Like Old Times

For a 42-year-old I'm living in a throwback situation of sorts, so it seems appropriate that I should take my youthful flatmates under my wing for a journey back into the dark dark past and get them drunk off of their asses. Marxim seemed an appropriate place for this.

Marxim Pizzeria-Pub
Budapest, II., Kisrókus u.23.
Open: 12 - 01, weekends 12 - 02, Sundays 18 - 01

At my age, I had some misgivings about sharing a flat with some guys in their 20s. Would they be partying all night when I had to get up the next day for work? Would they eat my food? Would I hate them for any number of reasons just because we lived in the same flat?

I am happy to report that my two flatmates Zsolt and Tamas are a couple of pretty considerate guys from the Hungarian countryside. And they seem to be an exceptionally rare breed in that they actually do housework. So far, so good.

It was Zsolt's birthday, so in the spirit of communal living and solidarity I thought I would take the youngin's out for a drink or three. We started with some shots at home before hitting the snowy trail down our hilly street to catch the tram to Moszkva tér.

I thought our best bet would be Oscar's, which is a seemingly cozy and invariably busy little bar up the hill from Moszkva tér towards the Castle District. But we got there only to see the the bar stools were upended and the cleaning staff milling around. (Incidentally, my buddy András finds the clientele a bit snooty at Oscar's, so maybe it was just as well.)

"Uh uh, what's plan B?" I thought out loud. And then I received divine inspiration from Marx, Lenin, et. al. Our destination was the smokey little dungeon with the red star out front, just behind Budapest's Millenáris arts complex. My comrades gave my decision their blessing and off we went.

Inside the Marxim the decor is a kitschy ode to communist times, from the portraits of Lenin to the barbed wire and the red plastic-molded chairs that you might find in one of Budapest's metro stations. Even the names of the different pizzas at Marxim have wacky wordplay references to things Hungarians associate with those 40 years.

We treated birthday boy Zsolt to several Jack Daniels and Coke, while we drank beer (Pilsner for me, HB for Tamás) and boutique pálinka. Hunger loomed, so we wolfed down some pizza while Zsolt had lepény, a toasted flatbread with a bunch of stuff inside of it. I can report that my crispy pizza was loaded with cheese and tuna. Tasty.

Marxim was doing a brisk business, even on a Sunday night, especially considering that it's not the easiest place to find.

We'd gotten our roommate watered and fed for his birthday for about Huf 12,000. Long live the revolution at Marxim!