The epic trek up Fruska Gora mountain, and the bacchanalia of the homebrewer’s Beer Marathon, was finished. This would be a quiet Sunday of craft beer in Novi Sad.
Well, it was meant to be a lazy Sunday, but I have a way of avoiding lazy. Even in Novi Sad, the Serbian city with a reputation for being laidback.
One day of heavy drinking requires one day of heavy eating. Toster Bar, centrally located in one of Novi Sad’s many pleasant courtyards, is a great spot for a hangover-killing burger with french fries. They have a tasty menu of American-style hamburgers, featuring a rotating daily special. Yet I was eating there to try their craft taps and bottles. It is still not common in Serbia to find a nice restaurant that also has a full craft beer selection.
A Quiet Sunday of Craft Beer in Novi Sad
“Brewpub” is not yet in the Serbian lexicon.
Toster Bar’s daily special was a hamburger featuring Vojvodina locally-produced goat cheese and peppers. I didn’t expect it to be a good combination, but the risk was worth it. The white cheese had a tanginess that balanced the spicy peppers. A fresh pint of Dogma Brewery’s Hoptopod IPA washed down the meal nicely.
A year earlier, my last trip to Toster Bar had turned into a royal piss-off. After the first Novi Sad Craft Beer Festival, I lunched with some visiting Croat brewers who introduced me to the manager. He insisted that I, and two other random Americans he knew, finish off a bottle of homemade plum rakija. This was in addition to several rounds of beers he had already ordered for us. When he brought us the bill:
“Don’t worry. I pay this one. Welcome to Serbia. I go to my wife, little kids now.”
We drank the whole bottle, then spent the afternoon in Novi Sad’s streets like pinballs, bouncing from café table to café table. We racked up points every time a local responded positively to our loud American greetings.
Today, the owner was not present. I was able to finish my meal without causing property damage.
I considered going to Tehnologs Pub. It holds the distinction of being Novi Sad’s first craft beer bar, as well as one of the few places in Serbia with American-style hot dogs. This is the closest you will find to those big Chicago franks. Unfortunately, it was out of my way, and I still had to find Beeraj, as well as visit Skripa Pub.
Razbeerbriga And Politics at Skripa Pub
Anyone looking for craft beer in Novi Sad must go to Skripa Pub. Hidden in a small courtyard off Jevrejska Street, it is owned by the brewer of local craft beer brewery, Razbeerbriga, and his business partner, an indie music aficionado. The selection of good craft beer on tap pairs well with well-crafted music on the speakers. Additionally, live acoustic acts play there often.
(Full disclosure: I have performed at Skripa Pub.)
Razbeerbriga distributes throughout Serbia, but Skripa dedicates one tap to a brew exclusive to their pub. This time it was a hoppy lager, a hybrid style which has been popping (hopping?) up a lot in the Balkans. It was clean and refreshing as a lager should be, and the hops added a citrus bite often devoid in the style.
I took a seat at the balcony upstairs. The lone patron, who greeted me, introduced himself as a political science student. Immediately, we got into a political argument, as Balkan folk do. The only detail I will share from that discussion is that he “congratulated” the United States on getting our first Balkan President.
“Now you Americans know what we have to hear all the time.”
We debated into the next pint. Razbeerbriga’s American Stout, Black Rider, has yet to fail me since I first had it at their brewery in the village of Bukovac. It’s full, rich and chocolatey. My new drinking buddy enjoyed it thoroughly.
Or perhaps he had already had enough. A friend of his arrived, looked at his drunken state, and said, “He’s supposed to be studying for an exam.” She began vehemently chastising him in Serbian. I reckoned it was a good time to get the bill and go.
Beeraj Has A Sunday Funday
I left the students to check out Beeraj. The day before, I had briefly stopped in there to get beer for the Fruska Gora Beer Marathon, but had no time to stay. They are not the only beer shop in Novi Sad, but they have a selection of beers which rivals what I find in Belgrade. The owners are a Serbian girl and her Scottish partner, who, along with another Scotsman and a Serb, are responsible for producing Serbia’s only craft cider, Scott’s Cider.
