I’m going to stop kidding myself. I love hipster bars, for what I think are really good reasons. For starters, hipster bars are run by hipsters. Crafty, creative, pretentious hipsters. If there is one thing hipsters do well, it’s the following list of three things:
1) Atmosphere. Even in their homes, hipsters are incredibly adept at creating the perfect atmosphere for any event they host. By which I mean it’s often dim, artsy, and there is always some shitty indie music playing in the background. I will take this atmosphere over dim, smokey, some shitty dance remixes blaring, and some drunk meat head who insists I suddenly look like Anne Hathaway draping his arm over my shoulder and breathing down my neck. Not that that’s ever happened or anything.
2) Food. Pretentious food tastes good. They use expensive, exotic ingredients in unpredictable combinations that don’t do damage to my stomach the way that normal bar food does. The down side is that you can’t impress anyone by ordering seitan wings. Unless you’re trying to impress hipsters.
3) Beer. If you’re a beer enthusiast, you enjoy a good craft beer and most times abhor anything of the Bud, Miller, or Coors variety (unless it’s high life, cause that’s too damn easy to drink). Okay, I know about the PBR stereotype. I don’t like PBR because it tastes like a can flavored poop (I don’t care what Tom says). But if you go into a hipster bar, you’ll typically be treated to a fantastical selection of delicious, diverse craft beers. And guess what? Purchasing and enjoying delicious craft beers is a great way to get smashed AND support small business in most cases.
So, it should be no surprise that I frequent these types of places.
That brings us to the subject of this article: The Abbaye. The Abbaye is located on 3rd street near Girard ave in the Northern Liberties section of Philadelphia. Harnessing the power that all hipster bars have to lore me in to their delicious, dim establishments, it was not a difficult pick. It’s situated in an adorable part of town, with an adorable waitstaff and serves the best damn grilled cheese and tomato soup I’ve ever eaten (sorry mom!) The desert list is wonderful, the craft beer selection leaves little to be desired, and the graffiti is sparse, but delightfully strange.
Just a suggestion though, stay away from the spiced apple wine. It tastes like white wine and burning.