It lights up only very rarely on Implerstrasse. It’s gray and bland here, even the wall in the subway station, which was recently painted old pink, doesn’t sparkle a bit. But if you take the north subway exit and turn around, you can see the fairy lights in the window immediately. “At Dagmar’s” is written on the blue and white sign outside. A little late Christmas party, a little bit of a fairground in the eighties, that’s how it looks. Okay, so in there.
First impression on a Friday evening in March: Wow! Everything’s so colorful here. Inside, too, fairy lights, garlands with Bavarian pennants, artificial flowers, photos of Marilyn Monroe, Elvis, James Dean. It is full. You push yourself forward a few meters to the counter. A light one, please! Thanks.
A sign on the wall that reads: My condition is intoxicating. Well, we’re still a long way from that. But you could let yourself drift. Be crazy for once and flee from all constraints. The landlord has hung up Udo Jürgens. The hits from his last concert in December 2014 in Zurich. Udo gave everything again. But please with cream. An honorable house. I have never been to New York. Two weeks later he was dead, having collapsed on a walk.
While briefly reflecting on impermanence in general, the gaze wanders upwards. One of those party balloons hangs there, hovering just below the ceiling, in the form of a large silver 20, the zero is already slightly damaged at the bottom. What was celebrated here? The 20th anniversary of “Bei Dagmar?” Possible. Just as well possible: that a 20-year-old celebrated a lavish birthday party here and the balloons stayed there as a leftover.
They all come to Dagmar: the group of boys, who later move on and celebrate Herbert, the innkeeper, with shouts of “Herbie, Herbie!”. The neighbor who wants to have a quick drink or two. The couple still flirting a little uncertainly at the bar, who, it seems, have just arranged to meet for their second or third date. Here everyone can be as they want, all the half-silk and Hallodris, daredevils and crazy people, luck seekers and stranded people, dream dancers and bar philosophers that Munich’s nightlife just so brings forth. Even the stranger who comes alone doesn’t feel out of place for a second.
“Over the years it has developed into a cult pub,” says Dagmar Ehlert, the lessee, during a visit a few days later. Ehlert always takes over the day shift, sometimes she often cooks herself, Bavarian dishes, her goulash soup is famous far beyond Sendling’s borders.
The television has been there before. “At Dagmar” was the location and Dagmar was an extra. In the corner to the left of the counter, among all the movie stars, is a picture of the tenant from earlier days. Also the balloon with the number 20, it was meant for Dagmar himself. She has been here in Sendling since 2003, before that she had a bar in Obergiesing, not far from the Sechzger Stadium.
And while there, in Giesing, people are debating whether the district’s charm is slowly disappearing, because not only the Riff-Raff, but soon the famoustreppelwirt will also be history, “die Dagmar” on Implerstrasse is an undisputed one, all the time shining institution.
“Bei Dagmar”, Implerstraße 26, open from 11 a.m. until late at night