Ungarsk Vinstue Still going strong - and crazy after all these years


Ungarsk Vinstue
Other | Monday d. 22. Jun. - Sunday d. 28. Jun. 2015 | Bredstedgade 2, Odense C | Price: 0 Kr. | Written by: Jakob Cæsius Krohn

Location: Ungarsk Vinstue
Organizer: Ungarsk Vinstue

A city without a wide assortment of brown pubs cannot call itself an honest city. Odense can. Tinsoldaten and Tingstedet are legendary. But a little off the beaten path, in Skibhuskvarter, there are watering holes like pearls for drunken swines. And the best of them is Ungarsk Vinstue - the Hungarian Wine Bar. The art on the walls gives the perfect gipsy spirit, while upstairs you can get your billiard fix, admire bartender Arne’s cabinet of rarities / horror gallery and hear Rock Nalle’s evergreen “Min fars roemark i Skjern” on the jukeboks. Live concerts and other events are held regularly, and if the householder Connie gives her good to go, then Arne will be much happy to contribute to the merrymaking.

If you play too smart, are overdressed, too green or otherwise stick out in a pub, you are likely to get a harsh comment from the regulars, such as that Jakob Jastrau got from the Eternal Terp, when I came along with my beautiful (but still clever) girlfriend: “ Nååh, you are out on a mystery tour, uh?!”. Or like that my co-writer got elsewhere, when he arrived with his kommune companions: “Nååh, you are teachers, uh?!”. All in all, one shouldn’t stare as at the zoo or come to get themselves a cheap laugh. On the other hand, I don’t like it either when people talk about pubs as something especially genuine and exclusive, populated by jack-of-all-trades. Pubs, too, risk turning into self-reassuring echo chambers that leave the art academy nothing left to desire.

After all, what is authenticity if not a hazy concept? Drunk people’s talk is usually hot air of the best kind. You rarely hear the truth from children and drunks. But maybe you can feel it: I once read an article about a couple of pretentious literates brought up with post-modernism and deconstructivism just like me. They went out in the city one night, got beaten up, and therefore learned the hard way what existence is about. But no more pocket philosophy this time. My point is really just that you won’t get hit at Ungarsk Vinstue. But watch out for the stairs down to the gentlemen’s toilet. The death route’s only true killer.

 

 

Link to the event

Written by Jakob Cæsius Krohn

Ego er ikke alene fra det mørke Jylland, men har også som det sorte får brudt arvefølgen i en ældgammel præsteslægt. Med en magistergrad i Litteratur – dog også med et sidefag i Religion! – i bagag...




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