From Bucharest to Timisoara it’s 16 hours in an ancient train through Romania. The 4-person sleeper cars’ beds are about 180 centimeters long. I’m 185 centimeters tall. Although the rooms were stuffy and hot, the air conditioner, ironically, only worked when the train stopped. There was no dining car. And I didn’t bring food. After the train arrives in Timisoara, it’s another 8 hours by bus to Belgrade, Serbia.
During the bus trip, there was a border crossing. While waiting the combined two hours at Romania and Serbia’s customs, I told myself: Never again.
That was a still-sweltering September.
Three months later, for my return trip from Belgrade to Bucharest, to continue to the USA, I took a flight with Romania’s TAROM. It cost 50 dollars more than the train and bus trip combined. But it was only two hours. It’s worth it.
Winter Solstice is approaching, and these are the shortest days of the year. On December 15th, at 4:50pm, when I touched down at Bucharest’s Otopeni Airport, it was already completely dark outside. Even at the airport it’s rush hour, and the train I take to the city center is full.
Immediately around the Gara Du Nord train station, Bucharest looks dark and foreboding. A freezing mist, threatening to turn to snow, hangs in the air. Here, it’s the usual patina of Eastern Europe: abandoned buildings, chaotic graffiti, half-lit streets, odd stone Brutalist sculptures. But as I walk to my apartment, closer to the Old Town, the atmosphere improves. Christmas is near, and festive, colored decorations line the streets. Many of the buildings are covered in bright white twinkle lights. When I reach my apartment, a cheerful man greets me at the door. Buna seara!
“Although this shared kitchen is chilly, the room for you is warm.”
He points to a door, “Your room: warm and cozy.”
“Yes. It is. Thank you very much.”
The bed occupies almost all the space in the room. Except for a small stack of drawers, there is no other furniture. I will have to do my work on the bed. But it is warm and cozy. The lodging is fine for the next 48 hours in Bucharest.
Strada Di Bere (Beer Street) And More
In the Old Town, Strada Gabroveni is Bucharest’s Beer Row, locally known as Strada Di Bere (Beer Street.) On this street, three craft beer bars sit next to each other: Beer Station, Beer O’Clock and Bere Si Bere Pub. Two more traditional brewpubs with their own beers, Csikisor and Beraria Nenea Iancu, are one block away on Strada Covaci. If you are in Bucharest for just a weekend, these 5 five pubs, plus the other bars in this neighborhood, are the best way to experience Bucharest’s craft beer scene.
It was already 7pm, so I went directly to Strada Di Bere for dinner. From my place, near the National Opera House, it’s a 30 minute walk. But I managed to chase down a bus on Mihail Kogălnicea Boulevard, get out at University Square, then walk 15 minutes. First, I went to Beer Station. They have a kitchen open until 10pm.
Since I hadn’t eaten all day, I wasn’t picky about Beer Station’s menu. I ordered a single-serving sausage pizza. It was bland, yet cheap, and paired fine with a Christmasy Naughty List NEIPA from Mad Lads Brewing. It’s not harsh for a strong beer and has light notes of vanilla and mango.
Following dinner, I went next door to Beer O’Clock. It’s not much different from its neighbor. They share a hallway and a bathroom. The bartender even tells me that the bars openly “share beers and customers” if one isn’t happy with the beer selection available. The only significant difference is that Beer O’Clock’s menu tends more to export European beer: German Pilsners, British Ales, Belgium Ales, etc., than Romanian craft.
Bere Si Bere was closed. Whether temporarily or permanently, I couldn’t tell.
No Room Taproom Bathroom
Christmas magic must be in the air. After Strada Di Bere, I thought I would hit one more craft bar, walk home, then rest from my trip. Unsuccessfully, I look for my last stop, Ironic Bar. Somehow, I miss it. Or did I?
A solitary glass pane with a door lit up the dark street. Through the pane I see one tiny room. Maybe a dozen people are drinking, which is enough to pack the place. The name on the window says it all: No Room Taproom.
It isn’t on my map.
No Room Taproom had a soft opening 12 days ago. So there was no online media yet. Tonight, I accidently stumbled in on their official opening. The owner is hosting a bottle share to celebrate. Lucky me.
His own gypsy brew, Maktoob Brewing, is on tap along with 8 other local craft beers. Before joining the tasting, I tried his Harry I’ve Got An Idea. It’s a unique take on a Witbier, with tarragon and Sichuan pepper to spice up the wheaty citrus flavor.
