Bodor Ferenc: Coffee-Houses - Our Budapest (Budapest, 1992)

Tinódi

There is nothing to be done—we cannot exist without the atmosphere of the ninth district, in its eternal green-and-white haze. Beneath the platains of Mester utca, we either indulge in thinking reforming thoughts or allow our flights of fancy to be curbed by neobaroque. Behind the terrace raised at the corner of a town house—a concept doomed to be forgotten before long —lies the once famous Tinódi. Its neon sign no longer casts a light upon the pavement. Sausage-shaped ornamentation curves above the entrance, but the stucco of the balconies is damaged.

Inside there is emptiness, a dearth of motifs. Yet in days gone by, guests of the legendary, enchanted Liliom used to come here to dance to swing music and listen to the singer, her voice harsh and throaty from Ötéves Terv (Five Year Plan) cigarettes. A slice of lemon was placed perpendicularly on the rim of stemmed glasses, like a fore-sail. And the saxophone played, the place was always full, the tenants of the building could not sleep. The Liliom was pulled down, a new building is going up in its place, and the standing guests with their triangle ties, curling or starched collars have disappeared. And you can no longer see round-shouldered, one-button suits, and police wagons around Keleti Station. There are only pensive boys leaning against the counter and courting the unhappy lady and the only customer stares fixedly at the fast-ebbing level of froth in his beer-glass. They say the Ti- nódi’s day are numbered, s shoe-shop will be opening here.

13 MESTER C1TCA, IX.

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