This place has been around for, like, ever. Like the wasted, wobbly old men propping up the bar, the whole building leans precariously towards the canal. The sign on the door warns it has a capacity of no more than fifty, which isn’t surprising; any serious revelry would probably bring the whole building down. The stained glass windows are wonky, the floorboards worn and the timber ceiling low. This place has been lubricating the Dutch since 1665. That’s proper old.
Structural integrity aside, this is a great little brown café for a rainy afternoon fuelled by the local, lethal beers. It’s super cosy, with antique lamps hanging from the ceiling, fairy lights strewn around and a fireplace for cold days. The only nod to the 21st century is the music posters on the walls, but even those are out of date. Come summer you can sit at one of the pavement tables on this pretty Prisengracht corner and generally feel a bit smug.
They’re amazingly friendly too, and helped navigate a hanging and hungry BarChick towards dinner. It may be old and famous, but somehow the tourists seem to be in the minority. Instead it’s full of locals having low-key drinks, from young brogue-wearing Dutch to old men, who look like they’ve been sitting at that bar since they were in shorts.
Photo credit: Tyler Wetherall