Monk's Cafe: The drinkers delight
The Triangle Eats!
By: Aaron Sakulich
Issue date: 8/10/07 Section: Arts & Entertainment
Originally published: 8/10/07 at 3:25 AM EST
Last update: 8/10/07 at 3:26 AM EST
Originally published: 8/10/07 at 3:25 AM EST
Last update: 8/10/07 at 3:26 AM EST
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When people think of Philadelphia, there are a few spots that come instantly to mind: the Rocky steps, the Liberty Bell, the cheesesteaks, and if you really like beer, Monk's Café.
I've never heard anyone-ever-say anything bad about Monk's. It's a little place that's all dark wood and low light that serves, if my memory is correct, no fewer than one million different beers along with classy, European-style food.
My visit there didn't start well. Despite the fact that it was a hot, muggy night, and all reasonable people should have been at home in front of a fan, there was a 45 minute wait before we could get a table. Anywhere else, I would have left. However, the time flew by as my associates and I stood at the front bar, drinking beer to pass the time. To be honest, the wait could have been twice as long and I wouldn't have noticed.
The reason is the beer: it's fantastic. I had the Flemish Sour, which I find to be the utter pinnacle of the beer making arts. If that particular crisp, sour nectar of the gods isn't for you, they've got Chimay and Troegs on tap, or you could choose from hundreds of different bottles.
We were finally shown a table, which was a relief since we'd just been in the waitresses' ways standing at the bar. I felt sort of bad about that, but the restaurant is only five feet wide and six hundred feet long, so you're going to be in the way.
I knew what I was going to eat well before I showed up: mussels. There are a couple of different ways to get them, but we chose the Ghent mussels ($9 small, $19 large), with bacon and cheese. It is at this point that I must apologize to readers: my grasp on the English language is too weak, to accurately describe the pure, unfiltered joys of eating these mussels. If I were to catch fire eating mussels at Monk's, I would not stop eating long enough to put myself out. Halting my immolation would not be worth missing out on a single soft, juicy mussel. I could eat mussels at Monk's every minute of every day for the rest of my life.
I've never heard anyone-ever-say anything bad about Monk's. It's a little place that's all dark wood and low light that serves, if my memory is correct, no fewer than one million different beers along with classy, European-style food.
My visit there didn't start well. Despite the fact that it was a hot, muggy night, and all reasonable people should have been at home in front of a fan, there was a 45 minute wait before we could get a table. Anywhere else, I would have left. However, the time flew by as my associates and I stood at the front bar, drinking beer to pass the time. To be honest, the wait could have been twice as long and I wouldn't have noticed.
The reason is the beer: it's fantastic. I had the Flemish Sour, which I find to be the utter pinnacle of the beer making arts. If that particular crisp, sour nectar of the gods isn't for you, they've got Chimay and Troegs on tap, or you could choose from hundreds of different bottles.
We were finally shown a table, which was a relief since we'd just been in the waitresses' ways standing at the bar. I felt sort of bad about that, but the restaurant is only five feet wide and six hundred feet long, so you're going to be in the way.
I knew what I was going to eat well before I showed up: mussels. There are a couple of different ways to get them, but we chose the Ghent mussels ($9 small, $19 large), with bacon and cheese. It is at this point that I must apologize to readers: my grasp on the English language is too weak, to accurately describe the pure, unfiltered joys of eating these mussels. If I were to catch fire eating mussels at Monk's, I would not stop eating long enough to put myself out. Halting my immolation would not be worth missing out on a single soft, juicy mussel. I could eat mussels at Monk's every minute of every day for the rest of my life.
Spring Break

