Tag Archives: drink

Moka pokey

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A step off the main drag, Margit Körút style, at the corner of Varsányi Irén and Eröd utca(k), this one’s new to me, but I gather, also to the neighbourhood.
The first thing I noticed was its relative modesty from outside, a chalkboard and a small sign bare indication. If I hadn’t been told of this place I may never have found it – but aren’t such places sometimes the best.
Well let’s see.
On entering: a low table to the left, two small tables to the right, and a bar curving out in front makes it, as the exterior, certainly not boasting swank. A stairwell winding up suggests seating out of sight and this is pleasing considering everything downstairs is full, with one-a-table being a jam.
There’s free WIFI just in case the laptops accompanying nearly every single customer haven’t aleady given the game away, but these days that’s par for the course/to be expected.
I order and settle upstairs. Cosy seats, low tables, not the best for writing on, but it does force me to unwind, and that is what I do, caffeine to hand.
The general atmosphere is subdued, gentle, placid and the staff are suitably laid-back, friendly, and curious. Chalked up on the wall is a food menu but I regard it only as a snap Hungarian lesson, I’ve just come from food…home-cooked…the best:)
But what has me really kicking back and letting go, beyond the confines of my armchair is the music; a mix of Jazz, slow blues, and old R&B (the good stuff when singers had voices not just funky names). To top it all off the sounds are omitting from a record player, the real deal – vinyls, needle caressing, and not a scratch to be heard. What manner of preservation is this! Almost unholy, what with my Hits 5 playing like a seance snippet off of Paranormal Weekly these days, well like it would if I had a record player. I’m not HD me, I’m all for da mood. Like smoke in a dark and dirty Jazz bar, I miss some of the things which are now considered bad for me.
As I finish my coffee I laze, I inhale, and I promise to return. It’s a wee bit on the parsimonious in terms of overall space but just to huddle up to the vinyls and speak about times past, I could offer up my peg leg – again!
Moka…tis no joke!!!

 

©TheHairyTeacher2013

A taste of Italy

A taste of Italy

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A lunchtime menu attracted me to this place seeing as its reputation precedes it in terms of price. And yes, while the main courses begin in the high 2000s and soar it’s the drink that’ll catch you. The only red in glass is a generous 650huf per “deci” (100ml/10cl) while the water is even pricier. Still, prepared for that, I wanted to enjoy this. Then what of it?

The place is pristine and service implied. The only fault early on was a horrible buzzing made by the air-conditioning. It was turned off on request, if somewhat reluctantly. Silver trays serve as place mats and the whole thing is too Upstairs-Downstairs (or Downton Abbey) for my liking. The cutlery is set up with the intention of being worked through, and the serviettes are folded and propped. Not a place I’d bring my daughter – the bull in the china shop image prevails, though the rebel heart would almost delight.

I imagine regaling her future husband with what may, or may not, be an embarrassing story. If she’s truly my daughter she wouldn’t bat an eyelid. Beneath her such finery would be, but not beneath me it would seem.

The waiter was a friendly chap, verging on a professional courtesy, but he engaged, held eye-contact, and played his part unobtrusively. He knew we were there for the menu!

Coming then to the food. On first impressions I saw only average – presentation aside – and in taste I felt that while competitive, it wasn’t high end as the prices would suggest. Okay so I had the menu of minestrone soup, a main course with pork, fried potatoes, and a ragu sauce, which could explain the simplicity, but my partner’s pasta, while certainly tasty, was only that. In fact it was the sauce that saved it. Maybe we were expecting too much, but it seemed overly simple considering the prices. That the ingredients are fresh is a given – this is the stronger selling point, I imagine, and on this note I’d have to conclude that overall it was worth the experience.

Nevertheless I do, with bias, think Andi could have made as good, if not a better, job at home. And perhaps this is not really a criticism as it is in Italian culture to love home-cooking anyway.

