Lederhosen

Some friends and I stumbled into an unexpected surprise the other day, whilst searching for a beer on a rainy afternoon in the West Village. As we ran between awnings, shielding ourselves from the downpour, we saw a wooden sign with the word Lederhosen carved into it.

Desperate, and uncertain, we ducked inside.

Immediately, we were transported to what seemed like another world! An alternate universe! Somehow we found ourselves at a picnic table in the rolling Swiss Alps! An evergreen tree stood behind us, and umbrellas covered the tables (which resided safely underneath a roof already.) Murals of green landscapes decorated the walls.

Most of the spots in the West Village, though quaint and charming, have their airs about them. Lederhosen, on the other hand, makes no attempt at sophistication or innovation. It’s a down-home, no frills beer joint. And thank goodness for that.

Along with beers all around, we ordered Schnitzel sandwiches, bratwurst, German pretzels with mustard, sauerkraut, and pickled herring Rollmops.

We had the place to ourselves, and camped out at our table for upwards of three hours, while the rain subsided. The staff, clad with blonde hair and delightful accents, provided us with booze, cellphone chargers, and a relaxing place to spend the afternoon. They were in no rush to get rid of us, even when it became clear that we’d no longer be ordering anything else.

This mystery tavern is tucked away on grove street, between Bleecker and Bedford. If you’re in search of an unusual place to pass the time and indulge in some german delicacies, look no further.

Featured photo by Bernt Rostad.

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