None of that has changed at Cafe Berlin's new home, except that now everything is a little brighter and a lot less ponderous. The space is divided into three dining rooms with a bar in the middle, all flooded with sunshine every afternoon, and with German music (mostly crooning, jazz-age stuff) any hour the place is open. The tables -- which were always set with white cloths and linen napkins -- now seem to be in a spot made for such finery. And the food has, if anything, gotten even better.
The waitresses still gently scold diners who don't clean their plates, and -- with characteristic European aplomb -- insist that those who do must still be hungry, so offer desserts, glasses of schnapps, perhaps a little strudel for the road. But I don't think anyone has ever left Cafe Berlin hungry, because every meal here is a feast. Smoked pork chops topped with tender, paper-thin slices of sautéed apple, cabbage rolls drowning in beef gravy, seven different kinds of schnitzel, excellent spaetzle, wonderfully weighty potato pancakes -- just walking by the windows could make you put on a few pounds.
If you were a fan of the old Cafe Berlin but haven't tried this location yet -- or if you've never eaten at either -- hurry over to 14th Street. Cafe Berlin may have learned some new tricks, but it hasn't forgotten a thing about the charms of real, Old World comfort. $$
