R.W. Dooley discovers Kölsch ‘soul food.’

The man who lives next door doesn’t talk to strangers. I see him nearly every day but I’ve only seen him open his mouth twice – once to answer a question from a passer-by who wanted a piece of trash from the wheel-barrow he was pushing in the direction of the recycling station and another time at the bar on the corner.

I’ve never been much of a bar person. Even in my 20s, the thought of spending an evening sitting in a loud room filled with folks drinking to excess was never very attractive. That’s not to say that I haven’t spent my share of nights looking for love or a warm spot to while away an evening and ended up in a tavern - I have – but it wasn’t something I did on a regular basis.

In Manhattan, where I’ve spent most of my adult life, there are scores of charming little spots where people gather at the end of the day to swap stories and hoist a few. My personal favorite is the Corner Bistro at the corner of West 4th Avenue and West 12th street in the West Village. The place creaks with the years and characters it has weathered and the jukebox plays sleepy jazz on rainy days. The Corner Bistro happened to be my neighborhood bar, only a block from my apartment, so it was a convenient place to fall in love with.

Upon moving to Cologne, I discovered the German version of the American bar – the Kneipe. Cologne holds the dubious distinction of having nearly 3,000 Kneipen – more than any other German city. It was difficult not to notice them and once we had finally settled down in a neighborhood, I visited our local Kneipe.

There isn’t anything special about the space itself; it consists of a small bar with a dozen stools and five or six high tables at each end. One weekend when our three-year-old son was staying with his Grandmother, we wandered into St. Michael’s for a Kölsch. We live in Cologne after all and Kölsch is not only the local dialect, it is also the local beer. It is served in long, slim glasses and is brewed only in the city of Cologne.

That night we took a seat in a corner and relished our rare excursion out alone. It was a weekend so the place was fairly crowded. Now, a year later, I have come to recognize many of the faces I saw for the first time that night. What struck me then was the diversity of the crowd, there were men and women of a wide range of ages and more than a few unaccompanied women, sitting quite peacefully at the bar enjoying their Kölsch. From the look of them they could have been schoolteachers or bankers or stay-at-home moms out for a moment of peace. Some had small dogs that sat at their feet, curled up on the floor, and everyone (dogs included) seemed quite at home.

It wasn’t until some time later that I discovered one of the truly unique things about St. Michael’s. From a little after six in the morning until a little after two in the afternoon Sabine Kahl, a striking woman of seemingly endless good cheer and a smile that is quite wonderful to see each morning, runs a breakfast kiosk.

For many years, she and her father operated a traditional German kiosk on the corner of Brüsseler Strasse at Brüsseler Platz, selling newspapers and cigarettes and dispensing coffee from an old but reliable coffee machine. Unfortunately, when it came time to renew their long-term lease, the rent skyrocketed and they were forced to find a new location.

She wanted to stay in the neighborhood she had come to know and love over a period of 15 years and was discussing her problem with Lutgar Daimel, the owner of St. Michael’s, when he suggested that she simply move into his place in the morning and set up shop there. He didn’t open until the late afternoon so the place would have been empty anyway.

That is exactly what she did and she brought that old coffee machine with her. Each morning, a steady stream of locals comes in for their morning coffee, brötchen with cheese and a long slow read from one of the many newspapers and magazines that are on offer.

There is a rhythm to comings and goings. The cab drivers who park at the taxi stand across the street make quick dashes in and out, finding their coffee made and waiting on the counter when they arrive, just the way they like it, because Sabine has seen them coming and has it brewing before they step through the door. There is a retired gentleman who comes in each day with a cloth sack from which he extracts two empty mineral water bottles and three empty beer bottles that he places on the counter. He re-stocks his sack, nods to Sabine then fishes in his pocket for the exact change.

The druggist who operates the Apoteka next door to St. Michael’s comes in at about the same time each day. She is a tall, bold woman and often moves behind the counter as if she works there. Earlier this week, a group of mothers was seated at one of the tables composing a graduation song for the class of the local elementary school that would soon be leaving for high school. Later in the week, the local garden group would meet to discuss their annual spring fundraising event to raise money for the care and feeding of the flowers that surround the Brüsseler Platz just across the street

Each afternoon, Sabine cooks up one hot dish that she offers for lunch, "Hausmannes Kost" she calls it - Kölsch soul food. When I asked Sabine recently what made her place special, she was quick to answer that her kiosk was a place where people came to connect. In the age of the Internet, Sabine’s Früstück Kiosk is the MySpace of the Internet-averse, a meeting point, a point of reference for the community of neighbors and merchants, taxi drivers, mothers, college students and retirees who live and work around the Brüsseler Platz.

I’ve seen my reticent neighbor there as well. He stops in to buy his newspaper and cigarettes and recently, he has even glanced in my direction – perhaps in a year or so he might even say good morning. Food for the soul indeed.

Sabine’s Früstück Kiosk at Kneipe St. Michael

1 Brüsseler Platz, Cologne

6 a.m.– 3:00 p.m., Mon. – Sat.

Tel: (0221) 420.4555

Copyright 2008 R.W. Dooley