Confidently, I can say that No Room Taproom is Romania’s smallest craft beer bar, if not the smallest in Europe. Within minutes I had (literally) rubbed shoulders with all 10 people inside. They were a friendly crowd; all local beer geeks. In fact, a few recognized the Pivoslavija name and had unknowingly drank with me at Timisoara’s Hazefest 2019.
After tasting many beers, both local and foreign, an important question was on my mind: Where can you pee in Romania’s smallest bar?
“Yes, we do have a toilet. I don’t know if you’ll like it though…”
The boss grabbed a key, led me out the door and walked about 50 meters down the street. He paused in front of a dark stony corridor. Cautiously, I stared down it. “This must be where Romania’s vampires live,” I quipped.
“Yeah. It looks like the horror movies – right before someone gets killed. Creepy. We still need to put the toilet sign up here.”
“I think I’ll survive.”
“Maybe,” he chuckled. “Go down the hall with this key. Find the light on the left. Be careful. There are stairs down to the toilet.”
Although I lived to tell the tale of the spooky bathroom that night, a hangover haunted me all morning.
From Bucharest’s Worst To Best Craft Beer Bars
First, I recovered from the hangover with an excellent coffee at Perfect Simplu Specialty Coffee. After that, I followed it with a not-so-excellent lunch at an Italian restaurant. I had hoped, with Romania’s massive number of guest workers in Italy, that they would know the cuisine. At least for this place, that wasn’t the case. But the cappuccino before was top notch.
With the Winter Solstice less than a week away, the sun is already setting when I get a bus at 4pm. By the time I reach the Old Jewish Quarter, in the east of the city, it’s dark. This neighborhood has no charm – just large featureless blocks – which makes it even darker. Somewhere wedged in those blocks, I find my first craft beer stop, Berestroika – Beer Revolution.
Berestroika is Bucharest’s first craft beer brewery. That’s the only good thing I can say about it.
When I entered and approached the hostess, she stared blankly at me. I asked where I could sit. She grunted something about “no English,” then waved me to a table. There were four beers on the menu, with no description other than their color. Hmm. Do I want the Red Beer? Maybe the fine Gold Beer?
How about the…White Beer?
Against my better judgement, I asked the waiter if the “White Beer” was a German Wheat beer. He shrugged, then shouted at an old bald man leaning near a glass pane that had fermentation tanks behind it.
This baldy, possibly the manager, huffed, “It is a classic Europe beer.”
“Ok, I’ll take a small…”
He walked off.
I couldn’t finish the “White Beer.” Smelly piss. I quickly paid, left, then hopped a northbound bus to the next stop, Artizan Beer.
Note: Artizan Beer has changed location since this visit. It is now south of Park Unirii in the center at Strada Crisului 5.
Artizans, Zeppelins And Hooligans
The temperature hangs at zero (32.) A dark overcast sky makes it look like midnight, even though it’s 6pm. Either rain or snow could fall. Artizan Beer’s glowing white sign is a spot of cheer on the wide unlit roundabout. Outside, the beershop appears small. But inside they manage to pack in 21 taps and two full fridges of bottles – all Romanian craft beer.
Like in Berestroika, Artizan’s bartender also doesn’t speak English. Yet he manages to be friendly and tries to help me choose a good beer. He does speak international beer language: Ei-PA, Ai-PA, you hoppy, stouts? (I take “Ei-PA and Ai-PA” to be APA and IPA, respectively.) Despite the 21 taps, I choose a bottle. Serbia’s famous genius, Nikola Tesla, graces the label of Power Up, a “Classic American IPA” from a brewery called One Beer Later. Unluckily, I try to communicate to the shopkeeper that I live in Serbia.
Confusion… I tell the guy Noroc!, – the only Romanian I know – then take the beer to go. It can keep me warm on the walk to Zeppelin Bar.
It begins to rain hard.
He does speak international beer language: Ei-PA, Ai-PA, you hoppy, stouts?
In this neighborhood, the streets spiderweb into never-ending loops, with no clear crosswalks indicating left or right. I struggle to follow my map. Occasionally, I hide under groves of trees to keep from getting completely soaked in the downpour. Tonight, everything looks desolate. But sometimes I hear groups of merry goers pass, laughing, like phantoms in the misty air. Nikola Tesla’s beer, which I had high hopes for, is not too good. After finishing half the bottle, I toss it in a dumpster.
