So a Honduran, a Czech and a Swiss-German walk into a bar...
Wait. We got that wrong.
It’s: so a Honduran, a Czech and a Swiss-German open a bar...
Yeah, that one. And they name it Paprika, a self-contained melting pot of a gastropub merrily doling out all manner of Eurocentric beers and sausage-centric sausages, now open in the Mission.
You may have gathered already, but the trio behind this is a Honduran woman, her Czech boyfriend and his Swiss-German buddy. Or maybe you didn’t gather. Because, well... different.
Don’t expect anything too crazy. It’s pretty bare-bones. Mustard-yellow and red walls. A few light-colored wood tables. There’s a real brauhaus thing going on in there. What with all the rare pilsners from small towns outside of Prague and 1.5-liter boots full of Weihenstephaner Hefe Weissbier. You probably can’t wait to drink those.
And you probably can’t wait to put those in front of plates of kielbasa, bratwurst, hot sausage, sauerkraut, mashed potatoes, mustard and gherkins either. So... don’t. Don’t wait. Just show up, have a seat and go nuts.
Or just have a seat and play something on the jukebox. Partly because they have one. But mostly because it’s filled with ’70s and ’80s jazz, Motown, the Beatles and soon the occasional Eastern European pop album.
Fingers crossed it’s Hasselhoff.
Wait. We got that wrong.
It’s: so a Honduran, a Czech and a Swiss-German open a bar...
Yeah, that one. And they name it Paprika, a self-contained melting pot of a gastropub merrily doling out all manner of Eurocentric beers and sausage-centric sausages, now open in the Mission.
You may have gathered already, but the trio behind this is a Honduran woman, her Czech boyfriend and his Swiss-German buddy. Or maybe you didn’t gather. Because, well... different.
Don’t expect anything too crazy. It’s pretty bare-bones. Mustard-yellow and red walls. A few light-colored wood tables. There’s a real brauhaus thing going on in there. What with all the rare pilsners from small towns outside of Prague and 1.5-liter boots full of Weihenstephaner Hefe Weissbier. You probably can’t wait to drink those.
And you probably can’t wait to put those in front of plates of kielbasa, bratwurst, hot sausage, sauerkraut, mashed potatoes, mustard and gherkins either. So... don’t. Don’t wait. Just show up, have a seat and go nuts.
Or just have a seat and play something on the jukebox. Partly because they have one. But mostly because it’s filled with ’70s and ’80s jazz, Motown, the Beatles and soon the occasional Eastern European pop album.
Fingers crossed it’s Hasselhoff.
