I arrived in Berlin on November 28, 2024. Exactly one year later, on november 28, 2025, Goldhahn und Sampson -the Charlottenburg studio that, unexpectedly, set in motion the whirlwind that brought me here- celebrated its tenth anniversary with fine wines and a delicious Colombian buffet prepared by one of my colleagues, Diana Römer Duque.
With Goldhahn und Sampson, I landed softly. Even if I weren’t teaching there, it would still be my favorite store in the city: deli products, great coffee, an impeccable wine selection, gorgeous kitchen gadgets, and one of the best culinary bookstores I’ve ever seen (and for a cookbook freak like me, that’s saying something).
But I am teaching there, and that’s how I ended up in Berlin. It started with a single workshop, “The Art of the Sandwich,” which I gave in the spring of 2024. I’d been living in London for nearly two decades, happily teaching at Le Cordon Bleu, but a friend suggested I reach out to Goldhahn und Sampson. They were looking for instructors to lead workshops in their gorgeous studio space.
I’d always been drawn to Berlin. My grandmother, Oma Hilde, was born here, though she left as a child. I grew up hearing stories about the city, and there was always a pull, a sense of unfinished business. So, I sent a proposal, fully expecting it to be a one-off.
It wasn’t.
The sandwich workshop was a success. Peopel were enthusiastic,the space was inspiring,and the Goldhahn und Sampson team was incredibly welcoming. They asked me to develop more workshops, and before I knew it, I was spending more and more time in Berlin. By the fall, I’d made the decision to leave London and move here permanently.
It was a leap of faith, a complete uprooting of my life. But it felt…right. Berlin is a city that embraces change, that encourages creativity, that feels both ancient and utterly modern. It’s a city of contradictions, of hidden courtyards and grand boulevards, of history and innovation.
And it’s a city where a single sandwich workshop can lead to a whole new life.
The anniversary party was a testament to the spirit of Goldhahn und Sampson.It wasn’t just a celebration of a business milestone; it was a gathering of friends, colleagues, and food lovers. There was laughter, conversation, and, of course, plenty of delicious food and wine.
As I stood there, surrounded by people I’d come to know and love, I felt a profound sense of gratitude. Gratitude for the unexpected opportunities that life throws your way, for the courage to take a leap of faith, and for the simple joy of sharing good food with good people.
Here’s to another ten years of Goldhahn und Sampson, and to all the adventures that lie ahead. And a special thank you to Diana for the astonishing arepas. They were a little taste of home, and a reminder that sometimes, the moast unexpected journeys lead us to the most beautiful destinations.
The Unexpected Joy of doing Nothing
We live in a culture obsessed with productivity. Every moment feels like it needs to be optimized, filled with activity, and geared towards some future goal. We’re told to hustle, grind, and “make every second count.” But what if I told you that one of the most radical, and surprisingly beneficial, things you can do is… nothing?
I’m not talking about laziness or apathy. I’m talking about intentionally carving out space in your life for unstructured, unscheduled downtime. Time where you’re not striving, achieving, or even trying to relax. Just… being.
This concept, often referred to as “doing nothing,” isn’t new. It’s rooted in philosophies from around the world, from the Japanese practice of ma (empty space) to the Taoist principle of wu wei (effortless action). But in our hyper-stimulated world, it feels almost rebellious.
Why is doing nothing so hard?
Several factors contribute to our discomfort with inactivity.
* The Productivity Trap: We’ve internalized the belief that our worth is tied to our output. If we’re not doing something, we feel guilty or unproductive.
* Fear of Missing Out (FOMO): The constant stream of information and social media updates makes us feel like we’re always missing out on something exciting.
* Distraction Addiction: We’ve become conditioned to seek constant stimulation, whether it’s through our phones, TV, or other distractions. Boredom feels… unpleasant.
The Benefits of Embracing the Void
But here’s the thing: doing nothing isn’t a waste of time. It’s actually incredibly restorative.
* Boosts Creativity: When we’re constantly busy, our brains don’t have time to wander and make new connections. Downtime allows for incubation – the process where ideas simmer and develop in the background.
* Reduces Stress & Anxiety: Stepping away from the demands of daily life allows our nervous systems to calm down and reset.
* Improves Focus & Concentration: Regular periods of rest can actually enhance our ability to focus when we do need to be productive.
* Enhances Self-Awareness: When we’re not constantly distracted, we have the prospect to tune into our thoughts, feelings, and needs.
* Simple Joy: Sometimes, the greatest pleasure comes from simply observing the world around us – the way the light falls, the sound of the wind, the feeling of the sun on your skin.
How to Practice doing Nothing
Okay, so you’re convinced. But how do you actually do nothing? It’s simpler then you think.
* Schedule It: Yes, you read that right. Block out time in your calendar specifically for doing nothing.Start with 15-30 minutes a day.
* Disconnect: Put away your phone, turn off the TV, and close your laptop. Remove all potential distractions.
