Hamburg, Between the Harbour and the Glass

The first thing that caught my attention wasn’t a bottle or a drink, but the bar itself. The counter sits unusually low, paired with custom-made stools that bring you closer to the people working behind it. It’s a small design detail, but one that changes the entire feeling of the room. That familiar barrier between bartender and guest almost disappears. You’re not looking up at someone working on the other side of a counter; you’re sitting with them. And that is exactly where I wanted to be. I settled in, started talking to the team and did what I tend to do when I feel comfortable at a bar: stayed longer than planned and tasted considerably more of the menu than intended.

Bā Nomu opened in 2022, bringing the kitchen and the bar unusually close together. Street food, home cooking and flavours from across Asia find their way into the glass, interpreted through contemporary cocktail techniques. Clarification, fermentation, distillation and fat-washing all play their part, but thankfully none of them feels like the point. They happen somewhere behind the scenes. What reaches you across the counter is simply flavour.

At Hamburg’s Bā Nomu, flavours travel between cultures, the kitchen finds its way into the glass, and the best conversations happen close to the bar.

Dustin is at the heart of it, and there is an ease to the way he and the team work that only comes with experience. Nothing needs to be loudly explained or demonstrated. You taste the thought behind the drinks, while the rest happens through conversation, curiosity and that wonderfully unhurried kind of hospitality that makes another round seem like an entirely reasonable idea.

East meets West is the thread running through the menu, but Bā Nomu doesn’t turn it into a slogan in the glass. The two aren’t placed against each other for effect. They simply meet, borrow from one another and occasionally take you somewhere you weren’t expecting to go.

Overdrive did exactly that. Tequila Blanco meets Junmai sake and chilli oil, moving between brightness, savoury depth and a gentle heat that seems to arrive a fraction later than everything else. One sip makes you curious. The next makes considerably more sense. And then the glass is empty. But there was one I kept returning to – the Sake House Sour. I have a weakness for drinks that appeal to the nose before they reach the lips, and this one had me immediately. Nigori sake and yuzu sake meet almond orgeat, lime and green Szechuan pepper beneath a wonderfully soft foam. There was something almost perfume-like about its aroma — delicate, floral, perhaps even reminiscent of an expensive body lotion, in the best possible way. Then you take a sip and discover how refreshing it actually is.

But when I think about Bā Nomu now, it isn’t chilli oil, sake or Szechuan pepper that comes back first. The conversations across it. Watching the team work while talking about drinks, ingredients and whatever else the evening happened to bring. The best bars aren’t simply places where somebody makes you a good drink. They’re places where you settle in, become curious, start talking — and suddenly notice that considerably more time has passed than you intended. Bā Nomu was one of those nights. I should have listened to my bartender friends sooner!

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After Bā Nomu, my next stop took me a few streets further into St. Pauli, down Hein-Hoyer-Straße and, quite literally, a few steps below street level. Collab sits in a Souterrain, giving you that slightly secretive feeling I have always liked about basement bars without completely shutting the outside world away. You descend into the room, yet daylight still finds its way through the windows. Somewhere between cellar and street level, the bar has created its own little perspective on St. Pauli. And then there is the counter. Apparently Hamburg had decided that unusual bar counters were going to become a theme of my trip.

After sitting unusually low at Bā Nomu, Collab presented me with another geometry altogether. The counter bends and extends into the room, creating little corners of its own. I found my favourite immediately: a seat at the side, almost like an extra piece of the bar, with the window behind me and the whole room opening up in front. For a Barstalker, rather perfect.

I could watch the team work, see people arriving and settling in, follow what was happening across the room — while still feeling tucked into my own little corner. And then came the nicest surprise. I was greeted by Lucrezia. I knew her from Düsseldorf, where she had been one of my favourite bartenders at Square Bar. She moved to Hamburg some time ago, and finding her here suddenly made Collab feel considerably less like a first visit.

There is something wonderfully reassuring about meeting people from your own bar history in another city, behind another counter. The surroundings change, the menu changes, perhaps even the drinks change — but the connection is immediately there again. Rather appropriate in a bar called Collab.

