Knut's not Berlin's only polar bear and the Zoo isn't the only zoo. Most visitors don't realise that east of the Tiergarten, in Lichtenberg, home of the Stasi and much ugly DDR housing, lies the Tierpark Zoo, created in 1955 by the Ossies after the Berlin Wall cut off access to the world-famous Zoologischer Garten (home of Knut). It's a microcosm of the reunification of Germany: both zoos are now yoked together under one management, but the eastern side is out-dated, criticised and a drain on dwindling funds, and no one can agree on its future.

This is not Knut

The Knut controversy was only the tip of the ersatz iceberg. The animals are the stars of every local paper: they get born, they die, they're being conserved, they're being jailed. They're a Berlin obsession. I picked up BZ and the front page asked, "Why so many dead zoo babies?" The Tierpark had just lost a giraffe, another Eisbaer cub hadn't made it and two lions were gone-zo.

On a freezing Sunday, with barely any customers, the Tierpark  is a strange place to visit. You get lost – sign posts and maps are scant – and ramble along twisty woodland paths between the cages, past a memorial to a labour camp, and contemplate the animals in mutual silence, noting that the tiling indoors looks like an East Berlin subway.

The collection of creatures and the breeding programmes are impressive, but it's not just the décor of the enclosures that's old-fashioned. The elephants' indoor areas are barely large enough for them to turn round in. One of the jaguars was pacing a groove into the floor. The prairie dogs cowered nextdoor to the leopard pen.

It's also A-OK to take your pet dog, so Fido can harass the caged animals like this spaniel, barking at the boar. It lost its nerve at the tiger pavilion though, and shat itself. Which didn't improve the smell.

I did like the dugong tank, where four ponderous sea-cows swim through a soup of lettuce and carrot, and I noticed that the paths, enclosures and woods were covered in rabbit tracks. Rabbit party time! At least one species was having fun at the Tierpark.

TIERPARK ZOO; Am Tierpark 125, Lichtenberg, Berlin.

Photo: Vkthorp

Things we know about Berlin institution Henne: (1) there is only one thing on the menu, and that's milk-fed, organic, deep-fried chicken halves and (2) JFK was meant to go there for a meal on his whistlestop tour of the city in 1963, but he couldn't make it so he sent a letter of apology that hangs over the bar. At least, that's what I'd gathered from the guidebooks and a friend who's a long-term resident. Turns out they're both urban myths. Not that it matters, because I had a great night at Henne swapping stories, eating chicken with my fingers and building pyramids with beer mats.

Photo: Kean Wong

OK, so the menu isn't much longer than "hühn", but you can get boulette (meatball-burgers) and currywurst, and there's a choice of two salads: sauerkraut or potato. And that letter from JFK isn't from JFK at all. The true story (as explained in Henne's own history book) is that the enterprising owner sent an invitation to Kennedy suggesting that he dropped by this typical Kneipe for a quick snack and a beer, and Kennedy's Public Affairs Advisor wrote a gracious note back saying alas, it wouldn't be possible, but here was a photo. That photo is still framed and on display, and John Fitzgerald is currently sporting a little santa hat, just to keep things festive.

I'd call the interior "extreme gemütlichkeit" and it hasn't changed since 1905: red tartan cloths on heavy wooden tables, enough antlers mounted on the walls to decorate a presidential log cabin, and black-and-white shots of the Wall, which ran just a few metres from Henne's doorway.

They prefer it if you drink a dense, fruity Fränkisches Landbier, almost like a Belgian brew, served with a frothy head in a chipped stein. The chicken was salty and crispy, and garnished with a plain hunk of bread, a single paper napkin and no cutlery. You just pick away at it, getting thirstier and thirstier until there's only bones left, and then you choose a fruit brandy (quince? pear?) or a traditional Berliner cinnamon liquor to follow.

HENNE; Leuschnerdamm 25; Kreuzberg, Berlin