Where The Rad’s Arran Ainscough Eats When He’s Off the Clock

In a city where there’s a launch party, supper club or ‘one-night-only’ pop-up every evening, you’d think Arran Ainscough, owner of Neukölln’s natural wine bar, The Rad, would spend his days off leading the charge. Instead, he laughs. “If I have a day off, I don’t actually want to leave the house.” Spend enough evenings pouring pét-nat, introducing strangers to unfamiliar grape varieties and making sure everyone is having a good time, and another reservation starts to feel like work. When Arran does leave the house, though, he’s not looking for Berlin’s latest restaurant. He’s looking for somewhere that already feels familiar. In a city obsessed with what’s new, reliability starts to feel radical. The restaurants stop being the point, because Arran doesn’t return to his favourite places for the food; he returns for the people.

COFFEE

Kolo

Arran could walk into any café in Berlin and get a flat white, but that’s not why he goes to Kolo. He goes because of Vlad. The two met after Vlad fled Ukraine and arrived in Berlin looking for work. Arran hired him behind the bar at The Rad before Vlad eventually opened his own café, where he’s since become one of Berlin’s most respected baristas, even landing on the cover of Crema magazine. Vlad will tell you where the beans came from, who roasted them and how they were processed. “It’s an experience,” Arran says. “But most days,” he laughs, “just give me the fucking coffee.”

Kolo, Brunnenstraße 158, details

BRUNCH

Mitte Meer

Arran has very little patience for Berlin’s brunch culture, too. “I can poach eggs better than anyone in this city.” Instead of queuing 40 minutes for eggs Benedict, he’d rather stop by Mitte Meer, pick up croquettes, boquerones, jamón and good bread, then head home to make breakfast for him and his girlfriend to eat in bed. It’s a habit inherited from his French-Canadian mother, who still starts every morning with tea, peanut butter and banana on grainy toast.

Mitte Meer, Kolonnenstraße 30B, details

LUNCH

Saveur de Bánh Mì

Lunch is practical. If he’s between meetings, he’ll grab a bánh mì from Saveur de Bánh mì. “Just another bánh mì place,” he shrugs, “but they’ve nailed it.”

Saveur de Banh Mi, Wiener Straße 19, details

DINNER

MikroKosmos

MikroKosmos comes up so often during our conversation that I briefly wonder whether he owns shares in the place. He doesn’t. He just really, really loves it. For most people, it’s still ‘the insect restaurant’ (their menu includes grasshoppers, crickets and mealworms). Arran thinks that’s exactly the problem. “You can’t lead with education,” he says. “You’ve got to lead with flavour.” The Peruvian-inspired cooking is bold and inventive, the natural wine list is among his favourites in the city and, somewhere between helping stack chairs after service and opening another bottle back at the owners’ apartment, the restaurant stopped feeling like a restaurant. “We’re lunatics,” he says. “They’re lunatics.”

MikroKosmos, Reichenberger Straße 122, details

DESSERT

Damaskus Konditorei

Dessert, unsurprisingly, comes with another story. Arran starts reminiscing about Hasir’s sütlaç, describing the caramelised skin on top. He calls it Turkish arroz con leche, which, while probably not technically correct, gets the point across. He then launches into describing another dessert he’s renamed ‘super honey’ because he can never remember its name. You can find it at Damaskus Konditorei, he tells me, before shouting across the bar for the real name. “What’s the real name of super honey?” Someone answers, “Halawet el-jibn.” A syrup-soaked Syrian dessert whose name translates to ‘sweetness of the cheese’.

Damaskus Konditorei, Sonnenallee 93, details

DRINKS

The Rad

By the time our glasses are empty, Arran has poured me five newly arrived natural wines from Sicily, proudly explaining they’re finally on the menu. He mentions that The Rad is the only bar in Germany pouring 12 natural wines on tap – then immediately moves on to talking about somebody else’s restaurant. That, more than anything, seems to explain him. Arran rarely recommends a place because of a particular dish. He recommends people. Because in the end, people don’t remember menus. They remember how a place made them feel.