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Jeden Monat nähern sich unsere Kolumnisten, die Berliner Filmemacher Dominik und Benjamin Reding, dem jeweiligen Heftthema
auf ihre ganz eigene Art und Weise. Geboren wurden die Zwillinge am 3. Ja nuar 1969 in Dortmund. Während Dominik Architektur
in Aachen und Film in Hamburg studierte, absolvierte Benjamin ein Schauspielstudium in Stuttgart. 1997 begann die Arbeit an ihrem
ersten gemeinsamen Kinofilm „Oi! Warning“. Seitdem arbeiten sie für Fernseh- und Kinofilmprojekte zusammen.

Each month our columnists, Berlin-based filmmakers Dominik and Benjamin Reding, approach the respective issue-specific theme
in their very personal way. The twins were born on January 3, 1969 in Dortmund. Whilst Dominik studied architecture in Aachen
and film in Hamburg, Benjamin graduated in acting studies in Stuttgart. They started working on their first joint motion picture “Oi!
Warning“ in 1997. Since then they have tightly collaborated for TV and cinema film projects.

E njoy going out. I used to do it more often in the past, actually. I like restaurants, arrived, from Vapiano to McDonald’s. And we arrived, finally grown up, finally inde-
also pubs, less so bars, and even less so hotel bars. I don’t like hotels as such at
pendent. Formality wasn’t our thing. This world of silver cutlery, fish knives, napkin
all. Not for eating, drinking or sleeping. Why? Why this order? Why these preferences? rings and stern head waiters. In the old town, near the main churches, a Mövenpick
Well, first things first. Initially, my father used to take me out, not just me, but the Marché opened. Fixed prices and self-service. Neat, tidy, clean, Swiss style. It was a
whole family, all five of us. He positively loved it, good old-fashioned dining. First the place to hang out, eat outside under old chestnut trees, where my fellow students
restaurants in the suburban neighbourhood: thick tablecloths, cloth napkins, gold- would feel well treated. And to drink? Me, us, my fellow students were old enough.
framed prints, silver cutlery, breaded schnitzel with hunter’s sauce. We went almost Here, too, my father’s influence comes into play. He knew and still visited the classic
every Sunday after church. We three children loved these Sunday outings because miners’ pubs, where they still existed. The buildings dated from the previous turn of
of the food and especially because of the thick hunter’s sauce. And the innkeeper’s the century, with tiled floors, plain wood panelling on the walls and stucco ceilings,
chicken. It resided in a simple cage built by the innkeeper himself, outside, next to the some in Art Nouveau, some in the Reform style, depending on the respective budget
parking spaces. We thought the chicken was stuffed, a cuddly toy. It never moved, just and contemporary taste. The food consisted of peanuts and pretzel sticks. The bever-
sat on its perch, rigid. Until one day, in a sudden burst of vital energy, it fluttered fran- ages: beer, Pilsner style, and schnapps, clear and strong. The guests: miners, or more
tically. We screamed in a mixture of delight and fear. It was our last visit to the simple precisely, miners who had been injured on the job. With stiff legs, broken spines or
country inn. We grew older and were now allowed to accompany our parents into lungs damaged by coal dust. They coughed and drank their alcohol in silence to endure
the city centre for eating out. And something new and exotic was added to the menu: the rest of their lives. Accompanied by the splashing of the sink and the sonorous hum
architecture! The restaurants in the city centre sparkled with zeitgeist, ideas and gim- of the ice chest. These first impressions of what a pub is or can be shaped me and later
micks: plexiglass stairs, yellow PVC seating areas, bills on punch cards. A newly ope- led me to avoid the trendy pubs that were all the rage. Bars in particular, with their
ned restaurant even boasted a show kitchen. The chefs, pretensions. This mixed drink, that cocktail, this long
dressed in immaculate chef’s uniforms, allowed us to drink, that glass of Blue Curacao. But it’s alcohol, ulti-
watch them prepare the food! They always pretended not mately just alcohol, with its beautiful, sometimes creepy,
to notice. And in front of the wide window to the kitchen: mind-numbing effect. So, much to the disappointment
the lovingly decorated, lavish salad buffet. You didn’t pay and irritation of my guests, simple pubs and sometimes
