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Some wines produced within the Czech Republic are daring and magnificent β tightrope walkers that beautifully balance finesse and control against staid comforts of plummy fruit and sandpaper tannins. Here is an invisible dance of gusto, prodded by the same bold mentality that sent Velvet Revolutionaries to chuck their ossified Soviet past. This landscape now shouts vibrant experimentation. Below are tales of two wine bars in Prague. One is local, low key and serves not unattractive bulk wine; the other focuses on quality for mainstream visitors.
Both are sketchy. The second option which I took leads to the end of an extremely sketchy alleyway. Deep inside this tunnel I was ready to pivot and hoof out for fear of getting mugged until I heard voices on the other side of a dumpster.
They sounded joyous, not threatening. I tiptoed three steps forward, craned my neck and saw outdoor tables with wine glasses. There were tables in the alleyway, as well as couches in the arcade. There were more seats inside. I entered. Quelle surprise. Adjacent to this run-down alley way, beautifully dressed ladies and dapper men sipped and bantered.
Eight spigots sprouted out of one wall. A young guy with black hair pulled on any of these to pour wine. He poured a generous pour. No year was listed. There was no music. No wine list. No charming server. No olives or bread. Water was tap water. The room lacked Aussie, Hanky, Brit or Chinese accents.
