retiredmartin

October 2025. Bucharest.

The Young Boys of Bern had told us that Bucharest’s Ironic Taproom was an essential visit, and as Mrs RM wanted a blog post called “four essential craft bars” it was easy to drag her from the seedier part of the Old Town, past the majestic Stock Exchange,

to the less than majestic tower blocks of Strada Eforie.

“Are you SURE it’s here ?” asks Mrs RM, as I fail to find the (unmarked) entrance.

This is the Bucharest version of Manchester under the railway arches. There’s an unreadable beer board with words like “spinach” and “cat” and “Grandma”, rather than “mild”, “bitter” and “Dizzy Blonde”,

trestle tables ocupied by folk who could afford beer at nearing Sheffield prices,

high quality murk,

and fantastically greasy smash burgers and garlic fries.

Unwisely, we stayed for the 13 Figs, Dates and Spice (not that spice) Barleywine, because common-sense is my middle name (actually, it’s “No Middle Name”).