The world is full of cities and cities are full of bars. Often there’s very little distinction between one and the other, besides a nominal change in décor. Very rarely indeed does a bar inspire a sense of community, real character or charisma. This sparkle of something special, something remarkable, is what has brought us back time and again to Klisé, and this Saturday, we head down those familiar steps one more time to send her off with a bang.
The great thing about cellar bars is that not everyone notices them, and so the crowd within is usually a gathering of locals. The doors of Klisé are the only clue there’s something to take notice of here: they’re shaped like a barrel, as though you’re bypassing the bar and going straight to the source. The steps leading down veer sharply to the left, so it’s impossible to see the interior until you’ve pushed through a narrow set of double-doors at the bottom. A small bin sits outside the entrance, pleading passers-by “Cigarettes only, not a trash can!” but that sign is monumentally ignored.
In winter, bursting through these interior double-doors means an immediate, welcoming wave of warmth; in the summer, the cool depths of the old cellar are equally refreshing. The menu is written on the wall – and, given the concave nature of the establishment, it arches above your head. The bartender is a cheerful strawberry-blonde, who wears whatever clothes she picked from her closet that day – there is no dress code here. And the drink prices are pretty much the cheapest you’ll find in the city.
Klisé is the kind of amicable, down-to-earth establishment where groups meet to play D&D in one corner, close friends pull the tables together to gossip and laugh over drinks, and everyone brings their empty glasses back at the end of the night. Small concerts are performed to packed audiences, and a free Pub Quiz takes place every week. Bookshelves line the walls, tucked alongside some fake plants (no light down here), the walls are covered in drawings contributed by the regulars, and board games are stacked on a ledge under the tiny window for anyone to play. And the music – we haven’t even touched on the music.
When Klisé was first introduced to me, it wasn’t by name – it was just “the bar with the good music”. And that was, and has remained, its defining feature. Here, the repetitive strains of uninspired pop songs will not be heard. Here, it’s down and dirty, good ol’ fashioned, rock’n’roll. Hungarian songs are played alongside UK/US classics, and it’s hard not to join in on those hit tunes that have everyone dancing a little in their seat.
One of my favourite parts of Klisé is the bathroom. The wallpaper is floor to ceiling Hungarian Garfield cartoons. This is the kind of interior decoration we should demand to see more often.
Every Monday, Klisé has been the gathering point of the Song Factory Budapest, an acapella singing group of mostly young adults who perform around the city. Its proximity to the group’s weekly evening rehearsals brought them to the bar in the first place, and the feel-good atmosphere kept them coming back. Like every other establishment in the city, the coronavirus marked several months of hiatus for Klisé. On the first Monday following the reopening, the singing group recalls walking in, the bartender seeing them, and her saying with a smile, “We missed you!”
And we will miss you, Klisé. Of course, we know it’s not truly the end. The new location will be announced soon, and when they pack up and go, we hope the music will follow. If you want to bid farewell to a trusty favourite, the kind of jewel that brings the twinkle to a local’s eye, join the party this Saturday at Rottenbiller utca 6A. The drinks will be good, the atmosphere nostalgic, and we guarantee the music will be great!
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District VII. Rottenbiller utca 6A
