C. Napolitano


Somewhere in Berlin, Quattro


How does an American living in Berlin celebrate the Fourth of July? By joining a spin class, of course. I slapped on some spandex, strapped into some cleats and paid too much money to ride nowhere with 30 strangers. If doing all this while listening to a Skrillex remix of Taylor Swift isn’t the proper way to honor ‘Murica, then I don’t know what is.

The neighborhood blessed by my residency for three months is Mitte. It’s a young, trendy place with the best and only Syrian restaurant I've ever eaten at. I've had dinner at this restaurant every night and I am now slowly turning into a falafel. While all of you back home were shotgunning Bud Lights and snorting hotdogs, I was sipping on a nice savory hummus in my bed. (I did consider taking a train to Hamburg to have a Hamburger, but hummus.)

This was my first Fourth outside the warm confines of our great border wall. I’m not missing much, but there is a hole in my heart where the media used to tell me on a daily basis that the world is ending. I mostly I miss being able to order food from an app though.

So on that note, Happy belated 241st birthday America. I am proud to say, without you and your 241 years of growth, I wouldn’t know the difference in quality between a Postmates restaurant from an Eat24 restaurant. 


"Peace, love and taco grease!” - Guy Fierdi