Imagine that you are in St. Petersburg. Imagine that there are so many places in the city that, by no stretch of the imagination, you can be able to spend a frugal night with a glass of wine, that your feet will rip you off the chair and will carry you by drinking routes in thinkable and unthinkable directions. And then after the fifth bar and McDonald’s, at four thirty in the morning you, guided by good people, go by feel of St. Petersburg’s backstreets in an absolute certainty that things are heading towards the end, that ‘now we just gonna hop to one fella and get what we need, and then we gonna go home.’ This is how you get into the Kreutz Flat.
You go up to a certain floor, I don’t remember which one, press number 8 on the buzzer, and in a moment, you, like Alice, find yourself in the Looking Glass, in the Wonderland, in a parallel galaxy with a view on St. Petersburg. This is not connected with narcotic substance abuse or something. Just the apartment of Kosti Kreutz – this is an insane 2625 square feet speak easy.
I have never seen anything more tremendous in my entire life. It’s not a restaurant, not a bar, not a creative cluster – all these definitions are so insignificant, you think, getting into the apartment, swimming past sofas, tables, armchairs, pillows, a bar counter, a tea room, a kitchen with a fridge and a stove, bedrooms, baths, sofas and tables once again – this is an entirely self-contained planet.
It was Monday (!), when I got there, initially I had a plan to start with El Copitas, but the guys can’t afford to work from Monday to Wednesday, but Kreutz can. And I wouldn’t probably go there on the weekend, because the feeling of being here by myself and owning all of these 2625 square feet can’t be compared to any wild hangout.
The apartment has a tea room with an atrium and a glass ceiling, where you can take your shoes off and roll around in cushions, while sipping gin and tonic, has a kitchen with all the necessary devices and food in the fridge, so that you could make yourself an omelet or fix a sandwich. There’s a bathtub at Kreutz Flat too, though it stands in the middle of the restroom, but still it has hot water and towels. No rules or bans are set, it feels as if it were your apartment.
If I go there again, I will definitely consider the choice of my drinks with more scrutiny. This time I put my trust in a bartender, but nothing outstanding came out of it (there was a pale twist on Cosmopolitan and something very balsamic that had an intrusive food smell), which, however, didn’t gave me the orgy of enjoyment. Of course, the contrast had played its part – I just got used to the idea that now I’m gonna get to the ‘cribs’, to the most-most ‘seedy hangout’, but I got into a luxurious penthouse with an entourage that tickles your vanity, as if Narcissus was brought into the Hall of Mirrors.
Nevsky Prospekt 71 (entrance through the archway from Marata Str., 1), St. Petersburg
Assai Cosmo – $ 6, Negroni – $ 7