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

Best Karaoke bar in town!! Only reason I'm giving 4 stars is because some of the cocktails we got just weren't made properly and thus tasted bad. Next to that all other drinks were good, staff was very friendly and the vibe was on! For the karaoke they simply use the internet thus you can request nearly every song you can think off. Definitely will return here when I come back to Bologna!

P.s. I recommend coming before the Karaoke starts which is 22:30 because it quickly fills up thus the waitlist to sing a song can get very long when you are late!

Not sure why many had negative experiences here, but can say the service has been great (they even put on sport I requested) and prices are fare. Can recommend!

Behind the bar? Amazing people, joyful, full of light!

But I was sold a karaoke. Which was with tuned off mic, and the most despiseful karaoke manager. Not a smile, not a welcome, not a light in the eye. She was bored and depressed to be here. I wish her the best in life, but until shee's gone, this place is no good to go to. You will lose your will to live. Honestly, there are just that many better places to go to in Bologna.

Buffalo burgers and fries are good.  There is a machine that can be used to order and made it easy to order..We do wish it was a bit quieter....the pub was playing metal and hard rock videos a bit loudly.  English pubs we've been to in major UK cities are generally loud because of people chatting, and not because of loud videos.

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.

Lavora conEmpire Bologna

Bologna

Via Zamboni, 24a, Bologna, Bologna, Italia

Chi siamo

4/5

(2645 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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