For 50 years The Tiroler Hut has been providing drunken, borderline surreal nights out for west Londoners. An average evening might involve: 1) your lederhosen-wearing host Josef alternating between bell-ringing and saxophone playing, 2) a round of huge, foaming steins of beer served up by dirndl-wearing barmaids 3) chasers of Hungary’s most-popular, and frankly disgusting, liqueur, Zwack Unicum. 4) The bar’s resident Chinese Elvis fan belting out Are You Lonesome Tonight? 5) More steins. 6) Slow dancing to Edelweiss. 7) Goulash. Terrible, terrible goulash. 8) What the hell – one more round of steins as the older Austrian locals bust out a chorus of Ein Prosit like you were in a Munich Bierkeller before Josef chucks you out back into the world of dreams. It may not be back how it was in the nineties when you were as likely to see a Jarvis or a Kate Moss at the bar but that just means the queues are a little shorter. Fifty years old this year – we say prost to The Tiroler Hut.
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