"The Saxon fish soup is amazing! Make sure you have it!", the inspector from table 1 advised the four Austrians at table 2 (all table numbers are fictitious to protect the identity of the guests). That wasn't offensive, it was absolutely right. I should have done the same when my table neighbors at table 8 opted for three of the four courses on the Chef's Star Hour menu at Caroussel Nouvelle and thus decided against the Saxon fish soup à la bouillabaisse. But firstly, I'm even shyer than the subtle, melancholy Tatort detective and secondly, the couple with the Czech dialect ordered just a moment too early for the possible hint: I hadn't even started spooning yet.
Yes, an evening like this in the Bülow Palais bistro is communicative, even if you don't say much yourself. But as Kurt Tucholsky lamented (in his fabulous love story Schloss Gripsholm): "God give us earlids. We are inadequately equipped." So we listen in (un)voluntarily - in compliance with the principles of the General Data Protection Regulation, of course - and are happy to do so. Because the voice of the people likes to meet in the restaurant, even if it is a little more upmarket. And so I would like to mention the couple at table 3, who otherwise speak Ruhr area German, and the dialectally inconspicuous gentlemen at table 7, who had an awakening experience when selecting their red wine. The wine they had originally brought turned out not to be the right one when they tried it, so the service lady recommended a Saxon after recognizing the desired taste. The beer-drinking counterpart immediately asked: "Wouldn't you prefer a French or a nice Italian?" (he meant wine both times). The result was a red from Schwarz - and it fit the bill. Both gentlemen were amazed: what is possible in Saxony, by golly!
