There was a little book that I found myself relying on quite heavily while staying in Prague — ‘A Hedonist’s Guide To Prague‘ by Paul Sullivan. It’s a gem of a book for anyone wanting to avoid the usual over-trodden and tourist-trappish restaurants, bars, clubs, cafes and sights in Prague. It only steered me wrong once, but not so wrong that I couldn’t forgive it its transgression and accept it back into my good graces.
Our first evening in the city was pretty much a blow-out as we were still groggy from the ridiculously long flight from Dallas, so it was mostly about walking around the general environs of the Hotel Josef and a quick bite of dinner at one of the terrible (and terribly numerous) cafes that ring the Old Town Square before collapsing into our bed to sleep the deep, Ambien slumber of the weary world traveler. Our subsequent evenings were better spent, and I’m including a brief rundown of some of the great places we discovered for food and coffee (or both!) while tromping around the cobblestone streets.
La Degustation Boheme Bourgeoise:
This was my favorite place by far. Rated highly in the Hedonist’s guide, and in the same neighborhood as our hotel, we dropped by without reservations (not recommended) but early in the evening (which is highly recommended if you don’t have reservations). Any restaurant we visited in Prague didn’t start receiving dinner guests until 7:30 p.m. or later, even if they opened at 5 p.m. — so we always hit the restaurants early in order to get a table. Yes, we were often the only ones there for a good hour or two, which does rather cut back on the ambient quality, but the food didn’t suffer for being served earlier and bottles of wine don’t care what time you open them.
La Degustation Boheme Bourgeoise would be considered modern cuisine by most anyone’s rulebook, and their specialty is the tasting menu — a series of small dishes meant to tease the palate and coax the diner from one flavor to another, leading ultimately to the entire dinner party staggering out the door with happy grins and heads abuzz with delicious memories of sauces and foams, braised meats, delicate vegetables, subtle herbs, flaky crusts, tender seafoods, bold chocolates, poached fruits and rich wines.
Their menu changes according to what’s fresh and in-season, and each of our dinners consisted of nine small courses (interspersed with another five exquisitely subtle palate cleansers), accompanied by glasses of various wines expertly paired with the main courses by a sommelier more daring and imaginative than any I’ve encountered in the United States. Our dinner lasted almost four hours, and the restaurant was full and alive with an appreciative clientele by the time we finished our espressos (served in tiny cups, its thick, creamy body tasting slightly of unsweetened cocoa with a hint of burnt sugar) and made our exit.
Everything we had was excellent, but standouts were the Adriatic Cuttlefish seasoned with black olive powder and sauced in an onion veloute’ with Parmigiano Reggiano, the poached organic egg with morel sauce, the South Bohemian rabbit with carrot puree and cabbage, and the Namelaka of Jivara chocolate and hazle nuts served with Zacapa rum ice cream. The service was unfailing yet unobtrusive, and the entire staff, from waiters to sommelier to the restaurant manager himself, were graciously accommodating and warmly hospitable.
After a long day of tramping about the city, we just wanted to find someplace casual without forgoing decent food — Lary Fary seemed to fit the bill. While their main claims to fame appear to be giant kebabs and locally brewed beer, we settled for martinis and traditional Czech goulash — hot, meaty, mildly spicy and served with thick, warm slices of dumpling loaf. Famous kebabs be damned, anyone who takes a pass on their goulash is a fool.
The seating was comfortable, and the place was all dark wood and decorative iron, with sunlight streaming through the windows. Old world pub with a modern twist. Service was inattentive, and I had to practically take a flying tackle to our waiter to get a second martini. If you’re not in a hurry to get anywhere else, this is a great place for lunch.
It was a late evening and we had been walking most of the day. One of our party wanted to hear some live music, and we all most definitely needed a drink, so we wandered down Prague’s fashionable Parizska street and stumbled, literally, upon Barock. Their sliding floor to ceiling doors were wide open and the stylings of an inoffensive live jazz-pop band spilled out across the sidewalk. The four of us promptly took a seat at one of the white-cloth draped outside tables situated beneath a large umbrella and a uniformed waiter immediately came out to take our order. Martinis and caviar, please.
Barock reminded me of a restaurant in Soho or Hollywood: wide open spaces, huge ceilings, plush seating, deep red walls adorned with black and white photographs of fashion models, and lots of young, rich Russians throwing their money around. Okay, so the Russians aren’t yet a fixture of Soho or Hollywood, but give ‘em time — the declining dollar and Russia’s vast oil and mineral reserves can only mean that America’s trendiest hotspots are ripe for invasion.
