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| - there was about a good forty five minutes that i spent walking aimlessly around kensington waiting for my wife to meet with me after her work. it was at the end of the shopping day and the streets were pretty tired and barren, im sure partly because of the cold.
i passed by la palette which is on augusta i think, popped in to look at their menu and left. i stopped by aspetta to get a cappucino. they had tables, i had a graphic novel to read but i didnt stay. my first objective was to get the cappucino and with that accomplished there was not much to do but find a bar.
i have passed by ronnies local 69 on numerous occasions with a little bit of wonder. it was open and seemed like the only open bar nearby. besides, i dug it from the outside so why not.
well its pretty dark inside, housing a few square tables up front, a couple of booths for about four to six people each sitting comfortably, a small intimate bar, all the aforementioned made of wood. the walls were painted tin tiling or what looked like it. they were also divided by a picture rail that also marked the division of a camouflage green from a dusty cream atop it.
i wanted to sit at the bar. i had a jacket on, there was nowhere to hang it, not much light and not much room for that matter. next was the idea to snag a booth since there were not that many folks in the bar. those plans too got dashed as someone was saving it with the territorial purse and half drank pint guarding it silently. that left the back room.
the back room is square with no windows or doors save the threshold that is its entrance, lying just beyond the bathrooms. i settle myself at one of many small squarish wooden tables. im the only one back there. i go grab a beer. mill street helles bock is the drink for the night. its quite a tasty beer and i settle down to read my graphic novel. the table wabbles. i try not to care, but care, so i move one over.
i guzzle my beer and periodically look up from my novel to see paintings the subjects of which i cant remember hanging on the walls. in between the paintings are, to my surprise and salvation, rickety, circular dimmer switches that can adjust the lights that are mounted just above them. destroying the ambient romance, i gladly fiddle with the switch to stop the impending blindness my eyes are succumbing to, and read with much gusto.
the space begins slowly to fill up, and i begin to wonder whether i should order another beer, wondering if my wife will want to stay as we are to meet friends later on. to my delight she waltzes in shortly, drops her bag on the table and takes the last gulp my beer and approves it for a round.
over our few rounds of beer, we talk and the place fills up. inside, in these close quarters, you feel perhaps that you are in some tavern in europe, some little bar set up in someones house, in their back room. the music is nice, good to accompany with toe-tapping and head bobs. the beer we drank was 5 fifty a pint. no pretension, no lineup, easygoing. it reminded me of the commies daughter in its decor, but definitely lacked as vibrant and magical a verve, though, its coziness and age has wooed me enough to make this place a frequent place for a lounge.
and ill put my sole vote in for the winter outing.
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