Finally, dessert was a caramel cream pudding with an alcohol twist. Tasty but the chocolate sauce was too buttery. Ahh, what the heck! A good destination for the menu but if intent on good Italian food in the city I suspect there could be better.

http://www.ristorantekrizia.hu/

©TheHairyTeacher2013

Cafe5

Cafe5

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Go there, visit it, and see for yourself. For me it is a somewhere in the middle of a nowhere. Kolossy tér, you see, I’m not a fan of, and though there are things which will always tempt me when in the environs, I will never, and could never, recommend this area as an outright party place. Kolossy tér, I mean. It’s all very fabricated…check out Symbol up the street, that raw, mafia-esque, bling bling appeal, type of place, indicative of the decadence as resides within the remnants of this post-communist state (Forget the Puskas Pub appeal. Go Pest side and to the heart of the footballer’s club grounds if you want a sense of the authenticity on that front). The farther East you go in Europe the greater the obvious gap between rich and poor. Note, before you react, how I used the word “obvious”. Just because us in, what people here call, the West have found cynical means of concealing it doesn’t pass us off as saints. Being Irish I’m often left dumbfounded by what all continental Europeans deem as the greatness of England, Britain, the United Kingdom. As far as the bloody colonialist history that is a pan-european involvement (Irish included) goes, Britain remains one of the stalwarts at least in its representation, Queens etc, and this is probably what got the hackles up in the Irish press concerning the opening ceremony of the London 2012 Olympics. Why other Europeans didn’t seem to take offence…could it be the hankering for the old order?

Jesus, talk about straying from the point! Cafe 5 around Kolossy tér on the Buda side of the city has plenty to offer. It’s a full day cafe, with an alternating lunch menu, a selection of drinks, cocktails, and all, and if I was stuck for a place to sit down in for a while there could be a lot worse. However, in the way of things, if I was looking for atmosphere in the mid-afternoon I would choose any of the Kocsmas nearby, and only then if I had no means of escaping into Pest, or at least away from here. Why? Go and see!

Cafe5

 

The cider lout rules

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Year 3 of an eternal programme to get things to perfection in all ways cider-ly. First 2 years had the highlights and the low-lights, the last batch actually gassy and sweet on opening, while the previous year’s sour torment was over-ridden by the fact that there certainly was an effect, even if this was just a fast track to poisoning. Later harvesting versus earlier harvesting is also in debate this year with 3 specific time periods pencilled in. Today, 12/8/12, being the first of these with the windfalls all to choose from. The next harvest will also be windfalls and…while the last should be tree picked. Either way this year will see the introduction of the red apples from the garden too. Sweeter to taste let’s see how that translate into brewing and end product. Fingers crossed.

(T.B.C.)

Waiting in the rain

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Waiting in the rain, one bus missed, another five minutes off, darkness in full swing, the dirty yellow light no good for reading, the smoking habit knocked on the head some time ago, the bar too far away for a quick pint- shots not being his thing- Paul was forced to wait unaided. No desirable distractions.

In this biting cold there would be no parade of leggy ladies to while away the minutes. In fact, in the hollow that was this side street the only company was the occasional lumbering bus, none his, as they climbed around the corner above him and fell down onto the road below. Their engines strained, roared; their fumes filled his lungs.

Others waited too and all seemed to have that homogenous expression, perhaps a prerequisite stuck in this misery. He smiled as he wondered if every single person here was of the same opinion of each other as he was. He was no better, he knew this.

A couple arrived just then, that kind of couple. Not only are they in love but they want everybody to know it, and by tumbling about while in full embrace, bumping into those in close proximity, they were also trying to include innocent bystanders in their torrid love affair. An old man muttered a reproach,they sniggered, and continued to whisper, casting accusing glances at the reproacher. He eyed them with suspicion. Paul himself felt a pang of anger though he allowed that it could have been jealousy. He’d never been that free in love. Too cautious, much too cautious.

Another bus finally tumbled around the corner and pulled up to a halt before them, the waiters. Still minutes off deparute but nearly time, he thought. The driver would surely leave them on board to step in out of the drizzle, that persistent reminder that everything wasn’t alright. The engine suddenly died and the people dared not look around in wonder, for fear of seeing the same worry etched on the others’ faces as they could only imagine was blantantly apparent on theirs.

The driver climbed from his seat and manually opened the front door. Stepping out he closed the door again, and then, turning to Joe Public offered a conciliatory explanation. A groan rose. Paul didn’t understand what the driver had said but it was obvious. An old lady donned her reading glasses and checked the bus timetable. Another twenty minutes. Paul knew. The evening schedule had just begun. Time for that pint, he thought, and smiled. Finally sense prevailed.

Honesty in chains

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I’ll try to honest

But I’ve done that before:

“Do I look fat?”

“Well you don’t look skinny!”

