But what if you tried, at least for one weekend, to make beer the reference point on the scale of Prague values? That is, not to look for decent pubs near St. Vitus Cathedral, but on the contrary, to look for interesting cathedrals in the vicinity of, say, the pub “Novomestsky Pivovar”. This is a kind of Švejkian approach, which quite fits the spirit of this city.
In all other European cities, the rule applies: you should go only to establishments where there are many locals. The more locals, the better the cuisine and the more humane the prices, and if an establishment has only tourists, it is better to bypass it. In Prague it is not so. There are tourists and tourists. One thing is a group of Japanese or red-faced German burghers, who are interested in elite rental of an apartment or villa, and quite another is visiting students, of whom there are plenty in cheap Prague. Or so-called expats, foreigners who have settled here - the most colorful part of Prague's public, characters each more eccentric than the next, aspiring artists, writers, poets, idlers, squanderers of life, a bright and quite safe crowd. It is they who create the cheerful and carefree atmosphere of the pubs of Žižkov and the New Town. Beer here is cheap - 20-30 crowns ($1). Here you will also have to part with some illusions. For example, the famous “cut” beer is just a mixture of dark and light beer, and no one will pour it into a mug in layers - a layer of dark, a layer of light. This ancient art must have sunk into oblivion along with alchemists and kabbalists. Almost nowhere do they bring bills; the waiter makes some notes on a piece of paper and at the end of the meal announces a certain figure, which is not always the arithmetic sum of the prices for everything drunk and eaten. Sometimes a little more. But given the relaxed atmosphere, universal politeness and relative cheapness ($16 for a hearty lunch with beer for two), you don't want to make a scene, and you'll even leave a tip.
Starting in the bohemian suburbs, slowly move towards the city center. The specific route is not important. Most likely, your feet will lead you to Flek. Guidebooks call it “the oldest and most famous beer restaurant in Prague”. By logic, the place should be obviously pop, and there is nothing to expect from it except inflated prices and fake tourist entertainment. But don't rush to conclusions. “U Fleku” is easy to find in the labyrinth of streets by the joyful shouts that carry two blocks away. If you are lucky and the restaurant has the right company (the probability is quite high), it can turn out to be a brilliant culmination of a beer weekend. Actually, it is a mystery, no less than the legend of the Golem, how they managed to promote so successfully an establishment offering only one (!) type of beer - the notorious “Flek's Ležák”, and not of the most outstanding qualities, frankly speaking. The “inflated” price, about $1.5 per mug, is pure robbery by Prague standards. The waiters, with their cynicism, remind me of the Yalta workers of napkin and tray from the early nineties. And the public is still delighted. Songs are shouted in all languages, even Norwegians start dancing, and seeing a dancing Norwegian is, you know, worth a lot. What is the secret? The atmosphere. And who creates the atmosphere? The public itself. It turns out to be a vicious circle. A mystery. And to solve it, one weekend is not enough. We should repeat it.