The philosophy behind the bar is something Chloé and the team call Equal Drinking. The idea sounds almost too simple: drink what you want. But look at most cocktail menus and you realise how unusual that still is. Non-alcoholic cocktails are often sent to their own little corner, while low-ABV drinks occupy another niche. At Collab, that hierarchy disappears. Whether a drink contains no alcohol, a little, or considerably more, the ambition behind it remains the same. The menu clearly shows the alcohol strength, leaving you to choose according to your mood rather than what a cocktail is supposedly meant to be. I like that. Not because I suddenly plan to abandon high-proof content, obviously.

But because good drinking has never been about the highest number on a bottle. It is about flavour, balance, mood — and sometimes simply knowing what you feel like having next.

My first choice wasn’t particularly difficult. Being an agave lover, a combination of mezcal, violet, maraschino, lime and agave was always going to catch my attention. The drinks at Collab are contemporary without becoming unnecessarily complicated. Sweet, savoury, fruity and vegetal flavours move comfortably alongside each other, with unexpected ingredients appearing when they actually have something to contribute.

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And perhaps that’s the clever thing about Collab: despite the philosophy behind it, the bar never feels like it’s trying to teach you something. You sit down. Choose a drink. Talk. Have another one. Music plays, people come and go, and the idea of Equal Drinking simply exists quietly in the background.

That approach has travelled well beyond St. Pauli. At the Mixology Bar Awards 2025, Collab was named New Bar of the Year — remarkable recognition for a bar that still manages to feel like a neighbourhood place. But that’s not what I remember first. I remember walking those few steps down from the street. Daylight slipping into a room that should somehow have felt like a cellar. My peculiar little seat at the side of the counter from where I could watch everything.

Maybe that’s why the idea of Equal Drinking makes sense to me beyond alcohol percentages. Bars have always been equalising places at their best. Different people arrive, sit beside one another, order different things and share the same counter for a while. Sometimes you meet someone new. Sometimes you find someone again.

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Apparently Hamburg wasn’t finished with interesting bar counters yet. After the low intimacy of Bā Nomu and my little observation post at Collab, The Local gave me another one to remember — and possibly my favourite piece of bar furniture of the trip. At first, it’s the shape that catches your eye. The counter doesn’t simply run obediently from one end of the room to the other. It turns, opens up and creates little corners of its own. On top, stainless steel reflects glasses, bottles and the constant movement behind the bar; underneath, dark-green tiles soften the look and give it a sense of history.

And there is history. When Oliver Singh transformed the former neighbourhood pub into The Local, he kept the existing green tiles — some dating back to the 1970s — and placed a custom-made octagonal stainless-steel counter above them. Old Hamburg underneath, something sharper and more contemporary on top. So I took my place.

The Local opened in December 2021, but the local in its name is more than branding. Inspired partly by British pub culture and Oliver’s time in London, the idea is refreshingly uncomplicated: a place around the corner where you don’t need a special occasion to walk through the door. A serious cocktail, a highball, a beer — nobody needs to justify what they order. The menu keeps things beautifully uncomplicated. It isn’t enormous, and that’s a good thing. The drinks are clearly structured, the design is easy to understand, and each cocktail comes with a little piece of Hamburg attached to it.

The cocktails themselves have something in common: clarity. Not necessarily visually — although there is plenty of that too — but in flavour. Ingredient lists are kept tight enough that you can actually taste what is in the glass. Nothing seems to have been added simply because it could be. And then there are the details. The glassware is beautifully simple. Nothing screaming for attention or arriving dressed for Instagram before you’ve even tasted it. And the ice — clear cubes that make someone stop talking for a moment just to inspect the glass.

I started with PHO REAL, mainly because it was impossible for me to read savoury, aromatic, experimental and move on. Tequila, pho cordial, sake, lime and mezcal come together in a drink inspired by Vietnamese food culture in Hamburg. The menu rather charmingly tells you to try it if you like Nudelsuppe (Noddle Soup). It was savoury and aromatic without becoming heavy, with the agave spirits providing enough structure to carry all those pho associations while still remaining very much a drink rather than dinner in a glass.