Zeppelin Bar appears on one of these twisting streets. It exudes rustic character. Once inside, I feel comfortable. Everything looks old, but in a well-worn, cosey way. As its name implies, classic 60s and 70s rock plays. It helps that the bartender, who’s also the owner, knows his bar well. And he speaks English.
As he explains, this was the first pub in Bucharest to sell import foreign craft beer. Many a Romanian beer geek, and future brewer, discovered craft here. Now, he is not so concerned with getting the latest craft beers; the selection is limited. However, Zeppelin Bar wins for the most old-school, neighborhood charm of any pub I have been to in Bucharest.
The owner serves me a shot of Romania’s national liquor, a brown plum brandy named tuica.
“This is basically like Serbian rakija?”
“Yes,” he confesses, “Serbian rakija is better. They have a skill for it.”
Still, the tuica is warming on this cold, rainy night. I chase it with a can of rich Cannon Fire Choco Porter from one of my favorite Romanian breweries, Hop Hooligans. On this trip, I can’t visit their brewery. It’s located in a distant suburb of Bucharest, and anyway it’s closed without a special appointment.
However, if the rain lets up, I can walk to Hop Hooligan’s taproom in just 10 minutes.
After Hop Hooligans, An Ironic Ending
Hop Hooligans Taproom’s sign pulsates from red to purple to blue to green. The rain let up a little, so I was able to walk from Zeppelin Bar and stay relatively dry. It’s 8 o’clock on a Friday night, but like everywhere else I’ve been to in Bucharest, it’s slow here. Either it’s because of the holidays, or craft beer still only appeals to a few in Romania.
The tap selection – over two dozen – is as colorful as the sign out front. There were experimental IPAs and sours, and Hop Hooligan’s big stouts are impressive. However, there was a weird one I had to try: Pasta Pomodoro Gose. Call it red Bloody Mary in beer form. It worked well. Although I reckon drinking tomato sauce isn’t to everyone’s taste.
Several guest beers were on tap. One IPA, It’s So Willie Nelson, caught my country singer boy’s eye. Nelson Sauvin, for sure. The bartender told me that Brewheart, a German craft brewery, had a tap takeover. The brewers had traveled from Germany and would be at Hop Hooligans the following day, Saturday. Could I make it?
No doubt.
Brewheart’s It’s So Willie Nelson did have Nelson Sauvin, but not enough hops for my taste. Next day, I could chat with the brewers, and ask about their beer. Still, I wanted to finish this night with something special for Christmas. Koschei’s Birthday Cake Imperial Stout fit the bill. This big barrel-aged stout, named after a fearsome Slavic sorcerer, attacks with a 11% ABV like a magic devil’s chocolate spell. The rum barrel-aging gives it lots of dark fruit and heavy sweet flavors.
After that beer, I needed to go home. Ironically, after failing the first night, I found Ironic Taproom this time.
How had I missed Ironic Taproom the night before before? Instead I stumbled into tiny one-room No Room Taproom. Surprising. In contrast, this taproom was huge garage, with full-sized windows from top to bottom, and fermentation tanks prominently displayed.
Unlike the other places, Ironic was busy tonight. I huddled up to the bar, then ordered an interesting-looking sour, Kings Of The Jungle. It was good, but the taste of kviek yeast leaves a flavor I don’t much like. Maybe I should go home before things get weird?
No luck. Within minutes, a few US Marine Embassy Guards overheard me speaking English with the bartender, and invited me to their table. After a long post in Romania, they were going home for the holidays.
“Don’t worry. We’ll order this round.”
Drinking with Marines never goes well. Yet, the next day I managed to get back to Hop Hooligans before nightfall. The sign still glowed in the daylight. Sure enough, Brewheart’s German brewers were there. I asked one about It’s So Willie Nelson IPA, expecting the worse. He didn’t seem surprised, and had a well-prepared answer for why their IPAs were not up to par with most American tastes:
” The Reinhietsgebot is not good for German craft beer. They make us pay lots of licenses to make these different beers, and importing foreign hops is… a lot.”
True. Why drink IPA when you already have the greatest lagers in the world? Another trip to Germany was in order. For now, Romania’s craft beer was calling me.
For a guide to the best craft beer bars in Bucharest click: here