by weight, but by bowl size. We outdid each other in stu- even smoky, yellow-tinged dive bars remained my final
dies of balance. Even the waiters looked impressed, then destination for signing contracts, first meetings and last
annoyed, at the skilfully piled salad towers. We enjoyed hugs. Even more unpleasant for me are hotels: places
this urban restaurant offering, which resembled an archi- of forced, paid affection. The better it is acted, the more
tectural guide: an opera restaurant, furnished in a func- comfortable you feel as a guest. And you come back and
tional, elegant style by Heinrich Rosskotten between 1963 pay willingly. Oh, if you were really liked, loved even,
and 1966; a café from a horticultural exhibition, a trans- you would get the room and the food and everything
parent, light steel structure built in 1959 by local bigwigs else that earns a hotel its stars for free. Hence the order,
personal and subjective: restaurants, often and gladly,
tables were made of glass, there were flokati rugs on the Foto: Benjamin Reding if the food is good and the price reasonable; pubs, also
Lehmann and Groth; and an insurance high-rise by Harald
Deilmann, built between 1969 and 1973, with a sophisti-
gladly, if they are authentic and informal and haven’t
cated, truly metropolitan restaurant in the basement. The
completely forgotten their purpose: to offer alcohol in
walls and Spanish-style tiles on the floor. Even though the names of the architects reasonable quantities at reasonable prices. I’m not so keen on bars because they sty-
didn’t yet mean anything to us, the food that was being served there – rump steak lize selling alcohol into an art form, and I don’t like hotels at all because they reward
“medium” with potato croquettes and melted herb butter – was worth every visit. the credibility of lies. I’m having a visitor today. A former fellow student. She makes
Or so we thought. Until fate caught up with us. Father had always paid quietly in all wild and also a bit exhausting avant-garde films in Super8. I think I’ll go out for a bite
these mid-priced, home-style restaurants, in cash, as usual. But we hadn’t noticed to eat with her first just around the corner. Vietnamese. The restaurant used to be a
something: the middle class, for whom all these restaurants had been conceived, was kebab shop until a few years ago, when a Vietnamese family with a flair for cooking
disappearing. Only doner kebabs, shish kebabs and burgers were left for the “lower as well as for interior design took over the run-down place. With a little anthracite
classes” and gourmet restaurants were reserved for the “upper classes”. For the middle paint, hardware-store pallets, a simple but open kitchen and Asian politeness, they
class, all that was left was meatballs at Ikea or a turkey sandwich at the station bakery. had succeeded in created, almost casually, a reincarnation of the restaurants of my
The bill came up to 79 deutschmarks. The waiter placed the bill on a small old-silver youth. Good food at affordable prices in a “modern” atmosphere. Afterwards, I’ll invite
plate on the architect’s table, as always with distinguished silence. Father had it explai- her to the Pirscher. This has nothing to do with hunting or warlike stalking as the name
ned, he checked it twice, three times, it was correct. He didn’t have enough cash with might imply in German but only with the landlady’s surname. There are free peanuts
him, he couldn’t pay. And it was the weekend as well, so the banks were closed. Father and pretzel sticks and a good kind of beer brewed by a small local brewery. People talk
left and we had to stay behind as human collateral. He didn’t return until an hour later loudly and every so often they laugh even louder. And smoking is allowed everywhere
to pay. Where did he get the cash? I still don’t know, but I do know what family meals here. If we have some time left afterwards, we’ll go to the Kater Blau. There you can
were like after that acute payment default: there weren’t any more. The shame was too dance in the basement to techno and house music until dawn. How will she like it?
great. Now the city was changing and we were changing too. The architect-designed The next morning, as we’re having breakfast at the Turkish bakery downstairs from my
restaurants disappeared, and often the buildings with them. The restaurant chains flat, she says: “Oh, it was fantastic. Nothing like anywhere else!”

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