By John Owen.
“You secure the seats, I’ll get us a table.” It’s just after 9am and my wife and I are travelling to Prague for a last weekend of travel before our son is born. We board our train at Berlin Hbf a good few minutes before it is due to depart (this is before the German train network had descended to depths even below those of the “tief” section of the Hauptbahnhof). As we come down the escalator, I head left, my wife right. I bound up the stairs and arrive … in a completely empty dining car.
For several years now, social media would have you believe that dining cars are all the rage across Europe. And while it is true that for a few months on some routes each year, space in them is at a premium, my experience is more often than not the above. Even when they are full, it is rarely due to the hipsters that social media would have you believe. Most of the people I share dining cars with fit into a particular demographic: male, over 50, probably travelling for work.
This is a crying shame, not least because it has consequences. Train companies across Europe are scaling back their restaurant cars. Even the greatest social media darling of them all — the Czech dining car — has lost its distinctive allure. Gone are the tablecloths and ambient lighting. Instead, they seem to have taken a leaf out of Deutsche Bahn’s book (and who would ever do that in 2026?) and opted for a sterile, “café-like” aesthetic.
Deutsche Bahn’s dining cars are a paradigm example of what you can do wrong if you don’t look after this piece of railway heritage. Even a few years ago, it was still possible to get some truly delicious food on an ICE. The Maultaschen, for example, were genuinely delicious. Today, you are lucky (given how often they forget to load food, you are genuinely lucky) to get some overcooked pasta in a watery sauce.
This too has consequences. I have little doubt that many railway enthusiasts’ scorn for Deutsche Bahn would be more tempered if they could spend their time on delayed trains getting some decent food and drinks.
Compare this to a Polish train (the WARS restaurants are, to my mind, up there with the best in class in Europe nowadays). On a recent journey to Krakow, the train gradually accumulated over an hour of delays. On Deutsche Bahn, a crisis; in Poland, an opportunity. I was able to drown my sorrows with a decent beer and a plate of pierogi as a mid-afternoon snack.
Sure, there are dining cars across the continent pitched at the top end (the price of a soup on the Rhätische Bahn is enough to question anyone’s faith in Switzerland as a society), but dining cars need to be normal. These proxy restaurants should be on every longer journey and accessible to all. There are few greater pleasures than looking out of a train window with a pint of draught beer and a steaming plate of Central European food.
My plea to rail enthusiasts of all types is to indulge in the dining car, celebrating the ability to produce really pretty decent grub as you look over the Elbe, Danube, or even the pancake-flat Brandenburg countryside. And if they were reliably full, my own paranoia about not getting a table would at last be justified.
The Ideal Dining Car Meal
Starter
Żurek (WARS) — this sour soup is hard to beat and tastes good at all times of the year.
Main
Pierogi with meat (WARS)
Sirloin with cream (ČD) — I am cheating here, but whenever I travel on WARS I order pierogi as a somewhat indulgent side alongside a main meal. The staff will probably chuckle at your gluttony; be warned.
Dessert
Apple strudel (ÖBB) — the strudel option changes occasionally on ÖBB, but the flaky pastry travels almost as excellently as the custard it comes with. If you feel brave, order a double portion of custard. You won’t regret it.
Drink
Pilsner Urquell (ČD) — no one gets close to a pint of draught Urquell on a train anymore. Long may ČD keep serving it!
Photo courtesy of Deutsche Bahn AG / Dirk Wittmann.
