no.1: monk bars & mango beer

The door of Burp Castle, which aptly implies the mandatory silence of the bar.

Everyone gets their recommendations from Instagram reels these days.

I despise this.

You know what the best way to find a new spot is? Go to the bar across the street from the Italian place that your grandma gave you a gift card for for your birthday.

It was in this exact scenario in which I discovered Burp Castle in the East Village.

The pearly gates of Burp Castle are covered in vines, just like a real castle!

The bar, established in 1992, sits hidden on the same street as the more-regarded McSorley’s (a spot I’d only go to if I were a 50-year-old man and hated my wife). One thing you’ll immediately notice upon first entering is its silent atmosphere. The law of the castle is this: one is not allowed to make noise, lest you be shushed, librarian style, by the bartender. The full finger-to-mouth-aggressive shush is a lost art in our society today. Oftentimes, I walk into an overcrowded bar and think, “I wish everyone here would just shut the fuck up for one minute.” This is the sole place in this city where shutting up is not only encouraged, but mandatory. In fact, when I was sitting down, a group of what I can only assume to be former frat bros entered the vicinity. In true knightly fashion, the bartender guarded the space, and with a simple shush, caused them all to walk out immediately.

I knew I was in the right spot. 

I would be remiss not to mention the bar’s monastic theme. Legend tells that a group of beer-guzzling monks christened the space as their own, and in the 90s, bartenders wore full robes and shaved their heads. Sadly, I cannot say this is the case anymore, as my bartender had red-dyed hair and a black crop top. However, the walls are covered with murals of monks brewing beer – one even features Jesus gifting angels barley and hops.

For those worried by the lack of atmospheric noise, never fear – Gregorian chants fill the space left by minimal conversation. On a shelf behind the bar sits a chess set and the Bible, yet the vibe did not feel too Christian, as some artsy NYU students sat at tables reading philosophy amongst the other patrons who ranged in age from 47 to 54. Most patrons were reading, basking in the space with eyes closed, or trying to make conversation with their Hinge date through gestures alone. For those in desperate need of communication, pens are available to write notes on the bar napkins. 

So how was the beer? It was fine. I’m not here to report on drinks, just vibes, but I had a pretty tasty mango beer that I was able to finish with ease (which is not always the case for me, unfortunately). Whispering the order made it feel like a shared secret between myself and the bartender.

You go to Burp Castle  to have a beer in a cool glass, yes, but more to meditate on your week in the one quiet spot in the whole city.

As someone who grew up here, I’ve spent most of my life thinking quiet was the enemy and noise was the norm. Ambulance and honking sounds are my sleep machine, and I truly feel disturbed walking around the city if it’s dead silent. But in the age of distraction, maybe a noise-free zone is needed now more than ever.

I hope to make many return trips to give offerings (cash in my wallet) in exchange for God’s greatest gifts (mango beer and a moment just to think). You, too, can gauge the alcoholic monk experience at Burp Castle on East 7th!

Despite its humble appearance, Burp Castle is also an acclaimed Belgian restaurant, if thinking about the religious piety of medieval monks encourages your appetite.