The World's Best Bar
A Love Letter
Kronenhalle is handsome, civilized and they don’t play music. It’s the best bar in the world.
Wait, what? There’s no best bar in the world any more than there’s a best book or best film. How could we compare an English country pub to my beloved secret Kyoto bar? They exist on different planes, like Joy Division and Nina Simone, like Anthony Powell and Hunter S. Thompson. And aren’t we over the bequeathing of bests (often dedicated to burgers or twentieth century novels)? Best martini in Paris? Get out of here.
But sometimes, sometimes you watch Withnail & I and it really does feel like the greatest film ever made. Or you read an Isabel Colegate novel and burn with admiration and want to shake somebody and explain how incredible this book is. So why not go with the feeling even if you know it will subside? Our taste evolves, of course, but feels real enough in the moment.
I recently returned to Kronenhalle after many years away from Zürich. And it is truly astonishing, correct in nearly every way. While I sat at a table in the corner there was no place, not a bar, not a trout stream, not a museum gallery, where I’d rather be. The bar is not big—and good bars are small—but the ceiling is high, with diagonally grooved mahogany panels that look like they were stripped from the hull of a Riva.
There are about seven seats at the bar itself and banquettes along the wall and a few more intimate tables tucked behind the door. The room is calm even when it’s full. The walls are dark green and the artwork is comically great: a small Paul Klee, a larger Robert Rauschenberg, a portrait of a dark-haired woman in profile with strong eyebrows and a large nose (hey now!).