Beeraj is in a long two-story corridor which shares space with several other boutique shops. I expected it to be quiet on a Sunday afternoon. As I approached the concrete arch entrance, I heard a loud bass beat resounding against the walls. Inside, a crowd mingled around large speakers where two DJs were spinning turntables. I worked my way down the hall through the crowd. As I approached Beeraj, a foreigner, seated at one of the table, greeted me in English.
It was the owner, Ollie.
Scott’s Cider And 3Bir Beer
I asked him why it was this lively on a Sunday afternoon. Ollie explained that all the businesses in the corridor are friendly with each other, so they enjoy sharing the space for an occasional party. He ordered a round of cider. In addition to Scott’s Cider, that week their taps featured another local Novi Sad brewery, 3Bir (pronounced ZUH-beer). I had tried their Black IPA, Kaskader, in Belgrade and found it particularly delicious.
(Generally, I hate Black IPAs.)
Technically, Scott’s Cider is not only the first craft brewery in Novi Sad, but in all of Serbia. It started in 2008, which places it before Belgrade’s brewpub chain, The Black Turtle Pub, established in 2010. They may be the first, but unfortunately, they have not shown much progress.
This seems Beeraj’s fate as well. It had been open hardly two years, and Ollie was already considering closing it. As he told it, business was good, but they were selling their beer at such low prices that they were not making profit.
Business certainly looked good this night.
Although I don’t care for EDM, I was enjoying this surprise party. Oliver’s wife, Olja, a violinist, listens to heavy metal and classic rock. So I figure Beeraj can’t play trance-house-deep-whatever DJs every time. We all talked of music. After finishing the crisp cider, I went for 3Bir’s Dezerter, a smooth cream ale. More people filled the corridor as the evening approached.
Serbian Sisters And The Russian Organic Machine
Oliver and Olja had to leave. They left me with two friends of theirs, sisters. We got to chatting, and I recommended a round of the ciders first. Girly stuff, I guess. One sister told me she had just arrived in Novi Sad to start work as a nurse specialist with a Russian-made “organic machine” that could cure various health problems.
I had just finished a book on the history of alternative medicine in the USA. It was very critical of the whole subject: quack doctors, snake-oil cures, fad diets, etc. I told her as such that this “organic machine” sounded like bullshit. Since I was currently coming off the tail-end of a cold, could it cure me?
She rambled something about “needing the desire to be healed.” I told her that that didn’t answer my question. Frustrated, she found a hole in my shirt, stuck her finger in it, and said it made me look like a homeless bum. I responded that the cheap shaggy vest she was wearing looked like she had just killed a dog on the street and thrown it on her shoulders.
My compliment did not go as well as expected. We began arguing. Her sister and the bartender stepped in several times to stop us, to no avail.
Designer Shoe Store Afterparty
We’re yelling at each other. Unwittingly, I get a round of the Kaskadar Black IPA. She says it’s a shit beer. I tell her she wouldn’t know the difference between a pint of good beer and “Russian organically-machined” cough syrup. Truly romantic words. In the next moment, we’re kissing each other.
The DJs had finished, and Beeraj was closing. The night looked over. But next door, the owner of a designer shoe store was calling the party’s stragglers inside.
Cautiously, the sisters and I entered. The owner turned on some music, and produced (industrial) beers for everyone. The shoe store became an improvised club. The girl and I danced in circles while whispering sweet nonsense to each other.
Much later, the sisters took me to an all-night club. It was that type of shameful club that only serves one beer, and can only mix you up regret on the rocks, with a shot of sadness. It didn’t matter. Whatever we were fighting about, whatever I was drinking, and whatever regrets I had, were forgotten by morning.
For a guide to the best craft beer bars in Novi Sad click: here