We enjoyed our seating on the sidewalk by the tree-lined cobblestone street, with shoppers and young couples strolling past, basking in the jazz wafting from the restaurant’s open doors. Our waiter was young and charming, the caviar was Iranian (though I prefer Californian for political reasons) and our martinis were superb. When it began to lightly rain later on, we pulled together beneath the umbrella and enjoyed the sound of raindrops on canvas and the shine of headlights from passing cars splashed across the paving stones.
Not so much like Soho or Hollywood, after all.
Our one miss. Unsatisfying food, disinterested service, and decor that was trying hard to be eclectic and funky yet seemed bland and somewhat cheap, instead.
And bad martinis. ‘Nuff said.
Debbe wanted chocolate, so we set out in search of a cafe or bakery that might do the trick. Well, one hour of wandering helplessly and lost later, my ankles raging against the sheer audacity of being forced to endure cobblestones in the 21st century, we find Au Gourmand, a former butcher’s shop retooled into a cozy French patisserie in the Josefov/Old Town district (an actual two block walk from our hotel . . . argh!).
Upon entering, I was taken aback by the two gleaming glass cases that flanked each side of a tiled eating area — one which housed savory items, such as fresh quiches, sandwiches and pasta dishes, the other stuffed full of tantalizing cakes, meringues, pies, tarts, cookies, brownies and house-made gelato. Suffice it to say, we tucked in!
I still have visions of a glorious Foret Noire — airy, moist slices of dark devil’s food cake and thick layers of real whipped cream clogged with chocolate covered black cherries and heaped with curly chocolate shavings. Brian opted for the bakery’s specialty, the Mille-Feuille
– a scrumptious confection comprised of multiple layers of almond-cream paste interspersed with thin planks of sugary, flaky crust and topped by a beautiful crust of white and dark chocolate.
*sigh*
Did I mention the great lasagna, the crusty sandwiches, the piping tea, the creamy lattes? I didn’t? Oh, who cares! More cake, please!
This is Barock’s older and slightly more formal sister-restaurant, located almost directly across the street. Again, we were the first people there, and other diners only just began to show up as we were getting ready to leave. The restaurant interior was perfectly pleasant, though not much more than that. Yes, it was modern, and yes, it was nice, but . . . it kind of blended in to every other nice, modern restaurant we’ve ever been to, so it wound up not leaving much of an impression on me. Since we were the only people in the place, we chose a window seat, and the service was exactly as I expected it to be (polite, professional), but the food, though decent, was entirely forgettable. For all its supposed Asian-Fusion flair, I think I had some kind of lamb. I can’t recall anything else.
We did, however, have a richly flavorful bottle of French wine, and when we got the bill, it was surprisingly priced — much lower than we had expected. When we pointed out to our waiter that we thought the price was a bit on the downside for a 1989 Chateau Lafite-Rothschild, he insisted that no, it was correct. This turned out to be our experience for most of the Prague restaurants in which we dined — the wine prices were significantly lower than what we would have paid for a comparable (or the same) bottle of wine here in the U.S. It must have been due to the lack of importation taxes. During our stay, we guzzled down (uh, I mean, “sipped”) some excellent Italian and French wines for what we considered to be more than reasonable prices.
Another restaurant that Brian and I hit on our own. It was a bit of a jaunt from our hotel, but not so far that it wasn’t a feasible walk. We actually called beforehand to make sure that we could get a table, though we really needn’t have bothered, as, of course, we were the first ones there, showing up soon after they opened for the evening.
While the wait staff seemed a bit put out that they were required to serve foreign diners who had the audacity to show up for such an ungodly early reservation (and they had to speak English, for heaven’s sake!), the food was excellent. The warm, crispy goat cheese was a revelation of rich, spreadable delight; the risotto with porcini mushrooms and truffle oil was perfectly creamy and fragrantly earthy; the Roast Rabbit with Marjoram Mashed Potatoes, Spinach and Thyme Sauce was expertly prepared and presented (Brian had the Beef Tournedos, so he’ll have to give you his own rundown on that particular dish, though I can say that he finished it off with gusto); and I skipped dessert and headed straight for a glass of forty year old Port, instead, starting to feel like I’d just about filled my sugar quota for the entire year of 2008 and here I have 8 more months to go. My alcohol quota, however, is still wide open. Speaking of which, the wine was French (again), and (again) priced well below what we would have expected to pay in the U.S.
