On a Friday around 10:30am, the place is almost empty. I keep asking myself who in the world has time for sitting in a café at this time of the day anyway – apart from old or jobless people, small children, cafe latte mothers or hipsters who haven’t opened their own café yet.
The freedom of choice is endless. Do I take the nice table with a comfy wooden bench at the huge window facing out on the Burgring boulevard, or rather drown in one of the enormous couches? Maybe a vintage chair at a knight’s table, or a barstool at the green-lit bar?
I end up on a couch without regret. The Kleiner Brauner nestles with my nostrils as soon as the nice waiter places it in front of me. I give him a wink, and the waiter mistakes it to be for him. Even though I am quite well rested today, the coffee still puts my head in the right place.
Before drowning in the couch completely, I take another look around and note how different it looks from every angle. The back section, filled with tables and chairs right next to a wall plastered with posters, reminds me of Cafe Alt Wien – a traditional coffeehouse which you visit for a Gulasch, an apfel strudel or a beer.
“The restaurant that used to be in here before burg.ring¹ had the back section divided from the front, using it for slot machines. We tore out the wall and left the plaster naked to create an open, airy space,” the waiter tells me.
Facing the front, I see the ruggedly handsome bar with neat tiles, tinged in a cold light that smacks in the face the warm light from the million lamps dangling from the ceiling in the back. I like it. The green light confuses the hell out of me with its night club feel.
“People come here for breakfast, lunch, dinner, drinks or coffee. You can’t really define a preference. The clientele is quite diverse.”
And this diversity is reflected in the chameleon-like appearance, as well as the variety on the menu – a high quality wines for a fancy night out, a Tafelspitz (a dish of boiled beef) for dinner (tasty indeed), their homemade syrup and cake on a cosy afternoon, or just a Kleiner Brauner to free your head from too many thoughts; as is my choice of how to use and abuse this chameleon.
I plan to come back here for drinks or dinner some other time and I guess that’s the spell this place casts. It’s your Oma, the ruggedly handsome guy at the bar, the film screen writer sitting by a mighty big window scribbling a script by candlelight.
Whatever the hell it is, it’s a place that adapts its shape and form to suit your mood.
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