Telling my boss/manager about our many nights at Makassar, I mentioned how often we’d end up here. It’s a little tiny pub with very few seats, open very late. Many a night we’ve found ourselves here, with friends, sitting next to others from Makassar who our friend Roland had taken a shine to that night and brought along (not always with their explicit consent).
Gerti’s is close to the theatre district and a lot of theatre folk come over after the shows are done to have a meatball, some chili and some beers and one last round of hellraising before calling it a night.
At some point the schnapps start making the round and then it is buyer beware:
If you’re drunk Gerti will consider it a duty to charge you twice for one but don’t ever think she’s too drunk to keep count of what you’ve had. Overpaying is welcome but woa to he who tries to skip out.
We’ve been squeezed into booths with aristocrats (stripped of title), CEOs of very well known jewelry stores that have been featured in classic films, alongside truck drivers, bakers and cocktail waitresses.
Either way the ending is the same. We stumble out, bleaary and disoriented to see the sun pinkening the sky, take the first breath of fresh air in what seems like hours, and find a cab home.
Inside the entertainment is always the same. These guys rock out on the accordion and everyone is forced to sing old German songs (now you know why the schnapps runs so freely). One of them is Gerti’s husband… I hope it’s the one with the big instrument.