Next came CONTESSA MARIA. This time the reference point was a Gimlet: Tequila with peach aperitif, a bitter blend, clear tomato and a touch of cucumber. Bittersweet, fresh and aromatic, with tomato bringing savoury depth without taking over the glass. Then I moved into creamier territory with the MARKET COLADA. Rum, Whisky and Cachaça meet condensed milk and something the menu simply calls faux pineapple. But there is no pineapple hiding behind that name. Instead, rhubarb and carrot recreate those familiar sweet-tart, tropical associations. And I loved that little trick. A Piña Colada usually takes you somewhere considerably more tropical than Hamburg. Here, the team brings it back home, replacing pineapple with ingredients that make sense much closer to their own doorstep. It fits beautifully into the hyper-local direction of the menu: take something familiar, keep the memory of its flavour, but rebuild it through a Hamburg lens. Being a coffee lover, COFFEE CULTURE was always going to happen. Vodka and Pisco meet citrus cordial, seasonal cold brew and CO₂ in a bright, zesty take on the world of Espresso Tonics. Coffee in cocktails can easily become dark, sweet and heavy; this went in exactly the opposite direction.

And then came the drink that wasn’t on the menu at all. One Last Bamboo. Anyone who has followed my travels for a while — and certainly a few bartenders who have had me sitting at their counters — knows about my weakness for a Bamboo. It’s my go-to low-ABV drink. I love that meeting of nutty sherry and aromatic vermouth: quiet, elegant and proof that a cocktail doesn’t need much alcohol or a long ingredient list to have character. So, naturally, I asked for one. I took the first sip. Delicious. But there was something else. Something strangely familiar. A little Japanese subtitle running underneath the Bamboo I knew. Then I discovered what the bartender had used: Daiyame Shochu. And suddenly I was back in Japan. I first came across Daiyame at Yakoboku in Kumamoto, another bar counter and another chapter of my travels. It’s an imo shochu made from sweet potato, but forget any expectation of something earthy and heavy. Daiyame is astonishingly aromatic, with notes that can remind you of lychee and delicate florals. Those fragrant, almost perfumed qualities made perfect sense alongside the sherry and vermouth. Hamburg had somehow poured me a little memory of Kumamoto. Those are the drinks I love most. Not necessarily the most complicated ones, or those involving the newest technique, but the ones that unexpectedly connect places, people and memories. One sip and suddenly two bars thousands of kilometres apart are sitting in the same glass. And perhaps that is where my evening became slightly less disciplined than intended.

The dangerous thing about The Local isn’t that somebody talks you into another drink. Nobody needs to. It’s that peculiar combination of a comfortable stool, very good cocktails and people behind the counter who make staying feel considerably easier than leaving. One drink becomes another. A conversation continues. Somebody pours something interesting. You look at the time considerably later than you intended to.

There is a warmth to the team that makes the name The Local begin to make sense surprisingly quickly. Hospitality isn’t something added on top of the drinks as another element of the concept. It is the concept. And I hope it stays exactly that way.

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When I arrived at Liquid Garden, I was the first guest of the evening. There is something special about arriving before everyone else. For a short while, you get to see a place before the evening begins. The bottles are lined up, the room is still, the bartenders haven’t disappeared into a stream of orders yet. And, most importantly for me, they have time to talk. So I took my seat at the bar.

Liquid Garden opened in July 2021 in Hamburg’s Kontorhausviertel. The location feels particularly fitting for a bar built around travelling through flavour. This part of Hamburg grew from the city’s history of trade and commerce, with goods, spices and ideas arriving from far beyond the harbour. Today, the Kontorhausviertel and neighbouring Speicherstadt form part of Hamburg’s UNESCO World Heritage ensemble. And here I was, escaping the rain and being handed a map of the world. Rather appropriate. The idea behind Liquid Garden can be summed up in one sentence: “We mix the gardens of the world.” And for once, the concept actually does what it says.

