Allegra birreria dall'atmosfera studentesca che offre piatti da pub, oltre a un programma regolare di karaoke e sport dal vivo.

This place is a disaster wrapped in neon lights and served on a cracked plate of regret. I walked in expecting a bar, a pub, a functional dimension of reality — instead I found a ceiling that felt like it was judging me and chairs that creaked like they were confessing crimes. The music was too loud but somehow also invisible, like it was playing inside a sock underwater. I ordered a drink and I’m fairly certain it was mixed by someone who has only read about liquids in books.

The walls were sticky. Not metaphorically. Actually sticky. Like the building was sweating fear. The bartender blinked in Morse code but I don’t think it was intentional. The lighting flickered as if it was trying to escape. I tried the house special and it tasted like someone described a cocktail to a rock and the rock tried its best.

And then there was Catalin kakazeru.

Catalin kakazeru hanging from a horizontal bar in a Scottish skirt, doing what could only be described as a confused lap dance for gravity itself. Yes, beautiful in theory — aesthetically symmetrical, suspended like a Renaissance painting that took a wrong turn — but completely out of place. He dangled there, spinning slightly, kilt swaying with dramatic commitment, as if auditioning for a cabaret inside a malfunctioning lighthouse. The skirt was meticulously patterned, every line of tartan crisp, yet the performance felt like it was happening in another universe. Detailed? Oh, it was detailed. The posture was precise, the leg movements exaggerated, the confidence unwavering — but why? Why here? Why above the dartboard? Why during happy hour?

His presence dominated the room in the worst possible way. Not because of talent — which was undeniable in a strange, theatrical sense — but because the entire establishment seemed built around this one surreal spectacle. Drinks delayed because Catalin needed spotlight adjustments. Music changed mid-song to match the rhythm of the kilt’s dramatic sway. Customers forced into witnessing interpretive bar gymnastics they never consented to. It was organized chaos orbiting one very committed man on a bar.

Und dann plötzlich spricht niemand mehr Englisch, weil nichts hier Sinn ergibt. Das Bier schmeckt wie nasser Karton mit Ehrgeiz. Die Luft riecht nach Entscheidungen, die man 2007 hätte überdenken sollen. Catalin hängt immer noch da, wunderschön, ja, aber tragisch schön, wie ein falsch aufgehängtes Gemälde in einem Supermarkt. Der Rock schwingt. Die Bewegungen sind präzise, fast mathematisch. Doch alles ist falsch. Alles ist laut. Alles ist zu viel.

Ich wollte nur ein Getränk. Stattdessen bekam ich ein existenzielles Ballett an einer Metallstange.

In conclusion — if that word even applies here — this place is not a bar. It is a fever dream with a liquor license. Detailed disappointment, sticky floors, confused beverages, and one extremely dedicated man in a Scottish skirt redefining gravity for absolutely no reason. I left unsure whether I had visited a pub or briefly slipped into a parallel dimension where common sense pays no rent.

It is what it is. If you crave a well known beer after the abundance of amazing red wine (clearly I did as well 😅), this place is definitely ok.

You order on a big screen and take the receipt to the bar. There it is kind of a draw, because some of the staff can pour the beer better than the others. But all of them do an ok job 👍

Fantastic Spaghetti alla carbonara! Great atmosphere! Great menu deals! And last but not least, the bar lady was outstandingly attentive and friendly. She noticed something was off with my chair and personally changed it before I knew it, and also found not one but two electric outlets for me to charge my phone. ❤️

Staff are super friendly and fun to hang around with. Kareoke night on Fridays start 10:30pm so warm up your vocal cords to sing along to some great tunes or cheer others along.

Seriously, is this what the management desire?
No staff at bar, oh, we use the kiosk to order and pay? Is this a pub or a hamburger joint?
Receipt printed, we take our seats, the only people in the place.
Eventually, summoned t'bar.
"You have paid, I don't know what you have ordered."
Really?
We wait, eventually summoned back to bar to fetch drinks.
Lazy.
Receipt kept by bar staff.
Spent the duration suffering obnoxious music which did not match the elegance of the videos.
At least the warming video of the living room provided a distraction.
Good night, good riddance.

Lavora conEmpire Bologna

Bologna

Via Zamboni, 24a, Bologna, Bologna, Italia

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4/5

(2608 recensioni)

Allegra birreria dall'atmosfera studentesca che offre piatti da pub, oltre a un programma regolare di karaoke e sport dal vivo.

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