V Zatisi has a reputation as one of the best restaurants in the Czech Republic, and its ambience is certainly worthy — a recently renovated collection of intimate rooms, each decorated in its own high style, and each with its own glowing, monied atmosphere. The service is cat-paw quiet, with professionally aloof waiters and beverage servers padding softly to and fro. Our wine and water glasses were never allowed to run dry, and each beautifully presented dish arrived with just the appropriate amount of pause between each course.
Recommended, though not as ecstatically as La Degustation Boheme Bourgeoise. Much like our experience at Pravda, I felt like I’d been to restaurants like V Zatisi before — lovely interiors, a professional and efficient wait staff, a capable kitchen turning out excellent dishes presented with subtle flair. This is the kind of place that will certainly satisfy should you self-title as a foodie, but it’s not daring enough to really wow. The atmosphere, however, will register on your social richter scale.
We had been searching for a good Italian restaurant, and on our last night out in Prague, we found it. Warm, inviting, clean and uncluttered, the four of us were the first people through the door for the evening (without reservations, natch), so we got a terrific table. From the quizzical reception as we were seated, I suspect the staff had initial assumptions that we might be a difficult table of Americans, with special requests and cheap tastes, but once we started ordering, they warmed up significantly.
We got off to a bad start with the martinis, which tasted strangely like a glass of dry white wine with several olives plunked in, even though it smelled like gin. When I asked them to take it away and instead make me a drink with just gin shaken over ice, I got my same glass of weird tasting booze back, but minus the olives. Apparently, the language barrier was more pronounced at this location than anywhere else we’d been, but once I accepted the fact that an Americanized martini was a dead issue and I should simply start in on the fine bottle of Barolo we had waiting, everything was dandy.
From course to course, it was Italian cuisine like I’d ever imagined Italian cuisine should be — fresh, lively, perfectly seasoned and extremely satisfying. We started off with Parma ham and olives, goose livers, cheeses, an unrecollected dish with figs (and Debbe had some soup, I believe), moved on to pastas (I had an amazing Tagliatelle with lobster and vanilla sauce — I’ve never experienced anything quite like it, and I had to refrain from shouting aloud with pleasure when I took my first bite), then cruised into the meat course (duck breasts, lamb chops, veal steaks, oh my!) to emerge, blinking, hardly knowing what hit us, on the other side of smooth Amaretto cheesecakes and fine Italian espresso.
About a half hour before we were finished, other diners began to arrive. The place filled up quickly, even though it was just a Tuesday. I’m not so certain our “no reservations but show up early” ploy would have worked on the weekend. The review I had read beforehand about Amici Miei stated that it was one of the best Italian restaurants in the city, and I’m pleased to agree with that assessment.
Highly recommended. Professional (yet immeasurably personable) service, humor and charm included. Great food. Good ambience. Nice wine list. Oh, and avoid the martinis.
UPDATE:
I forgot to mention Coffee Fellows, a medium-ish cafe a few minutes walk from our hotel. The staff was friendly and the interior attractive, with modern, clean lines, dark wood tables and a rich color on the walls. They had a decent selection of pastries plus eats, and the coffee was good. I only order lattes when I travel as it’s easy to ruin an Americano, so I usually have no problems when I’m served up a nice big cup of hot, creamy, espresso-infused milk, instead.
They also have free wifi service, but the cigarette smoking was too much for us to handle for more than twenty minutes and we packed up our computers and fled, our eyes burning and our clothes reeking of cigarette smoke. They usually keep their doors open to help ventilate the cafe, but the day we went the weather was cold and the doors were all closed. Our bad luck. Otherwise, I liked the place.
We also had e
xcellent, creamy lattes and fresh pastries at Bakeshop Praha, another cafe in the Old Town and, if I’m remembering correctly, just down the street from Au Gourmand. It was a warm, sunny day and we drank our coffee and ate our cookies while sitting on a bench outside the cafe. Well, Brian had cookies — I opted for a crumbly, chocolate chip muffin.
They have long counters that run the length of their windows where customers can sit on stools and look out at the cobblestone intersection as they sip their coffees (or teas) and munch on whatever they’d purchased from the bewildering array of gorgeous baked goods, plus there are also the aforementioned outside benches for seating when the weather is warmer. The place was busy every time we walked by, and since it was in our neck of the woods, we walked past it a lot.
