Reykjavík Grapevine - 03.07.2015, Síða 62

B A N T H A I R E S T A U R A N T
Awards For Best Thai Food Every Years
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FOOD
BEST OF
When I called Hotel Alda on Laugavegur
(home of the Barber Bar) to make an ap-
pointment, owner Grjóni told me he was
very sorry, but he couldn’t fit me in be-
cause they were all booked up until the
end of July. Recognizing that infamous
Reykjavík hipster “We’re too cool to take
your money,” customer service vibe, I
resigned myself to popping in to talk to
the stylists and clientele rather than re-
ceiving the full-on haircut-and-a-drink
experience. As I sighed into the receiver,
Grjóni offered an alternative: “I do have
a drop-in guy who could squeeze you in
at nine.”
Ah! The drop in guy! As long as he can
cut my hair without it looking like I did it
myself, I’m ok with the drop-in guy. Bring
on the drop-in guy!
To my surprise and relief, the “drop-
in guy” turned out to be Ben… a fel-
low expat from the same small town in
Washington State as me. After a hug and
a giggle at that classic Icelandic coinci-
dence (“Oh! You’re the chick from the
Grapevine!”—“Oh! You’re the drop-in
guy!”) we got down to the business of cut-
ting hair (Ben) and drinking (me).
Buzz cut with a buzz on
Ben tells me that Barber opened for busi-
ness about half a year ago. Apparently,
they got the idea to serve alcohol to cli-
ents because Grjóni used to do it all the
time, but in a more “friendly” (read: prob-
ably not totally legal) manner. On that
note, it should be mentioned that Barber
doesn’t actually serve alcohol—that privi-
lege belongs to the adjacent bar at Hotel
Alda, which offers happy hour prices all
night for Barber patrons. Furthermore,
the stylists don’t drink while they cut,
unless it’s the end of the night (and some-
times if their clients insist on buying a
round. Maybe then).
Asked whether they ever cut really
drunk people’s hair, Grjóni says it doesn’t
really happen all that often. He says there
have been a few “late happy hour mo-
ments,” where a gaggle of revellers will
saunter in and say something like, “Hey!
Man! Will you, like, shave my balls?” but
mostly people just like to relax and chat
with a drink while they get a haircut.
The barstools face the street, so while
you are getting snipped and sipping your
delicious adult beverage, you can admire
all variety of colourful tourists in hiking
boots strolling Laugavegur looking be-
wildered as they puzzle out their maps
in search of the nearest puffin shop (five
metres, any direction).
Social lubricant
In addition to being a wicked good styl-
ist, drop-in Ben is enjoyable company.
Because I know him—and trust that he
won’t totally fuck up my hair—I insist
that he has a beer with me, and we even
share one when the cut is over. As he lath-
ers in the shampoo, Ben confides that if
he were a rich man, he would never wash
his hair himself. He’s right. This whole
head massage thing is tops.
Getting a haircut is a weirdly intimate
experience. For a brief moment, with
your hair all stringy and wet, and your
body draped in an ominous black cape,
you feel a bit like a wet cat pretending to
be a superhero. It is slightly strange when,
mid-cut, it’s suddenly time for another
round of beers and a bathroom break. Ben
obliges and unwraps me while I step up
to the bar and order another drink; half
my hair piled sloppily on top of my head
and pinned in place with a styling clip. It
is a bizarre juxtaposition, me and my un-
done, wet-headed self in this swanky ho-
tel lobby. The beer helps it feel less weird,
at least to me (the other patrons at the bar
seem a bit suspicious). I smile and thank
the bartender, then swagger back to the
chair to sort out my affairs and shoot the
shit with Ben.
Mostly we catch up on gossip and
commiserate about our personal lives. It
strikes me that Ben’s distaste for the rou-
tine 9-5 game makes him an ideal “drop-
in guy” for a place that is booked four
weeks out. He sprinkles in a few well-
timed compliments about how healthy
my hair is, and how jealous he is of my
gorgeous greys. Chatting with Ben makes
what I feared would be an elitist, over-
the-top-cool establishment feel familial.
For the record, you guys, I got my hair
cut by the hipster trendy barber before it
was cool.
Barber offers a chance to get your hair cut as you enjoy a drink. Upon learning about
this, my first thought was: “Ew! I’m going to get little bits of hair in my beer!” My second
thought was: “Drinking while getting a haircut? Great idea! I have to try this place!” So,
I did.
Photo Art Bicnick
Words Mary Frances Davidson
Shave And A Haircut—Two Shots!
Deep cuts at Barber
22
The Reykjavík Grapevine
Issue 9 — 2015