Some cities seduce you in daylight. Berlin waits until dark. Tonight I clocked in behind the counter of Rutz on Chausseestraße 8 in Mitte — a place that started life in 2001 as a pure wine bar, built by Anja and Carsten Schmidt with the young sommelier Lars Rutz, and somehow grew into one of the most decorated addresses in Germany: three Michelin stars for chef Marco Müller's kitchen in the 2026 Guide, a cellar of 850+ bottlings with a Riesling devotion that borders on religion, and this year the whole house is celebrating its 25th anniversary. The wine bar is still the beating heart of it. Which is exactly where I wanted to be tonight — sleeves rolled, corkscrew in hand, working the shift instead of sitting at it.
The back-bar glows amber behind me, shelves of German bottles blurred into embers. Fitted black top, sleeves pushed to the elbow, and my Laguiole waiter's friend already seated in the cork — one clean, confident pull, no theatre, no hesitation. When you've opened a thousand bottles, the corkscrew becomes an extension of your hand. Berlin's night crowd watches the wrist, not the label.
Ten o'clock, the bar three deep, and someone asked for something German, something red — so naturally: Bernhard Huber's Malterdinger Spätburgunder from Malterdingen in Baden. The Cistercian monks brought Pinot Noir to this patch of shell-limestone soil over 700 years ago, and the family estate — now led by Julian Huber — has become Germany's benchmark for it. Watch the wine, not me: that garnet glow catching the tungsten light as it folds into the crystal. It's the quietest kind of showmanship there is.
The last guests drifted out into the cool Chausseestraße night, the chairs went up, and someone (fine — me) poured one more glass of that Huber Pinot before the lights went low. One votive candle, the red neon bleeding softly behind me, my hair finally allowed to come undone. An empty wine bar after midnight might be the most honest room in any city. I leaned on the oak and stayed a while.
💋 Sixty-nine bars, cellars and vineyards later, and Berlin still managed to be my first — 25 years of Rutz, three Michelin stars, one corkscrew, and a shift I didn't want to end. Next Thursday I pour somewhere new… dress accordingly, and save me the last glass. 😘