Instead of simply organising cocktails according to spirit or style, the menu takes you travelling. Nordic, Mediterranean, Asian, Caribbean, African, Oriental and Latin American Gardens each build their drinks around flavours associated with those regions. You don’t really choose between a Sour and a Highball. You choose where to go next. Herbs, teas, fruits and spices create the flavour language of each stop. Behind them are infusions, fermentation, clarification, foams and all the other toys of contemporary bartending — but sitting at the counter, none of it felt like a laboratory demonstration. Perhaps that’s because I had arrived early.

Whenever I became curious about something, somebody behind the counter had time to explain it. An ingredient led to a technique, a technique to a story, and inevitably the story made me curious about another drink. Dangerous circumstances for a Barstalker.

I started my little world tour in Latin America with La Vida Verde. Tequila and Paranubes Rum meet lime, pineapple, jalapeño, coriander, mint and tomatillo. There is a lot going on on paper, yet the drink doesn’t taste crowded. It’s fresh and vegetal, fruity and sour, with just enough sweetness before that green, spicy edge arrives. Somewhere underneath it all is the familiar soul of a summer Margarita — just one that has wandered through a particularly well-stocked garden first. Bright, refreshing and a very good way to start travelling.

From Latin America, I moved on to the Oriental Garden with the Cascara Rosso. And the mood changed completely. Mancino Rosso, Berto Rosso and Campari meet amarena cherry, cascara tea and sumac in a light, gently sparkling low-ABV drink. Bitter and fruity play against one another, while the cascara and sumac give it an aromatic edge that makes you return to the glass to work out exactly what you’re tasting. And then there were the chocolate-covered cherries served alongside it. A little sip. A little bite. Another sip. Dangerously easy.

My final stop wasn’t actually one of the seven Gardens. It belonged to Jesse, one of the bartenders behind the counter. One Last Margarita. Salina was created by Jesse for the Cointreau Margarita Challenge, where it took him all the way to the German final. And since there was a Margarita involved, I obviously wasn’t going to leave without trying it. At its heart, Salina starts with something completely familiar: lime, salt and the basic idea of a Margarita. Then Jesse takes it apart. Pumpkin-seed-infused tequila, fresh fennel shrub, Cointreau and a touch of mezcal recreate the flavours of a fennel and orange salad — an unusual reference for a cocktail, but one that suddenly makes complete sense when you taste it. Bright. Herbal. Citrusy. And then there is the lime and salt espuma sitting on top. Instead of leaving salt around the rim and lime somewhere inside the drink, two of the Margarita’s most recognisable elements become part of its texture and aroma. You meet them before the liquid itself. It still tastes unmistakably like it belongs to the Margarita family, but everything has shifted slightly. The familiar is still there; you just approach it from another direction.

And perhaps that sums up Liquid Garden rather well. Seven Gardens, Seven Stories. What I also liked was the restraint of the menu. There isn’t an endless catalogue of signatures competing for attention. There are seven Gardens and seven signature drinks, accompanied by a couple of creations from the Bartender’s Backyard.

That’s enough. In fact, it feels confident. Each drink has a reason to be there, each Garden gets its own little story, and by the time you’ve understood the map you’ve probably already started thinking about where you want to travel next. The room itself follows a similar philosophy. Liquid Garden is brighter than many serious cocktail bars. There is no attempt to hide everything behind darkness, velvet and candlelight. Green tiles, carefully chosen lighting and botanical details give the space a contemporary feeling somewhere between cocktail bar and design space.

Being the first guest certainly helped. There was time for questions and answers that weren’t rushed. The team spoke about ingredients, techniques and ideas with enthusiasm, but without ever turning the evening into a lecture. And gradually, while the Hamburg rain continued somewhere outside, other guests began arriving. Conversations started. Glasses appeared across the bar. The quiet room I had walked into slowly became a lively one. I had started the evening escaping Hamburg’s rain. Instead, somebody handed me a world map. And naturally, I started travelling.

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By coincidence, we were both spending time in Hamburg, so instead of another solo Barstalker mission, we decided to explore a little of the city together. And eventually, of course, I took her to a bar. Some habits are difficult to suppress.

