One Year as a Berliner Jelly Donut

Today I made it: one year in Berlin. As a 12 year American refugee in Europe, I find that making it in a new country for a year is something special. In my case, this is only the second time I’ve done it. The first time was in Prague (where I stayed for 10 years with the odd interruption) and now here in Berlin. I lived in several other countries for 6 months each, no big deal, really.

I’ve decided that the best way to celebrate this anniversary is by gorging on Berliner jelly donuts. I plan to hit at least 3 bakeries and sample at least one Berliner from each one in order to give my palate a wide diversity of deep fried lard and sugar.

Now this isn’t as easy as it seems. For one, Real Live Berliner Jelly Donuts are as much of an urban myth as was JFK’s Ich Bin Ein Berliner speech. I imagine an authentic Berliner to look like something in my blog header: big, round, fluffy, sugar coated, oily and fairly oozing fruity goo out the side. Unfortunately I’ve been getting a lot of impostors at most Berlin bakeries. The ubiquitous pfannkuchen, which APPEARS to be a Berliner, is merely stuffed with sour plum sauce. Ewww. They do have other varieties, but sadly, either the filling is fake cream or the donut is smothered in thick, white icing made of pure sugar—which completely destroys the flavor of whatever meager bits of jam might be inside.


In order to embark on my romping, rollicking, culinary tour de force, I needed to do some research: Google by Thy Name. After some very precise search terms (‘where in the hell does a ninja get a REAL Berliner jelly donut in Berlin?’), I found this person’s blog post on the subject. I must thank the person for the hints. I had no idea that a 100 year old Berlin bakery was just down my street. I should get out more. I decided to more or less follow their list, omitting the bakeries in West Berlin for obvious reasons (well, if they’re not obvious, make some up; I ain’t got time to school ya).


Siebert bakery on Schoenfliesser str. 12 is at LEAST 100 years old. You can tell by the old, bent and twisted black pans on which the bakery items were displayed. This must be for A) the appearance of an Old School Bakery; or B) for the old ‘flavor’ the saturated iron gives the pastries. I joined a queue of at least 8 people waiting for their baked goods. Since it was after 11am, this was a good sign that all the fresh stuff wouldn’t be gone by 8am or some other ungodly hour. It reminded me of the lines of people outside the Paris bakeries, only without the Parisians. I judged by the line stretching outside Siebert’s that this is where the Berliners go. I saw the ubiquitous pfannkuchen mit pflaumenmus (nasty plum filling) and avoided it. I pointed and mimed and managed to get a CHERRY filled donut. It was a glazed donut rather than my preferred powdered sugar one, but I munched away. Mmmmm! Thousands of Germans over a hundred years were right!

I limited myself to one donut (a Herculean task) and plodded on through the snow to the next place. I’m not at all complaining about the ice and snow. All the snow flakes on my coat covered up a multitude of donut glaze sins. And when you are pigging out in Berlin, you must LOOK GOOD. Krautzig (Uh-HUH huh) Konditorei was just down the road on Schoenhauser Allee 126. Once again, the tired old sour kraut, er, sour plum filling. I asked if they had pfannkuchen ohne pflaumenmus (donut without nasty ass plum sauce), and they said NEIN! Side note: the list on the blog mentioned above says there are many names for donuts (including ‘Berliner Ballen’ and ‘krapfen.’ I cannot order either of those with a straight face under any circumstances), so perhaps I was missing the Berliner donut train by not asking for a Berliner specifically by name. But when ordering a ‘Berliner’ in Berlin there is always the off chance that they will trot out a drunken punk swinging a bottle of Sternburg. So I left the premises at once.


I had exhausted all my neighborhood bakeries on previous visits. Now I boarded to U bahn to head to the center for the next on the list: Thuermann bakery, Karl-Liebknecht-str. 9. I don’t like the wide open spaces of Alexander Platz because I am ALWAYS on the wrong side of the street. After walking for about 500 meters I found Thuermann. It was a proper sit down café/bakery establishment, which means they would have overpriced crap coffee and marginally decent baked goods. But at this point I needed my second donut and a coffee, pronto. Also it was -5 outside. The donut was decent, glazed, but filled with strawberry jam. It was light, fluffy and edible. The coffee was crap. I hate being right.

As I was brushing the snowflakes and donut glaze off my overcoat I wondered where I would get my third donut. The remaining bakeries on the Google list were in West Berlin. Screw that. So I was trudging, trying not to slip slide away, looking down at the ground, when I saw THE SIGN: a crumpled Dunkin’ Donuts bag lay at my feet. I looked up and my head jerked around (this was partially due to heavy doses of sugar and crap coffee). There MUST be a DD somewhere nearby. Germans would NEVER carry their litter too far from the source before dropping it. So, like a donut munching bloodhound, I proceeded back to Alexander Platz. I figured the DD would be inside the train station, as many of them are. I was right. This Dunkin’ Berliner was close to home: overpriced, overly sugary donuts from my homeland. I entered and they had a whopping selection. By not farting around with bread and pretzels, this place could provide the highest chance for me to get what I wanted. Yes, I was previously looking for a Real Berliner donut. Yes, the person in the blog had to wear dark shades and skulk in to DD to get theirs, but I’ll be DAMNED if I’m gonna spend a whole day chasing donuts. I have drinking planned. So I noticed that they charge 1.30 EU for ONE stinking donut. Since this was nearly double what the Berliner bakeries charged, I decided that there was only one possible choice: get a 6 pack! It was only 5.49 EU! Cheaper by the dozen! So I lumbered home with my pirate’s booty (as in TREASURE booty, sicko) and opened the box. There they were, bright blue(?), dark brown and puffy white. I no longer cared about my mission. After all, Dunkin’ is the name of this blog, so I was having a fairly narcissistic moment as I reached for the most decadent in the lot: blueberry with blue icing. This one donut alone could do me in. Eating 6 overpriced donuts from an international chain could result in me needing to pursue overpriced, non-nationalized healthcare after the resulting coronary. I live on the edge, so I jammed the bright blue slab of sugar into my gaping maw and shuddered. It wasn’t from the cold.