“That means I’m fat!”

“Well skinny’s unhealthy…”

“And what about fat?”

“You’re not fat.”

“You said I was!”

“No. I said you’re not skinny.”

“The same thing.”

“Well, ok. Maybe you could exercise a bit.”

“Hah, LIAR!!!”

I’ve tried to be honest.

I must try it again.

‘No name’ cafe*

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That cafe there
Where am I?

 

On Podmaniczky utca, near the corner with Teréz körút I’m perched facing West to South West as the road runs. I can make out from the street signs yonder that Jókai utca parellels the körút, but I already knew this. I just now, however, decided to write about this: Jókai utca to Jókai tér and Nagymező down farther being more than familiar to me on my late night excursions.

I find myself sitting street side at a cafe which I’ve been to before. The TV plays reruns of matches; I hate that, I always have, especially when the game was boring the first time round.

Cars pass up and down as do trolley buses. The tram runs to my back. I know it. I’ll not take it now. It’s the metro I’ll be needing in less than 5 minutes.

I finish my wine, a white – the only dry they had –, I peep over the shoulder of a man in front catching Zorba’s restaurant in my glance. Those are other stories.

This place, this cafe, has changed from what I knew. My favourite perch just inside the window, where I sat with Andi watching the snow, where I sat alone writing, has been altered. A low table, those knee high abominations, now sits in place of me. The chairs no doubt comfortable do little to lure me. I hate having to bend every time I want to take a drink. Abominations I tell you!!! The bar has also changed though admittedly moving the service entrance away from the front door is a good idea.

I scribble these last few words, pleased to have sat, and perhaps destined to have had the street experience. The rain threatens, the heat cools and I must run before I’m late. Good teaching!

 

*In all my time I’ve never noticed a name so the directions given here are the best clue to finding it that I can give.

To the beat of a different drum

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dob utca cafe
let time pass you by

 

This fits into the cosy bracket, perhaps a little too cosy. One could try swinging a cat in here but I’d recommend at least a kitten, and at that a Manx kitten!

Leading in the door one can avail of 3 tables along the wall, for two people really as three would block the passageway. Set high in the far left corner there’s a bench allowing customers the option to sit above the bar, it being at the lower rib level here, a clear view behind the bar and of the workings therein. Up the steps on your immediate left of entry sits another table barely managing to seat two but with stools provided nonetheless. This is a window seat extraordinaire allowing you the feel of the street from within relative comfort. Dob utca, being narrow, it amounts to an ambience rushing to the interior. Upstairs there is further seating but I didn’t dare, it seemed dark and lonely in those ascendant regions.

In truth I was first drawn to this place by a friend who, himself, has become somewhat of a regular, if not resident. Well known among the staff the banter among them flows allowing the place to grow in one’s heart even if the Manx kitten is still not getting much in return. To top it off the bar itself, provides fresh coffee – loyalty card included – and fresh croissants as well as a variety of other pastries and sandwiches. I know I’ll visit this place again and not just for the sit down stand-up comedian or the friendly staff. Those are just the bonuses one learns to take in one’s stride on the road to enlightenment.

http://pertucafe.hu/

 

When in…

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Café Cream Hattyú and Batthyány corner

A nice nook of a cafe, it has six tables with enough seating for a stretch to 16 maybe 18, with room for 2 more at the bar. In the fine weather it pushes out onto the street and this is possibly its greatest feature. You see the outdoor seating is arranged in the little garden-esque surrounds allowing one the hum of the street but the pleasantness of the shrubbery abounding. About halfway between Moszkva tér and Batthyány tér metro it is in a good location to walk to from either hub and with the castle district perched above it, stairways nearby leading that way, it could  be the perfect reprieve, especially when slightly lost but still within striking dsitance of everything.

It’s pokey, especially in the winter, and there’s a tv in constant motion, and a radio playing but these are not the default methinks. The day or mood may lend to silence and blank tv screens.

It’s not to be recommended as a place to serve you off the beaten track, there are plenty more, but it is slightly. Nor is it for the hungry traveller or particularly for the peckish free hour wanderer but it is a place for pause when the opportunity presents itself and if you are someone who finds it difficult to like a place it’s probably not for you, but for everybody else, don’t despair if once you are presented with the choice. A quick coffee and a sample of the flavour is not such a bad thing.

Copyright © Martin O'Regan
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