Marcello Schoeneberg - Berlin

Der Service ist tatsächlich etwas schwach, aber nicht so desaströs wie von den Vorgängern beschrieben, finde ich. Pizza ist köstlich und günstig im Preis. Komme seit Jahren und auch in Zukunft gerne wieder.

We had a quick lunch here when we arrived to Berlin. Food was ok and the service was fine until more people showed up.

Italienische Restaurants gelten gemeinhin als großzügig und gastfreundlich: vor der Mahlzeit reicht der Wirt zur Begrüßung Brot, Oliven, vielleicht auch Bruschetta, Focaccia oder Grissini; eine noble Geste, die einladend wirkt und zum Wohlgefühl beiträgt.Nichts davon allerdings im Marcello in Schöneberg, relativ versteckt in einer kleinen Seitenstraße nahe dem Innsbrucker Platz gelegen. Das Lokal ist recht groß; die Beleuchtung fällt etwas schummrig aus. Der sehr freundliche junge Kellner bedient routiniert und kompetent; meine Pasta mit Wildschweinragout schmeckte gut. Dazu passte der kräftige sardische Hauswein - um welchen Wein es sich genau handelt, steht nicht auf der Karte, wird aber auf Nachfrage verraten. Etwas Brot wurde auf meine Bitte hin gereicht; ein Glas Leitungswasser zum Espresso danach ebenfalls. Zu meiner Überraschung wurde das Wasser aber mit 50 Cent berechnet: das seien die Regeln des Hauses, erklärte der Kellner, dafür müsse ich aber das Brot nicht bezahlen, das normalerweise nur zum Salat gratis gereicht werde. Einigermaßen sprachlos beglich ich meine Rechnung - übrigens wird jedes Gericht und Getränk mit einer "krummen" Summe ausgepreist, wie beispielsweise 10,23 € oder 4,91 € - ein ungewöhnlicher Einfall. Überflüssig zu sagen, dass es zum Abschied auch keinen Digestif vom Haus gegeben hat. Ein italienisches Lokal, das in jeder Hinsicht aus dem Rahmen fällt...

Die Küche dieses recht einfachen Lokals ist okay, wenn auch nicht überwältigend, aber etwas anders als die allgemein üblichen Italiener. Der Service wäre bei einem Wettbewerb um den Preis des schlechtestens Service von Berlin ein echter Titelaspirant. Man wartet 10 Minuten vergebens in einem fast leeren Lokal auf die Bedienung - geht dann zur Theke, um eine Speisekarte zu erbitten - dann wieder zur Theke um die Bedienung zu bitten die Bestellung aufzunehmen - dann wieder zur Theke um Getränke zu bestellen und dann schlussendlich - wieder zur Theke um die Bedienung zu bitten, nun doch bitteschön die Rechnung zu bringen. Nach unten gibt es da keinen Spielraum mehr..

We had dined at Marcellos several times in the past two years. They had a special pizza for kids with ears made of dough and a play corner with a few children books. On the other hand, Marcello's take away pizzas had been getting skimpier in the past few months so I really should have known better than to take my wife and four year old son to this restaurant last night. We ordered the usual Pizza Salami for junior and some dishes from the evening menu. When the pizza arrived my son was immediately disappointed because it had no ears. I explained that chefs have to change things so they don't get bored but this was a good place. Next came the seafood pasta I had ordered. They had made a strange little sculpture out of tin foil around it – the waitress had to show me how to open it. Why did they want to dress seafood pasta up like a dead silver bird? My wives dish arrived next, it was a square, approximately eight centimeters in diameter, about hundred grams of green slime with a few pieces of something that looked like deep fried cardboard on top of it, painted over with a few lines of black sauce. We both tasted it. This had been sold as Salmon with artichoke but looked and tasted like a flattened version of "Sealachs" fish fingers that we sometimes buy in cheap supermarkets for our son. Something you really do not want to eat in a fancy restaurant. My wife told the waitress the this dish was not edible and that she would like to have a pizza tonno instead. No apologies from the waitress. No "sorry you did not like your one hundred grams of cardboard". Just a rude reminder that we had to pay for everything. My wife objected – mainly because the waitress was not being nice. Enter the owner, Signore Marcello, an angry looking middle aged Italian macho. The kind of insignificant little man you would never notice in a super market but right now he was running the show. My wife said she did not like the food. Signore Marcello said he did not care, she had to pay anyway. My wive said he should call the cops. He said fine and disappeared. But of course he was not going to call the cops. Much easier to just let the annoying customers and their four year old kid wait and sweat it out. This was pretty obvious when he just carried on in the kitchen, designing more of his crazy tinfoil birds. My wife and I almost always tip ten percent as a default. If Marcello had backed off at this point and offered some kind of compromise we would probably had overtipped to compensate, feeling guilty for making a fuzz in the first place. This way he probably would have made 10-15% more cash from us than he got out of us in the end. I waited for a few minutes for something like that to happen before I lost my patience, marched in to the kitchen and barked at Marcello that we would pay the bill and never come back. Twenty seconds later we were served the bill by a stocky german woman in her late forties, trying her best to make the best of the situation. 48.46 Euros is not a lot. But since we had always tipped about 10% each time we had been to this place we had already paid them more than that amount in advance last night when Marcello and his motley crew decided to rob us of our weekly night out as a family. In utter contempt my wife haggled the price down to 45 Euros. A 3.46 Euro discount for pure misery. After we paid the bill mr Marcello made a big deal out of pouring his expensive water in to two take-away coffe mugs. After all the water had cost us 5.60 Euros. My wife and son had already left and were waiting for me outside. Marceollos co owner, the polite german woman who may or may not be his spouse, was trying to explain to me that the dish that my wife had refused was actually a delicacy. She hinted that my wife was mistaken, even crazy. Had she tasted the dish? She was pointing at the sour and sorry looking green stuff, a sad little brick of misery on a huge white dish. Did we want to take it with us? I was at loss for words. She said we should not let emotions run away and make everyone look foolish. She seemed almost desperate and I started to feel sorry for her. This was not a bad person and her hands were obviously tied, either by silly house rules or Signore Marcello. Doom was so eminent that I could almost reach out and touch it. I felt that this woman would have loved to do good in some way and give those crazy Icelanders a Pizza Tonno and some sweet wine, make them love the place! Make them run to the local ATM on Hauptstrasse and pray to the dead soul of David Bowie while they poured out more cash for tips! And yet. This was never to be. Marcello must fall. So we can all get on with our lives.