Well, I’m back where it all begun, I guess. Karlovo náměstí. The 22 to Hostivař is the first tram to arrive—fortunately, I was afraid I’d be the 3 to Levského.
The sixth stop is Ruska, and there’s plenty to choose from around here. I pick Lye Beer Café, the closest, and the only spot I’ve never been to.
It seems to be empty and, as I approach it, I peek around the corner, to Galerie Piva. People are literally spilling out on the pavement, and that’s enough to change my mind, Galerka it is then. I was here once for a quick pifko on the go, likely on my way somewhere else, years ago, and this is a great excuse to revisit it, now with more time at hand.
Galerka is very much like the nearby Pivní Zastávka, my hospoda número uno, but a bit grungier. They also have five beers on tap, headed by a Světlý Ležák, with the other four being styles of a trendier persuasion, plus a fairly wide range of bottles and cans in the fridges lining a wall.
Somewhat unsurprisingly, I run into a friend and his wife, fellow Zastávka štamgasty. We clink glasses and start talking about the ongoing football world cup (mandatory #FuckFIFA), the recent heatwave, life, beer in general, and the beers we are drinking – all really well done, by the way, the three I had: a 12° from Sibeeria, a Session Cold IPA from Zichovec, and a West Coast IPA (that reminded me of the APAs of yesteryear) by a letající pivovar whose name I can’t remember, because I was having too much of a good my friends to bother writing things down o taking pictures.
This brings me to another similarity between Galerka and Zastávka, in addition to their almost identical approach to beer. This is the sort of place where you get the feeling that everyone knows each other, or at least the tapster seems to be on “ahoj” terms with pretty much everyone who walks in. And somehow you know that if you happen to come often enough, and behave, you can soon be part of that everyone. The beer offer might be the thing that brings you in the first time, but it is that sense of community that is most likely to make you want to return.
Needless to say, I’m tempted to stay, or to walk the few blocks that separate me from my favourite watering hole, but duty calls, and back to the tram stop I go.
It’s the 22 again, but in the opposite direction. Funny how this game is taking my back and forth; I really wouldn’t mind going further away from the centre, but well, such is fate.
I get off at I.P. Pavlova and it doesn’t take me long to decide where I’ll have my next beer(s): Na Břežance.
Last episode I also went from modern (Čep & Pec) to a classic (U Parašutistů), with the modern being fairly lively and the classic rather comatose. This time, I’m pleased to say, the classic is just as lively as the modern, if not more.
In the taproom by the entrance, there are at least half a dozen štamgastů knocking them down around their table, and the main room is pretty full too, and the right kind of noisy – and it should be noted they aren’t even showing the football game on the telly. It makes me feel good in a way, because (and I may well be wrong) I don’t think many locals live around here any more (like around Karlák), and the crowd here is mostly Czech.
The beers, all from Prazdroj, were flying left and right around me. From the list nailed on the wall, I choose one I haven’t seen in aeons: Gambrinus nefiltrovaná 12°. Perhaps I should have paid more attention – I don’t think many people drink it, it tastes rather stale. I get a tatarský biftek to help me endure it.
Tatarkák is, in my opinion, the ultimate beer snack. I remember the first time I had one, almost a quarter of a century ago, in a now defunct pub in Dejvice. Eating raw meat felt almost dangerous, and it was love at fist bite. My favourite today is at Kantýna, in Politických vězňů. I would call it minimalist, as it has little in way of seasoning to let the flavour of the dry-aged beef shine. Many pubs and restaurants today serve the tartar steak already mixed, but I most confess I prefer the old school: a lump of almost pureed beef, crowned by an egg yolk, surrounded by condiments, and served with fried topínky with garlic cloves to rub them with.
That’s is exactly what you get a Na Břežance. Admittedly, the condiments were a bit lacking: ground black pepper, chopped onion, sweet paprika and bog standard ketchup and mustard; I would have welcomed Worcestershire or a hot sauce to rump things up in the flavour department, but alas. The topinky, on the other hand, are brilliant, and the Gambáč 12 I order to finish washing the food down is doing a very good job (not surprisingly, it’s the best selling pivo today).
I go home in a very good mood, eager to continue with this project, hoping the MHD Gods will take me to some uncharted territory next time.
Na Zdraví!
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