Whatever anyone asks you outside of this place, say "NO" very loudly, unless of course you like buying bags of Oregano for 300 crowns.

You'll find that it is. It's the kind of bar you'll just end up spending too much time in. It's not the bar's fault, really.

They didn't plan on having the best looking bartenders in town, numerous places to sit and rest, subtle lighting and soothing red walls, an excellent selection of drinks priced to consume or groovy DJs. Don't blame them, they mean no harm - yeah, right. If not, only go if you're a sucker for punishment. If you're a poser trying not to look like a poser, this is the place for you.

On a street that boasts three establishments sporting names ala Francais, Chapeau Rouge attracts the beautiful people of the anti-Calvin Klein grain.

Living up to its former brothel glory, its magenta decor sets the mood, giving the impression of a 20-something pick-up joint for Generation X.

Staropramen, Heineken and Mestan dark will keep you company while you swing to the beat of contemporary New York-ish music and eye the waitresses with their slicked back hair and short skirts. Patrons also seem to enjoy occasional mind-enhancing activities - after all, it's the kewl thing to do.

The popular barman has the cute nickname Medak ("Honeyer"). You'll recognise him by the tattoo on his left arm, which is of a motorbike wheel in flames. He most enjoys a good port and expelling drug dealers from the premises with a cudgel.

Chapeau Rouge is the kind of bar you'll just end up spending too much time in. It's not the bar's fault, really. They didn't plan on having the best looking bartenders in town, numerous places to sit and rest, subtle lighting and soothing red walls, an excellent selection of drinks priced to consume or groovy DJs. Don't blame them, they mean no harm - yeah, right.

Reason to go: one night-stand.