That the goose is the food of the day and every day is made manifest in
the markets of Berlin, of which there are more than a dozen. All the
poultry stalls are filled with them, so much so that other meat, even
the ever-present veal, shrinks timidly into the background.
Wherever one stops, the displays are most attractive. There are
unfrozen, fresh-killed meats of all kinds, tempting even the sightseer
who has no intention of buying. Autumn flowers, and large boxes of deep
red _Preisselbeeren_--a berry very similar to the mountain cranberry
found on Maine's highest peaks, and growing everywhere in Germany (it
ought to be acclimated in our fields)--give rich autumnal hues to many
of the market stalls, while the fragrance of Gravenstein apples fills
the air near the fruit stalls.
As in Paris, the sea fish are fresh-caught, with ice about them,
but never frozen, while fresh-water fish are carried to the buyer's
house in a tank and selected alive. The German krebs, or crawfish, is
almost as much in evidence as the French écrevisses, and like these,
it is kept in tanks of cold, running water, except for a few boxfuls,
the probable supply of the day, which are sorted out by sizes for
convenience. "Solo-krebs" is one of the items on a Berlin menu, and
means one huge fellow, almost as big as a small lobster.
This Berlin market, unlike the Halles of Paris, does not encroach on
and beautify the surrounding streets. It is orderly and law-abiding,
and fills up its allotted space of two covered squares to the limit,
but with no overflow. However, the shops nearby are generally for
foods, with appetizing windows of sausages, smoked meats and fish, or
cheeses.
An oddity of this market is that the upper floor space is divided
about equally between fruits and household furnishings. There is an
exhaustless supply of step-ladders, and besides these, every need of
the kitchen is provided for.
Meat prices, which soar in Berlin, are much lower in the big markets
than elsewhere.
Any one coming directly from the United States, where the veal is
seldom so good as the lamb or the beef is sure to wonder at the
abundance of calves in German markets. After sampling the veal a few
times, one ceases to wonder why the Germans are so addicted to it, and
the Austrians no less so. The French know how to cook veal, and a good
cutlet _à la Milanaise_ is not to be despised, but there is nothing in
its way as good as the _Wiener Schnitzel_ or the German _Kalbsbraten_.
The excellence of German veal is due largely to the strict exclusion
from the markets by the meat inspectors of all animals that are too
young or too old, the Flavor as well as the tenderness of the meat
being largely dependent on the right age for slaughtering the calf.
The calves are, moreover, milkfed and not brought up on "hay-tea."