In the Federal Republic, people had become accustomed to cheap food. Then came the war. A journey to places where galloping inflation is becoming real – from discounters in socially deprived areas to the country’s most famous delicatessen.
In the Penny market in the Berlin district of Neukölln, inflation quickly made itself felt after the start of the war in the Ukraine. “A regular customer freaked out because the Bolognese sauce was 30 cents more expensive,” says the deputy branch manager, a man with messy hair and lots of earrings. Instead of 1 euro 39, the beef sauce in a tetra pack now costs 1 euro 69.
Just a few coins, you might think. But when everything else is becoming more expensive, thirty cents can trigger an outburst in people with little money – especially in a country like Germany, where people have become accustomed to comparatively cheap food and drink.
“We can’t help it,” says the deputy branch manager, worn down. The discounter’s sales have plummeted.
All of Germany is talking about the rising prices, and the government puts together one “relief package” after the other. But what is the situation where people are confronted with inflation day in and day out? We were out and about in the German capital and spoke to salespeople and customers. Some ask to have pennies written down themselves, others are relaxed.
Among the customers of the Penny branch in the district of Neukölln, which is as hip as it is socially precarious, there are many Hartz 4 recipients and drug addicts. Will more be stolen? The deputy store manager nods: “Coffee and head wash.” Junkies sold such products to the local Spätis, who then put the shampoo on the shelf for five euros.
When 50 cents is a problem
From the shisha bars and the mobile phone repair shops with the colorful neon signs in Neukölln, it goes to Steglitz to the west. Berlin seems almost village-like here, green and clean.
“I still get 50 cents.”
“Next week,” the woman asks in broken German and folds her hands as she speaks.
“Okay, I’ll enter it,” says Christine Hoppmann in a friendly but firm manner.
Anyone queuing at the Tafel issuing point in Steglitz must report to her. Hoppmann is approaching 70, which is hard to believe when you see the slender lady jump up from the chair to see if there’s any cat food left. There is actually a separate table for pet food, but Hoppmann has put some salmon aside for needy cat owners.
A woman with tired eyes puts four Ukrainian passports on the table without a word. “Welcome to German bureaucracy,” says Hoppmann and, glasses pushed back into his short hair, searches for the correct last name.
At the chef’s table, people joke and haggle. The amounts involved are small, sometimes a few euros, sometimes a few cents. On this workday, the queue of Berliners queuing for food is about 30 meters long and almost reaches the street. There are pensioners with trolleys, mothers with headscarves, men with Aldi bags, Ukrainian refugees. Above all, there are more people than before. And the supply has gotten smaller.
With the start of the Ukraine war at the end of February, food prices have skyrocketed. According to the Federal Statistical Office, the increase in July was almost 15 percent compared to the same month last year. The result: the Germans buy less, so the supermarkets order fewer goods – and in the end have less left over that the helpers at the food banks can distribute in their green boxes.
Without a part-time job, the pension is not enough
A pensioner tries on a men’s sports jacket from the rummage table in Steglitz. She has been coming to the board for four weeks, says the 69-year-old. Because of the Corona-related closures, she lost her part-time job in the restaurant, and since then her pension has no longer been sufficient: “I’m not ashamed to come here,” she says. You pay 1 euro 50 here instead of 15 euros in the supermarket. Her shopping trolley contains fruit, pre-baked rolls and packaged cheese.
Dairy products have risen particularly sharply in price in Germany. A piece of butter, for example, has become 75 percent more expensive compared to the previous year. Meat, bread, oil and coffee have also become significantly more expensive. And trade experts expect further price jumps in view of the energy crisis.
From the Tafel in Steglitz it goes to a weekly market in Potsdam, southwest of Berlin. It’s cozy here. Older couples and families stroll around and the stalls smell of flowers, fish. “Some switch to pollock for 2.99 euros because 100 grams of redfish now cost over 3.69 euros,” says a young man behind a counter under which pink fish fillets gleam.
“Our customers all have money”
However, there can be no talk of a crisis at the Potsdam weekly market. The price for Serrano ham has recently risen from 29 euros 90 to 32 euros 90 per kilo, says a cheerful sausage seller. And he’s selling like ever. Demand for Belgian yeast waffles, now 2.80 euros each, is also stable, says a stand operator. He only sells in “high-income areas”.
A few steps further in the «Essclusiv» delicatessen, the owner Arko Kucharzak sells a bottle of red wine to two women who have just had a leisurely look around. “30 euros straight?” asks the customer while handing him two bills. Kucharzak replies that he only has smooth prices: “At 29 euros 95 you say: ‘Keep the five cents.'” Is inflation damaging business? Kurcharzak denies: “Our customers all have money.”
This probably also applies to people who come to the world-famous Kaufhaus des Westens, KaDeWe for short, in the Berlin district of Schöneberg as customers and not just as onlookers. The delicatessen department of the house is located above the fashion floors. Lo and behold: unlike in tranquil Potsdam, the way the world is going is definitely noticeable here. A salesman reveals that there have been no Russian customers since the beginning of the war. And that affects sales of champagne and caviar in particular.
Where Angela Merkel buys her halibut
A diffuse maritime smell hangs over the counters, where fish and seafood are displayed on ice. Former Chancellor Angela Merkel also had her halibut packed here, currently 100 grams for 10 euros 95.
At the oyster bar, ice cubes are poured into a wine cooler by the staff, some go wrong and smack on the stone floor. The waiters dash skilfully over the wet floor and pour sparkling wine in unison. “It takes years for inflation to get here,” says one of them.
The working middle class is moving faster. A black SUV is parked in front of an organic shop in Potsdam. The couple, who is just putting a small purchase in the trunk, says they now often go to the discounter. “We have four teenagers,” says the mother of the adolescents, who is a graphic designer by trade. “They eat your hair off your head.” When it comes to bread and coffee, however, she and her husband, who works in finance, have not yet compromised on the quality. The price increase is “still manageable”.