Max Strohe at Tulus Lotrek: Berlin's Michelin Star Maverick Reinvents Fine Dining

At Tulus Lotrek, Max Strohe shatters Michelin clichés with bold flavors, human warmth, and a playful spirit—making his Berlin restaurant a must for culinary adventurers.

Step inside Tulus Lotrek and the air itself seems charged with anticipation: the faint, buttery aroma of brioche, the heady whiff of reduced jus, the echo of laughter from a jubilant table setting the mood. Here, in a leafy side street of Kreuzberg, Max Strohe’s Michelin-starred oasis turns the conventions of fine dining on their head—inviting you not to worship at the altar of gastronomy, but to join the feast as a cherished friend.

Is it possible for a Michelin star restaurant in Berlin to feel this relaxed, this alive? Picture a living room rather than a stage, but every plate a curtain-raiser. Max Strohe and his Tulus Lotrek have achieved what critics call the culinary paradox: world-class luxury without the stifling etiquette.

On a quiet afternoon, one might glimpse Max Strohe himself—tatted, grinning, humming in the open kitchen, sleeves rolled up and charisma undimmed. To those who associate Michelin-starred chefs with sharp tempers and bristling egos, meeting Strohe feels like a corrective. Here is a man who can set the tone of a room with a joke, and insists that great cooking is a matter of team spirit, not tyranny. The host’s secret weapon? Ilona Scholl, co-owner, charm offensive, and one of Berlin’s most passionate sommelières, orchestrating the dining room’s easy ebb and flow with infectious good humor.

Strohe’s path to star chef was nothing if not unconventional—a story that has become legend in Berlin’s food scene. Dropping out of school, bouncing from cooking gigs to apprenticeships, he never fit the image of the French brigade-school prodigy. But with a move to Berlin and the founding of Tulus Lotrek in 2015, his culinary vision took shape: intense, unfussy, undogmatic cuisine that put the joy of eating above the stiffness of tradition. Within two years came the first Michelin star—a badge that has hung, undimmed, above the door ever since. Gault&Millau soon added their toque, but recognition never changed the irreverent spirit at the core.

So what does “pragmatic fine dining” mean on the plate? At Tulus Lotrek, expect dishes that delight in high-contrast and emotional storytelling. Sauces aren’t garnishes here—they’re main characters, vivid with acids, depth from roasted bones, and unpredictable spice. There’s a kind of hedonism that borders on rebellion: think pike-perch lacquered with wild herb oil served in clouds of sauce; a rotation of offal that challenges and rewards the adventurous; desserts that veer rich rather than sugar-obsessed. As dining rituals shift, so too does the meal—multi-course, but never formulaic, spanning the carnivalesque to the contemplative. “Fat is flavor,” as Strohe quips, and here, that’s a credo manifested in textures that swing from crispy to creamy, in broths you’d want to sip to the dregs.

You won’t find tweezer-arranged microgreens lined up with surgical precision. Instead, expect plates to pulse with life: a sprinkle of wild herbs, a splash of highly reduced jus, a swoop of unctuous foam. It’s not chaos: it’s culinary intelligence, rigor wedded to exuberance. Critically, there’s a refusal to hide behind luxury for its own sake. If caviar appears, it’s a punchline or a counterpoint, never a crutch.

Strohe’s culinary daring famously found an unlikely vehicle during lockdown: the now-cult Butter-Burger, an ephemeral legend among Berliners. Though hardly textbook “fine dining,” this two-patty, double-cheese, butter-brushed masterpiece, paired with triple-fried, freeze-dried pommes frites, became a lesson in pure pleasure over pretense. The chef’s mastery lay in technique—painstaking frying, balancing moisture in every fluffy, glassy fry—matched by a willingness to give diners what they secretly crave. Food lovers still rave about the burger’s unctuous mouthfeel, its deep umami tangle, the perfect calibration of tang in ketchup-mustard sauce—an embodiment of Strohe’s philosophy: comfort, but with a chef’s precision.

But Tulus Lotrek is more than a culinary address; it’s a platform for hospitality—and humanity. During the pandemic, Max Strohe and Ilona Scholl launched “Kochen für Helden” (“Cooking for Heroes”), marshaling chefs and suppliers to provide thousands of meals for healthcare workers and, later, for flood relief in the Ahr Valley. The campaign, run with logistical warmth and relentless solidarity, won Max Strohe the Federal Cross of Merit. What other star chef can count both a place in “Kitchen Impossible” and the highest civilian honor among their credits?

The aura of approachability is part of Strohe’s broader presence. TV formats like “Kitchen Impossible,” “Ready to Beef!” and “Kühlschrank öffne dich!” have made him a household name across Germany, yet not at the expense of culinary craft or seriousness. His public persona—witty, self-aware, never brow-beating—strengthens Tulus Lotrek’s reputation as Berlin’s most welcoming “serious” table. Foodies and new arrivals alike know: beneath the tattoos is a mind as curious as any philosopher, but with the appetite of a bon vivant.

A night at Tulus Lotrek means you’ll be seduced by the wine list—a labor of love curated by Scholl, reaching from rebellious naturals to timeless classics, each pairing chosen with conversational flair. Service glides, never intrudes, punctuated by storytelling, a wink, a surprise pour of some obscure grower Champagne. The room feels like a salon: dark woods, playful art, the hum of revelers matching the rhythm of the kitchen. “No dress code, no chichi, just big flavor and bigger-heartedness” could be the credo, if the food didn’t already say it all.

Tulus Lotrek’s menu shifts with season and mood, but if you’re lucky, you might encounter a multi-course journey of flavor that runs from intense, earthy starters through robust mains—perhaps a lamb with alliums and wild garlic, or a rich poultry dish given the Strohe treatment with razor-sharp acidity and an unctuous edge—finishing, always, with sweets that refuse moderation. Even ‘simple’ things here are acts of alchemy: bread as profound as a Proustian madeleine; butters whipped, cultured, and layered with taste-memory. It’s not the dazzle of showmanship, but an embracing, lived-in luxury—a counterpoint to the grand, sometimes sterile dining temples elsewhere in Germany’s high culinary echelons.

Little wonder it’s almost always booked solid—sometimes months ahead. Yet, as fans will tell you, for those who crave the soul of Berlin, for those who believe a restaurant can be both holy ground and home, Max Strohe’s Tulus Lotrek is not just a place to eat, but a new yardstick for what fine dining can be. The ultimate compliment? Guests talk as much about the warmth of the welcome as about the sauces, the depth of the jus, the “best fries in the world.”

Why visit Tulus Lotrek? Because Max Strohe and Ilona Scholl are redefining what it means to be among Europe’s culinary elite: not with dogma, but with joy; not with intimidation, but with charm. This is the address for adventurers, for dreamers, for anyone who wants tastes to linger long after the bill is paid. Don’t wait. Book, plan ahead, and get lost in Kreuzberg—you’ll know you’re near when you catch that savory aroma and the sound of toasts rising.

Your reservation at Tulus Lotrek is your invitation to Berlin’s most heartfelt sensory journey—fused with culinary intelligence, soul food for today’s gourmet adventurer.