019.
Nothing new in the West
Though primarily a neighbourhood spot, Rogacki had a certain celebrity appeal. Even the legendary Anthony Bourdain paid a visit. “Oh my God, this place is gigantic,” he marvelled. He spent nearly the entire day eating his way through Rogacki like a caterpillar through an apple. Bourdain tried various aspics, three types of herring, and fresh asparagus (it was in season), all the while praising the smell rising from the counters and the colours on the plates, which he said looked like works of art.
Asked about the visit, Dietmar Rogacki mostly recalled one technical detail: the way Bourdain’s team filmed. Their camera work was acrobatic and dynamic – very different from German TV crews. They often shot from below. His biggest takeaway: Bourdain was a good guy. And yes, the episode was good for business; some tourists found their way in thanks to him.
Rogacki has been a Berlin institution for decades. It all began in 1928, when Paul and Lucia Rogacki opened a smoked goods shop in Wedding. It was a small operation – Paul and his sister Mariechen would wheel some of the goods to Alexanderplatz market each day in a handcart. Business thrived, and by 1932 they had opened their own smokehouse in Charlottenburg.
The war hit the business hard, as archival photos show, but it didn’t destroy it. Rogacki expanded during the postwar economic boom; by the 1950s, they were offering meat products, too. In 1972, the store was remodeled: a modernized space with a large hall and sales counters lining the perimeter.
A fixture at the end of Wilmersdorfer Straße
In 1992, the store expanded again, incorporating the front part of the building, which had previously housed a shoe shop. Since then, Rogacki has been a steadfast anchor at the indecisive tail-end of Wilmersdorfer Straße – no longer a pedestrian zone, but still busy, even a bit gritty. Caught between a discount bakery and a hardware store, the shop’s blue-green fish logo, a piece of pop art, peers out from the building’s gray 1970s façade, offering a small promise of stability in an otherwise uncertain stretch of the street.
Dietmar Rogacki’s office didn’t overlook Wilmersdorfer Straße, but the inner courtyard. Sitting there with him, files sagging the shelves beside us, two things stood out. First: He didn’t hold back. His sentences were short, pointed, and packed with criticism of everything he disliked about modern life.
But something else was striking: his eyes, the blue of a mountain lake. They were once meant to be his tools – he took concert photos in his youth. But life had other plans. When his father died young, he joined the family business. Listening to him talk about life among delicacies was like watching Germany’s postwar history unfold: West Berlin’s boom and years of abundance; the food safety scandals (one especially hurtful, when the TV show Monitor reported on nematodes in edible fish in 1987, causing sales to crash overnight); and reunification, when East Berliners came flocking in for sprats – a fish apparently unknown in the GDR.
A deli as a world of possibilities
And then came a new trend, with suddenly everyone becoming a foodie. Rogacki chuckled at the trend, occasionally poking fun at his colleagues in certain hip market halls. “You can take it too far,” he’d say, recounting how an agency once suggested he invite influencers. “I followed one of them for a bit – he was eating somewhere new every day.”
People prefer what they know.
But modernity had long since arrived in the Old West. In the food courts of Bikini Berlin or KaDeWe, diners choose between ramen and health bowls, raw vegetables and authentic Neapolitan pizza –washed down with craft beer or a flat white. The Asian eateries on Kantstraße are just as fashionable as those on Torstraße. Hip burger joints from Mitte have set up shop in Charlottenburg and Wilmersdorf.
Rogacki wasn’t stuck in the past. Its various counters kept pace with the times. Up front, the bakery stand displayed a stunning Bienenstich from Sarah Wiener’s wood-fired oven, while the meat counter boasted a stellar range of steaks.
Even in the core business – fish – the institution occasionally strayed from tradition to meet modern demands. A few years ago, Rogacki sold “Capital Perch,” a locally farmed fish raised using aquaponics, a system that combines fish farming with hydroponic plant cultivation. “The fish came from Tempelhof. You can’t get more local than that,” said Rogacki. “But it didn’t sell. People prefer what they know.” Redfish. Cod. The classics. And, of course, anything from the massive beechwood smokehouses, whose wide, black openings face directly into the store – a striking and unusual sight. In today’s Berlin, it’s hard to imagine something like that getting approved in the middle of the city.
A Place That Knows What It Is
Rogacki watched for changing demands closely. But no one there planned to mess with the formula. The high tables – with tray shelves underneath – were practical – not retro for retro’s sake, but genuinely vintage. The green plastic ceiling floated over the hall like a stylized city sky. Most of the signage and decor dated back to the ’70s or ’80s. The cartoon chicken smiling from the soup pot at the poultry counter was a highlight.
Above all, the dishes themselves had barely changed. “We couldn’t mess with them,” said the chef. “People would be upset.”
People Don’t Just End Up at Rogacki — They Come for It
And he’s probably right. After all, while places like KaDeWe and Bikini Berlin are now largely filled with tourists, the area around Wilmersdorfer Straße is still home to actual Berliners. People come to Rogacki because they want to come – and many have been doing so for years. You’ll see a quick hello exchanged between a regular and a salesperson. A pat on the back as someone walks by. They know each other. That’s what makes Rogacki more than just a delicatessen – it’s a space of connection.
Anyone stepping into the large hall at lunchtime will see something that’s becoming increasingly rare in restaurants: a real Berlin mix. Standing – not sitting – are tradespeople and construction workers digging into meatballs with potato salad. Nearby are the well-known Wilmersdorf (or Charlottenburg) widows, who usually ask to split the breaded fish fillet – “It’s just too much otherwise” – and order a little tartar sauce to go with it. In the gourmet corner, elementary school kids, accompanied by their fathers, gleefully slurp prawn cocktails. And then there are the strangely ageless blondes, sipping oysters and Moët – prominently listed on the menu – like something out of a 1980s pop novel. For €19.80, you can even get a pan of delicate fish in lobster sauce.
In this way, Rogacki was both a haven for practical eaters and a destination for connoisseurs. The self-conscious flair of newer foodie hotspots – the over-the-top “aahs” and “oohs” – are completely absent.
What’s also missing, even on the busiest days, is the near-aggressive crush you find in younger, trendier places. You can see it clearly in Bourdain’s video: in the background, Berliners keep shopping, seemingly unfazed by the presence of a global celebrity. There’s truth in the old saying: strength lies in calm. And sometimes, that strength is a fish counter that’s been reliably stocked for decades.
- This article was adapted from German. See the original here.
