Bardele, Mitte

Whilst idly perusing the Michelin website, I spotted Bardele, a chic Italian restaurant that looked like just the right type of place for me to get into a long-overdue review. This is where I now find myself, on a hot, particularly sticky Friday evening. My first thought upon being seated at much too narrow a table, is that I may not be the target demographic. All around me, I see trendy, hyper-confident Gen Z-ers with futuristic and/or frightening hairstyles and dye-jobs. As of this morning, I too have an unconventional haircut, but rather than making me look effortlessly cool, mine is giving middle-aged TinTin.

I’m immediately impressed by the service. My waitress is code-switching between Italian, German and English, speaking knowledgeably and convincingly about wine options. I dive in with a glass of Garganega from Veneto (Moon Nature, 2022), which I’m given the option of sampling before committing to. I appreciate this, and the goodlooking glassware it’s served in. It’s bright, citrussy liveliness; exactly what I need while I get to grips with this very creative menu. It’s elevated, beyond the usual Italian staples. There’s a vongole pasta option that is hard to resist and I can feel all my other decisions gradually crystallizing around this. As I’m quaffing, I’m hearing cool, bass-heavy music that reminds me of a 1980’s cop show, and the comforting sound of cocktails being shaken. At this early stage, I’m fully feeling this place.

I’m seated in the front dining room. I see some splendid Bird of Paradise flowers directly ahead of me, and to my right half a dozen occupied tables. It’s busy enough, tasteful enough to keep my roving eye amply occupied. If I look to my left however, I have a great view of….well let’s just call it the dishwashing room. So, the sausage is made. Ignoring this minor detractor, there’s something smart going on here at Bardele, that feels like a conscious attempt to take some of the pecuniary sting out of fine-dining. There’s a prix-fixe option for the table; bread and water are capped at just 4 euros p.p. and the wine-list has a great many options in the 40 - 80 euros bracket. This strikes me as unusual in Berlin, and I like it. Wines by the glass are a bit more limited, but I’m delighted to find a gorgeous, sweet-smelling, flesh coloured, almond-y Pinot Grigio (A.A. Gradis Ciutta, Trieste).

The classic spaghetti alle Vongole has been zhuzhed to include fusilli and razor clams. Though this isn’t exactly presented like a €27 plate, I’m hooked at the first mouthful. The sauce is bleeding garlic and that dirty salinity that I immediately associate with clams. There’s a chilli hit, slowly building up heat on my tongue. This sauce is so moreish that I can overlook the odd choice of pasta form (really it would have been more satisfying to swirl some linguini), and the fact that there are only three clams in-shell. This seems stingy. Fewer than ten is just a garnish as far as I’m concerned.

For my next course, I’ve chosen a special, pork chop with Schwarzkohl. As I love and usually say yes to any form of cabbage, this seemed like a no-brainer. With a side dish of zucchini, lemon, mint, basil and anchovy, I’m thinking this could be great. The best laid plans of mice and men. To be fair, I think I came to this one with some preconceptions, so perhaps this disappointment is of my own creation. The pork is thoughtfully pared from the bone and the meat is very juicy. But it lacks any colouring or fat rendering and so just looks grey and insipid. The cabbage (kale) and spelt accompaniments provide some texture but are served in a pretty one-dimensional sauce. It’s tasty but lacks any kind of wow-factor. I turn my attention to the zucchini thing. It's lightly grilled, served just warm. Somehow, it’s been made heavy with lemon, rather than light. It’s quite salty, presumably with anchovy. With the promise of mint and basil, I had imagined something much more vital and palate refreshing. Alas, this is not it. Overall, a backward step.

I feel I need a coffee break before I attempt dessert. I’m served proper Italian espresso in very cute retro crockery. Super strong….and all is forgiven.

From a list of three desserts that includes a raspberry soufflé I’ve previously seen being hand-delivered by a hunky chef to a nearby table (a nice touch), I decide to try an olive oil cake with roasted peaches and yoghurt. I estimate this might be a smidgeon less sweet than the soufflé. NOPE! While I like the way it’s presented, in neat semicircular form, this is sweet with sucrose to the extent that my teeth are soon complaining. And though the sponge is not dry, it’s crunchy and really doesn’t have the consistency of an oil cake. Roasted peaches are delicious and provide relief from the sugar onslaught.

Although I like this place, have been triumphantly served, and am feeling surprisingly at ease here, I’m left a little unmoved by the food. It’s possible that in combining clams, pork and anchovies, I’ve brought this salty monotony upon myself. Somehow, in an Italian restaurant, I’ve managed to entirely bypass any form of tomato or cheese. I take responsibility for this, and I would happily return for another roll of the dice. But I’m finding it hard to forgive the pallid pork and floppy, tepid zucchini efforts.

The night is young but too warm for hard liquor, so I forego my usual digestif. Payment is swift and in just a scooch over two hours, I’m out the door. Thanks.

My final tally.

Atmosphere 8 /10

Food & Drink quality 6/10

Service 9/10 

Value for money 7/10

 7.5/10

“Affordable indulgence; exceptional service; come for the coffee and coiffures.”