Catrine Val
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sounds like a sublime melody
There are places that stay with us throughout life — even if we haven’t set foot in them for decades. Die Ente was such a place for me: a name, an image from childhood, associated with special occasions, with quiet elegance, with something deeply admired before it could be fully understood.
Now, decades later, I returned. And this visit became more than a dinner — it was an experience in which memory and the present met, not sentimentally, but clearly, precisely, and gently.
A Room That Opens Like a White Piano
What struck me first was the cocoon the dining room creates. It unfolded for me like the form of a grand white piano — bright, open, and harmonious. There is a deliberate rhythm to how the space is composed. The tables are placed like celestial bodies, orbiting in calm symmetry, with a balance that is more felt than seen.
The charismatic, sophisticated staff move within this constellation not as conventional servers, but as part of the spatial composition — with quiet assurance, never intrusive, always present.
A Pause, Even Without Time
That evening, we didn’t have time for a full tasting menu — but that didn’t diminish the experience. On the contrary, choosing à la carte made it more focused, more intimate.
The sublime risotto I ordered was seemingly simple, yet full of depth: gently aromatic, restrained yet perfectly calibrated, rich in flavor without overwhelming the senses. It didn’t try to impress — and that’s exactly what made it so compelling. A dish that didn’t perform, but spoke — softly, clearly, and with confidence.
Hospitality as Relationship
What I appreciated most was the way the house approaches service. When the trolley arrives — whether with cheese, digestifs, or sweets — it never feels ceremonial or staged. It is an invitation. A gesture of trust and hospitality. Etiquette here isn’t performance — it’s care.
This form of service reveals a deep sense of respect: for the guest, for the craft, for the moment itself. It’s not about spectacle. It’s about relationship.Despite its refinement and elegance, Die Ente does not feel distant. On the contrary, it feels familiar — not because it hasn’t changed, but because it has evolved without ever losing its essence. The feeling of being welcomed doesn’t come from words, but from atmosphere, attentiveness, and a discreet, steady hand.
This quiet, highly valued charm makes Die Ente more than a Michelin-starred restaurant. It is a place where you, as a guest, feel seen, understood, gently cared for. Where memory and the present don’t clash, but resonate.
A restaurant that remains true to itself — and for that very reason, can be discovered again and again, each time anew.