Has it been three years? That’s not possible. When I last visited Novi Sad, Serbia, it was same. The pandemic changed nothing. Or so I thought until I went out.
For the first time in two years, I took public transportation without a mask. In Belgrade, I stepped onto the Danube Prevoz bus, mask on. After looking around, I saw only half the riders wearing a mask, so I ripped mine off, and rode for the 90 minute trip to Novi Sad breathing easy. Again, in a taxi to my Airbnb, I took my mask off. The driver was wearing a mask. But he said nothing.
The Airbnb host is pacing fretfully in front of the property. My bus was delayed. I apologize, but he shrugs his shoulders and says, “This is Serbia. You made it.”
Craft Beer In Novi Sad: Speakeasy & Soulcity
First, I should revisit Novi Sad’s biggest brewery, 3Bir Brewery. A taxi from downtown Novi Sad to 3Bir is about 550 Dinar, considerably cheaper than a similar ride in Belgrade. Inside the brewery, I recognize the bartender from a show I played there a year ago, but he seems not to remember me. He says 3bir hasn’t had any bands since we played. Were we that bad?
“Money… COVID has not been good to anyone here.”
3Bir Brewery’s American-style cheeseburger, which is something increasingly common in The Balkans, is cooked well, but small. The 4 potato wedges on the side are even smaller, hardly worth mentioning.
Although the Three Hoppy Sisters on tap is good, I must have hop fatigue from tasting far too many green, raw bad IPAS in the region. A smooth Nitro-tapped Dry Irish Stout, Bloom, is more to my liking. Happily, I sip it, and order another.
For “desert,” I get a flight. Zbir Brewery is one of the few breweries in Serbia that offers beer flights. Four half-pours of your choosing is a great way to start, or finish, your brewery trip here.
Varia Craft & Beer Bar
Second, there’s a new craft beer bar that has opened since I last visited: Varia Craft & Beer Bar. The weather is just cold enough to make the 30 minute walk there from 3bir Brewery uncomfortable. Do I walk, taxi, or hope for an infrequent buses?
Outside, at the bus stop, I ask a young couple how to get to Varia Bar. I show them the location on my Google map. They suggest waiting at the stop. They both study English and appreciate an opportunity to speak with a native. As I have heard before, there is a difference in people from Novi Sad, in the northern Vojvodina providence, and people from Belgrade and the south.
“Other Serbs say we [from Novi Sad] are snobs or stoners. I’m proud to say I’m both.”
We talk for awhile, yet after 20 minutes no buses come. So I walk to Varia. It’s too cold for anyone on their patio. Inside, there are two floors, but upstairs it’s dark and empty. Downstairs, I count 10 people drinking. I order a Kurajber Lager from a local brewery, Beerokrate. It’s a classic European lager: malty, light, a little hoppy. I ask the bartender why the bar is dead on a Friday night. He laughs, “Normally, we close by 8pm, but today we are ‘busy.’ In the post-COVID times, an empty second floor, and a dozen occupied seats is busy. Any business is good business.
After Varia, I visit Beercuz to see if the owners who I met at Ljutvo Mlada Rakija Festival are there. In fact, they’re the only people there. Dusan is dressed in an elegant tuxedo and drinks “kisela voda.” Dragan is rosy in the face, looking quite drunk, but he stays quiet while sipping on his own improvised peach cocktail. It’s a far cry from the wild madness that I met them in at the Rakija Festival.
Later, I finish the night at Novi Sad’s first craft beer bar, Skripa Pub. Also, it’s quiet. Sigh. I return to the apartment. Maybe Saturday will be better.
Slavina, Sanat and Soulcity
On my second day in Novi Sad, I meet with my friend Aca and his brother, Mladan. They want me to have lunch at Daca’s, to try their amazing “sac,” a typical Serbian dish of various meats and vegetables slow-cooked for many hours in a clay pot.
Unfortunately, Daca’s is completely full. Instead, we go to Pivarijum, a good chicken joint with their own house brews. The roast chicken leg and potatoes are filling and tasty. Of the two beers I drink – an IPA and a Dark Lager – the IPA is better.
After lunch, we drive to the Liman 2 neighborhood, by the Danube River. “This is my hood,” Aca chuckles. “We’re going to Slavina, my new neighborhood craft beer bar.”
We park the card in front of Aca and Mladan’s apartment, then walk a few blocks to Slavina Pub. Inside, it’s small and sparsely decorated, but there are 10 house taps and locally produced coffee as well. The owner, Sanat, is an MBA and engineering student from Mumbai, India. The brewery on tap, Soulcity Brewing, is his own beer, contract-brewed through 3Bir Brewery.
Sanat, like many engineers-turned-brewers, is a beer calculator. As I take samples of his beers, he runs off IBUS, specific gravity, boil time, and other things I should know but never have the mathematical compacity to learn. I just tell him which ones are good and which are bad. Slightly dismissive, he states, “Now I know your taste. A typical American IPA drinker.”
“Not quite. Your APA, Susegado, is fine. But, in fact, your Dark Pilsner is the best. [I don’t mention that its name, Negro, would get him canceled in the USA.] And honestly, if you had a fresh Czech Pils, I’d drink that all night.”
“Not a typical American. I didn’t take you for a lager drinker.”
“I’ll drink any beer style. Or homemade drink. As long as its good.”
He raises an eyebrow, “Come back for our coffee. It’s local.”
Hours pass at Slavina. Eventually, Mladen leaves us for his girlfriend. Aca is still up to show me more craft beer places, but there is a problem. In 2021, after 8pm, venues in Novi Sad do not allow unvaccinated guests inside. I have my vaccine card. Yet, Aca will not receive his 2nd vaccine dose for another week.
“No problem. I read about your American Prohibition times. In Novi Sad, there are -how do you say- craft speakeasies.”
Craft Beer Speakeasies
Kraftoteka is 3Bir Brewery’s testing ground. Somewhere down a back alley, this unmarked bar is where the big brewery sends experimental batches to be put on tap for a limited time. If the reception for the test batches is good at Kraftoteka, then they will go into regular production at 3Bir.
Technically, like a speakeasy, this bar doesn’t exist. And I’m not sure if any of the beers I drank there will ever be made again, so I can’t comment on my drinks. But the bar is impressive. The old building dates from the times of the Austro-Hungarian empire. Hundreds of empty bottles from around the world line long shelves along the exposed, weathered wood walls. Although small, it’s completely packed. I reckon there must be about three dozen unvaccinated beer geeks here.
Finally, we leave Kraftoteka, yet a day’s worth of drinking hasn’t slowed us down. Drunkenly, we stumble to another speakeasy, Gandy’s Bar. I knew Gandy as a homebrewer and professional chef from previous visits to Novi Sad. Currently, he runs his bar as an invitation-only venue, but after the pandemic has completely finished, he plans to make it legal.
Gandy is also a musician, and our talk turns to our bands and indie labels. In the back of the bar, he shows me his improvised studio, where we jam for a little. By the end of the night, after pints of Gandy’s APA, I’m hollering, repeatedly, that I’m an American hillbilly and I need to hear some real country music.
The next day, hungover, I return to Gandy’s Bar to pay my forgotten (cash-only) tab. He hands me the hand-written bill.
“You were trashed last night.”
“Yeah, I told you I go back to my hillbilly roots when I’m drunk.”
“I expect nothing more,” he chuckles. “Let me get you a coffee. It’s on the house. You need it before tonight.”
For a guide to the best craft beer bars in Novi Sad click: here
