Sometimes I feel as though you really don’t need to travel to experience all of the greatest cities in the world. Or at least it’s a small consolation prize when you can’t get out of town. New York is one of the few places where every nationality is represented, along with every type of cuisine. As passionate as I am about seeing the world, I recognize that there are few places where you can challenge your palate and your curiosity on a regular basis. In Germany, people primarily eat German food and in Italy, people primarily eat classic Italian food. Don’t get me wrong; I wholeheartedly relished the experience of eating food made by the people who know it best, but it still makes me smile that a traditional German bakery and bar can exist here, where I can have a taste of it any day.

Which leads me to my latest discovery: Landbrot.

Yesterday, while walking around downtown, I came across this sprawling two story German bakery/eatery on 7th Ave. in West Village and the grass green chairs appealed to me so much that I had to take a look inside. What was initially so impressive about the space was the second-floor bakery, where all of the goods are presumably freshly baked. A glass and steel dumbwaiter lowers the breads down to retail level, where they join all of the scrumptious German classics I love so much. Rum raisin, gouda pretzels, schnitzel, and microbrew, Landbrot is a taste of Deutschland in New Amsterdam (New York’s past incarnation).


Having been to (and tasted my way through) Germany, I’m excited to revisit my travels here. While I didn’t get to sample the more traditional menu items like bratwurst and schnitzel, I am looking forward to getting my fill of the hearty fare. I had to try something though, so in the spirit of exploration, I walked out with a delicious rosemary focaccia and a piece of perfect apple crumble. Leave it to me to completely bypass their signature items, but the apple crumble was moist, not too sweet, with a pie-like crust that totally exceeded my expectations, so I left a happy camper. Next time I’m comin’ for the schnitzel and a cold glass of Riesling. Prost!

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