Journey in Germany - Marion Einbeck

EXCELSIOR HOTEL ERNST
water with fish in it, flowing like a transparent
wave. The clear flow slipping by in its little canal was
topped—right into the center of the room—by polished
glass like a frozen path, which served as a bridge.
You’d cross over it above the current, in the golden
sheen of artificial lights that pierced the cradle of
water with little stars. As soon as you reached the end
of the long carpet with its frozen appearance, you were
surprised to find yourself surrounded by tables, projected
onto the front of a stage as if you were on the
podium of a fashion show. We were seated quietly
beneath the watchful eye of a splendid bonsai, while
the top of the table was filled with plates with small
bites and sophisticated delicacies. The little victual
characters smiled as they were dying like good samurai,
slipping into the door of our mouth, the tender
pink love note of quail in ginger. In this delicious procession
also appeared petals of braised eggplant in
sesame sauce, a small sculpted salad of fried cabbage
and vegetables, the firm meat of a duck on an egg flan,
and spicy radish flowers. We were very hungry and as
the continuation of our meal we’d ordered lobster with
asparagus, steamed turbot with bamboo shoots and
young leeks, shiitake mushrooms, and raw tuna. All of
it was excellent, as were the desserts: a pancake with
banana sorbet, and a melon zabaglione. The chef’s
food didn’t have one false note, it was precise and high
class. Svan Feldmann was the young prince of this
kitchen where Asia’s soul seemed to blossom as if it
had found itself in the very heart of the Far East.
Dressed entirely in black, Svan asked with infinite delicacy
whether his guests were happy. We admired his
confidence and talent in so closely approaching the
Asian cuisine, yet adding his personal touch to it. We
had just spent a wonderful evening at Taku.
To end our day we didn’t stop in at the piano bar but
preferred to go to our suite and fall in Morpheus’ arms
without any resistance. We went up the grand staircase
in lieu of making any greater effort, feeling that
the elevator would come in handy another time.
The next morning we had to send some emails out to
America and pick up our latest messages. At the hotel
everything was calm, even in the office where the computers
were and which had a few clients there already.
Everyone was thrilled with this particular service
offered by the hotel, being able to work under good
conditions and have comfortable seats where you could
sit for hours without getting tired. We quickly took
care of business and were already back in the hall with
its light marble, the solemn grand staircase, and our
favorite concierge behind the mahogany counter. In
passing, I hadn’t missed the opportunity of glancing at
the hotel dress store run by Mahi Degenring. The creations were
both elegantly modern and classic and far too tempting to resist
for very long. My companion could sense I was about to suc-
cumb and reminded me that we had an appointment with the
hotel director and that we’d come back later for a possible closer
look and fitting.
We were introduced by a young, blonde and beautiful cowork-
er, named Irini—meaning “peace” in Greek—and Mr. Luxem
greeted us with a handsome smile as he extended a firm hand.
He had a fine mind and chose his words with calm wisdom. An
able and professional administrator with a strong personality,
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EXCELSIOR HOTEL ERNST
he’d been in charge of the hotel for a while. He’d benefited
equally from great professional experience, having
traveled far and wide with his family and lived as expatriates
for several years. He’d worked for more than ten
years in a hotel caravansery in tropical countries, which
had brought him a few difficulties but also great pleasure.
He was on Mauritius where he ran one of the great
establishments. Being adaptable, he’d opened himself to
cultures quite different from his own and had known
how to turn the customs of the local population to his
advantage. He still felt somewhat nostalgic for Mauritius.
The wild charm of the island, the overwhelming
candor of its endearing people had touched him deeply.
After Australia, Cyprus, South Africa, he had finally
come back to Germany. Mr. Luxem returned to Cologne
to become director of one of the great German hotels.
We were sorry to have to leave him so soon, but he had
other appointments and I had some shopping to do that
I wouldn’t want to forget for anything in the world.
After long walks in the city, marked by the flow of publishers,
printers, television stations there, we discovered
the great diversity of art galleries, we visited the chocolate
museum and the Far East museum, after which we
went back to our hotel suite, happy to find it again in its
peacefulness, brightness, and luxury. We decided which
place to choose for lunch and went to say hello to the
impressive director of the house, Romain Witt.
For thirty-five years or so, Romain Witt has been presiding
over the Hanse Stube Restaurant of the Hotel
Excelsior. He is an exquisite man, extremely discreet,
with an incomparable skill at sliding one dish after
another down right under the eyes of his guests. His gestures
are slow, precise, and soft, as are his steps that
seem to have adjusted to the tranquil course he follows,
in soft indoor shoes so as not to disturb the meal his
guests are enjoying. It is as if Hans Stube belonged to
Mr. Witt, that is the extent to which he has managed to
make the visit to the restaurant an obligatory one for a
demanding clientele. Even if the food is good, the décor
elegant with its dark wood, its lovely modern paintings,
its beige velvet seats, its blue-striped carpeting, its
appliques that remind you of a dining car in one of the
great mythic trains, you come here for the fantastic
maitre d’. The medallion of lobster was a moment of
grand eating. The turbot was firm and tender, the beef
very flavorful. After this well prepared cuisine, what
else could we possibly hope for, except perhaps a walk
that would take us all afternoon. We were going to see
a few more museums and didn’t want to miss the carillon—on
the gable of the 4711 House in the Glockengasse—playing
the French Marseillaise, recalling a
period of occupation. Finally, to preserve the present
and our memories, we bought a bottle of the famous Eau de
Cologne 4711 with which we sprayed ourselves upon returning
to the Hotel Excelsior.