* Resist the Urge to Fill the Void: This is the hardest part. Your mind will likely wander and try to find something to do. Gently redirect your attention back to the present moment.
* Just Be: Sit, lie down, or simply wander around. Observe your surroundings. Notice your breath. Allow your thoughts to come and go without judgment.
* Embrace Boredom: Boredom isn’t a bad thing. It’s a signal that your brain needs a break. Allow yourself to feel it.
Doing nothing isn’t about escaping life; it’s about enriching it. It’s about recognizing that our worth isn’t tied to our productivity,and that sometimes,the most valuable thing we can do is simply… be.
So, I challenge you: take a few minutes today to do absolutely nothing. You might be surprised by what you discover.
This year has been threaded with meaningful dates, events, and coincidences. And that wasn’t the only one.One year before moving, on November 17, 2023, I unexpectedly lost my uncle Germán. More than an uncle,he was my older brother,my best friend,my guide. It has always struck me as profound -and never coincidental- that his name is almost synonymous with the country where I now live, and that along the way he left me a guardian angel. Germany.Germania. Germán.
In November this year, I had the chance to lead a workshop on tamales, atole, and calaveritas at Ahorn, a cultural space in Hermannplatz. Once again,the name was there. I don’t say this from superstition, but from a deep intuition: sometimes language, names, and dates align to tell us something. I choose to listen, as a kind of companion along the way.That workshop was significant,yes,but not just for the ritual of such an important tradition from my country and for memory. It also reaffirmed something that runs through everything I do: food erases borders. It unites languages, stories, absences, and presences. it keeps me connected to Mexico even when I’m far away, while opening unexpected doors here.
Goldhahn und Sampson has been a crucial part of that -through its team and the connections I’ve made in my classes- but not the only one.
Working with Über den Tellerand has also brought invaluable experiences and people into my life. their beliefs -using food as a space for intercultural encounters, breaking down prejudices, and building a more open society- resonates deeply with my own beliefs and how I understand cooking. At a time when Germany is cutting budgets for culture and social support, their work -especially with refugees- is more fragile and more important than ever. (Here’s their link for anyone who wants to support them through donations, participating in events, or buying their merchandise: cookbooks, utensils, totes, and organic honey, among other thoughtfully made items.)
The Unexpected Flavors of Connection in Berlin
I came to Berlin seeking solitude, a space to write, and a change of scenery. What I found,unexpectedly,was a vibrant tapestry woven with the threads of food and connection. It’s a funny thing, how a simple act like sharing a meal can dismantle the walls we build around ourselves, especially when far from home.
Along the way, food has given me something I didn’t even know I was looking for: immediate connections. Local friends, foreigners, and fellow Mexicans with whom I share stories, acquaintances, and such a natural affinity that I’m surprised we hadn’t met sooner -or perhaps we had- intertwined with old bonds that predate this time and place, yet have been kneaded anew.
As arriving in Berlin, I’ve rarely eaten at “trendy” restaurants (though there are many, and surely some excellent ones). Instead, I’ve devoted myself to something that fascinates me more: the cuisines of the diaspora. I believe Berlin -and this is one of the many ways it resembles Mexico City- is one of the few cities in Europe where you can eat extraordinarily well at affordable prices, thanks in large part to migrant communities -especially from the Middle East- who sustain a daily, honest, and deeply delicious culinary scene.Each cuisine has its own identity, nuances, techniques, breads, legumes, and slow-cooked dishes. Like Mexican food, these cuisines arise from necessity, ingenuity, oral transmission, and communal care. (I’ll share some examples later.)
My affective culinary map is expanding, and it’s happening thanks to the generosity and warmth of my neighbors in Berlin. First, there’s Dr. Nowak, my Polish neighbor who happens to be a pharmacist- who also speaks Spanish and cherishes every chance I give him to practice it, and has saved me from numerous mishaps: slicing a chunk of my right middle finger, multiple injuries from my bicycle accident with the tram tracks, chronic aches in my right knee, tendinitis in my left elbow, a shoulder contracture in my right arm, and most recently, the seasonal flu that knocked me down last week. In short, I don’t know what I would do without him. Dziękuję, drogi sąsiedzie.
Above all, I owe thanks to my dear Moabit neighbor and friend Kasha, who invited me to her home in Bielinek over the summer -a charming village with breathtaking sunsets on the border of Brandenburg and the West Pomeranian Voivodeship.With her, I’ve discovered fascinating Polish culinary traditions that I continue to explore every time we meet -like the fact that up to eight different soups are served at Christmas, which honestly rank among the best soups I’ve ever tasted- and I’ve found unexpected but profound similarities between our cultures (which I will share further) that have crept into the kitchen, producing surprisingly fitting combinations between Polish and Mexican cuisine. Eating at her table, understanding the rhythms, the soups, the preserves, the ferments, and the ingredients from działki to table, was opening another layer of this affective culinary map that has been forming.