After hearing the name Corbaci for the first time, just a few weeks ago, I realised that I’ve been to said place – the restaurant next to Architekturzetrum Wien (AzW) in Vienna’s MQ (Museum’s Quarter) – several times, and never knew what its name was.
Maybe because its modest exterior doesn’t brag with a fancy neon sign or hip type out front, or because everything else about the place becomes irrelevant once you see the place’s interior ceiling, covered in oriental tiles that make you feel like being thousands of kilometres away.
It’s been there for a while now – the ceiling, not the name – since MQ opened back in 2001 (I feel old now – remembering the opening of Vienna’s biggest art complex with more than 60 cultural institutions). Inspired by Turkish cafés and wanting to add a touch of lightness to MQ’s heavy structure, French architects Anne Lacaton and Jean Philippe Vassal decided to turn the ceiling of the place into a sky. Unbelievable that the room dates back to the early 18th century, when it was used as the Imperial Horse stables. The name came 10 years later, when the former restaurant Una changed owner and the menu, and reopened as Corbaci.
Set next to the AzW (Center for Architecture) and with the MUMOK’s (Museum of Modern Art) dark-grey, frump and sturdy appearance glaring through the huge windows, it’s a calm and inspiring place here. There are tables for 4–6 people as well as for 2 (inside and outside), concrete lamps dangle from the tile sky, and a leather couch sits in the corner, with newspapers and magazines scattered accross it.
On a 36 °C Viennese summer Thursday, the inside is empty. It feels like a sauna. But outside, people crowd the garden, finding a piece of welcome shade underneath huge white umbrellas. They enjoy fresh lemonades, summer salads and other slightly modified Viennese Schmankerl (A Viennese and Bavarian word for tasty treat).
The salad is served within 3 to 5 minutes, the drinks come even faster – 2 espressi macchiati = 1:25min. I timed it, after noticing the waiters’ highly impressive speed. Both food and drink appear at the right time. Quick but unhurried, without stress. I can’t keep my eyes between the waiter and the tiled sky. It makes you dreamy, in a way.
No one will look at you funny, turning up at mid-afternoon and ordering only a coffee. The waiters still use pen and paper, or their memory only. As if they had seen it all in Viennese gastronomy. It gives you a homey feeling, like being a regular, spending your work lunches here every day. It makes you brave.
“Could I have just a slight touch of lemon in my water, please?” – you don’t feel rude asking for anything here.
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