Our destination was Karo Karo on Marktstraße in the Karoviertel, that lively pocket between St. Pauli and the Schanze. Opened in June 2025, it follows a wonderfully uncomplicated promise: Coffee. Aperitivo. Wine. Beer. Snacks. Or, as they put it themselves: Think Tagesbar but make it love the night. I liked that before I’d even ordered anything. There shouldn’t really be a moment when a café suddenly has to become a bar. At Karo Karo, the afternoon simply moves along. An espresso becomes a glass of wine, someone orders an aperitivo, perhaps a Martini appears. Nobody needs to announce that daytime has officially become evening. The room has the same lightness. A massive tiled counter anchors the otherwise minimalist space, while colourful George Sowden lamps add little playful accents. It feels stylish, but more importantly, easy — the kind of place where you stop for coffee and somehow find yourself staying for aperitivo.

Going to bars with someone else is always interesting. When travelling alone, I tend to disappear into the counter, talk to bartenders and inevitably order something I hadn’t planned to drink. This afternoon was different. I had company. And naturally, we ordered drinks.

My neighbour aka Naschkatze chose the Karo Karo Mule Mule: Makrut-lime-infused Fords Gin, lime, yuzu sake, mastika and ginger beer. Fresh, citrusy and spicy, and definitely one for people who love that unmistakable ginger kick.

Drilling opened in August 2018 inside the historic boiler house of Hamburg’s former marzipan factory. Red brick and industrial details provide the backdrop for a concept built around three crafts under one roof: café, bar and distillery. Hence the name. All good things come in threes.

Behind the project is Thorsten Frerichs, also known from Hamburg’s clockers Bar. When Drilling moved into the old industrial building, not much remained beyond those beautiful red-brick walls. Instead of hiding that history, the new space embraced it, adding a distinctly Nordic-Scandinavian touch and turning a former place of production into one dedicated to a very different kind of craft. And that craft is what makes Drilling particularly interesting. The in-house distillery sits visibly behind glass, so what normally happens somewhere far away from the bar becomes part of the room. Gin, whisky, rum, fruit spirits and liqueurs are produced here, including JELLI, Hamburg’s first rum, and the wonderfully local Fränzchen — a Franzbrötchen liqueur actually made using real Franzbrötchen. Very Hamburg indeed.

I liked that transparency. We spend so much time sitting at bars discussing where spirits come from and how they are made; here, the journey can begin only a few metres away from your glass. The bartender isn’t necessarily starting with somebody else’s finished product. The story can begin with the spirit itself.

And yes, there was another counter. Apparently Hamburg really had decided to make bar furniture part of my journey. Drilling’s long counter is made from a single piece of oak, bringing warmth into all that brick, steel and industrial architecture. But look a little closer and you realise it isn’t only beautiful. Hidden drawers and clever little functionalities have been built into it to make life easier for the bartenders working behind it. I always like details like that — design that isn’t simply there to be admired, but actually understands the people who use it every night.

Naturally, that’s where I wanted to sit. And once you start looking around, there are more of those details to discover: the beautiful lamps, the seating areas, the combination of natural materials and industrial elements. Despite the history and scale of the old building, the room feels surprisingly warm, with a distinct Scandinavian touch rather than the rough industrial atmosphere you might expect from a former factory.

What I particularly enjoyed about Drilling was how everything seemed connected to the craft of making — the spirit, the cocktail, the counter, even the building itself. A place once built for production is still producing things; only what comes out at the other end has changed considerably. And once again, I wasn’t exploring alone. Two Genussjäger from the same small corner of southern Germany, several hundred kilometres from home, discovering another very different side of Hamburg together.

Good to know: The original Drilling concept combines café, bar and distillery, although the café and lunch are currently closed. The bar opens from 5 pm, and if simply looking through the glass isn’t enough, Drilling also offers guided gin, rum and whisky tastings that take you deeper into the production and the spirits themselves. More about the distillery, tastings and current opening hours at Drilling⁠.