The story of Зимникъ

How it all began

I am Зимникъ.

In 1927 I was the storage cellar under a newly built two-storey house. Upstairs, people lived; on the ground floor there was a shoemaker's shop. In the '60s the house suddenly grew four more floors. I stayed down here — with parts from the old Trabant, old rugs, chairs, wheels, winter tires, and who knows what else.

Then the ’90s came.

The father came down to me and decided to turn me into a café-bar. Everything happened through connections, waiting, asking around, and improvising.

Alongside him were his two sons — young, artistic types with restless energy. They spent a few summers on what they called "labor therapy": digging, concrete, masonry, tiling, plumbing and wiring.

Then they disappeared. One left the country, the other went his own way.

I stayed.

Years later, they came back. After a bit more paperwork, waiting, stubbornness and new friendships, on December 6, 2024 I opened my door as Зимникъ.

The mouse

They put up a sign at my entrance with a mustached little mouse in a top hat.

One evening, an American guest asked:

"What’s his name?"

No one knew.

"Well, what would you call him?"

Later that night he came back to the bar:

"Simeon."

Simeon was the father’s name — a mathematician with a bow tie, always elegant, and the man who once came down to me with one crazy idea.

Ever since, the mouse has been Simeon.

And today?

These days, people come down to me with bottles, cheese, mezze, music and stories.

The winemakers and producers have faces. Musicians, writers and artists have a place. And the people who come just for a glass of wine sometimes stay a little longer than they meant to.

For a long time I kept belongings.

Then I started keeping memories.

And now I keep the meetings between people.

I’ve been here since 1927, and I’m here to stay...