Chapeau

The Chapeau! is creatively and conceptually inspired in the area of ​​Food & Drinks for many international impressions. Here new dishes combine with classics. Fresh marinated, or massaged kale, so kale salad with lukewarm Hokkaido pumpkin and then steak fries with decent chips, homemade ketchup and mayo and its own recipe of the famous Café de Paris butter, which we call chapeau butter, has 26 ingredients and liquid as brought to the table in Paris. Good drinks, à la carte weekend brunch, very different events and spontaneous escalation are on top - the life-affirming enclave is done in the intact Winterhude. A cage full of fools - male-devouring Femme Fatales, insiders and outsiders. Nerds, diabolical gigolos and glamor gynecologists. Pub Squatters, Charismatic Skilled, Professional Bandits, Extremely Submissured, Fumblecrackers, Short distance brokers, marathon thinkers, boulders and aqua-lovers. Lab bags, silent artists, policeman-Duzer, sauna-all-up-seater, neurosis dealer around the corner and high-priestesses of the Hyper-incorrectness. People laugh, cry, clap, dance, lie down on the shore. Steak fries is served. A dose of honesty. No frills. But large uncovered, roasted pieces of meat, which are like thick pillows on the plate. Inside, the rooms are bathed in dim light. A man is just releasing his tension at the cloakroom. In the Nachtkatzengrau of Seitenseparees a couple smokes their lips bloody and believes in love. The sotto voce of my neighbor invades me. He seems to spring from a Fellini movie. Where am I? Insiders mingle with outsiders, creatives with people in business uniform, Trenddarlings with Felix Krull nerds. Beautiful women sit on the ledge and eat - lost in conversation - a thousand small vegetarian delicacies. The device breathes timelessness. The scenery practices in fine discretion, only speaks when asked. The lamps made of black hats paint lines on the walls. The Chapeau is a place where style is not just a matter of clothing. Where every small talk has a small size. A deep excursion into the cleavage alternates with the timid look in my now half-empty glass. Truths talk with untruths. Increasing conversations. Clinking glasses. The ringing of cutlery. Sounding bass, louder and louder. The DJ is forming his prelude. First legs swing to the beat of his dramaturgically skilfully constructed songs. Another Harrald Juhnke! Cheers.