At Den the Bar, you first come in for a drink, maybe stay a little longer to chat, then come back to catch up. And before you know it, you've become a regular, made a few friends, and sometimes even end up as part of the next generation of bartenders. For over 10 years, Den has become a place where human connections, creativity, and knowledge sharing matter more than fancy bottles. And behind it all lies a slightly bigger ambition: changing the way bartending is seen in Vietnam.

A little bit of everyone

One could easily walk past Den without realizing it's a bar. In a quiet little alley in District 3, one house stands out, painted entirely black. Pop, rock, or whatever the customers fancy that night drifts outside, along with laughter and singing. Red-and-black graffiti covers the rolling shutter, while Quang’s vintage red motorbike practically blocks the entrance, almost as if nobody wants you to come in. Squeeze past it, slide open what might be the heaviest door in all of Saigon, and welcome to Den!

The inconspicuous door to Den

The first person to welcome you is a giant Halloween witch, followed by the Queen of Hearts holding a “Drink Me” sign, both drawn in chalk on the wall. Vietnamese lucky money envelopes swing in the air every time ice rattles inside a shaker. Now, if you adjust your focus a little and look past them, you'll spot a Russian version of Tom and Jerry cartoon playing on a loop on the wall, and right next to it, on the second-floor mezzanine, a gigantic Christmas tree.

Take a seat at the counter, and while you're served water in a tiny glass, try to spot all the different objects hidden here and there: Christmas baubles, a warming eye mask, a huge pink hair comb, dozens of board games, cameras, garlands, drawings, and a bit of everything and nothing. Above the shelves full of bottles, a wheel decides your happy hour fate: 10%, 15%, or 30% off your cocktail… or, if you're unlucky, 25% more.

The black wall is a great canvas for doodling.

Despite its all-black walls, Den doesn’t take its name from the Vietnamese word đen, meaning the color black. It is “Den” as in a fox's den, a nod to Alice in Wonderland. As Quang, the bartender, explains, once you fall down that hole, you enter another world.

About 10 years ago, five architect friends opened a bar where artists and architects could hang out. Over time, the place slowly filled up with little contributions from everyone. “I think it was Christmas 2017. The owner and his friends put up a huge tree and these garlands here. Nobody really bothered to take them down,” Quang laughs. “People used to draw and redraw things on the big black wall. Somehow, the Halloween witch became the official drawing.”

Then comes 2020. The pandemic hits, Den struggles and four of the five founders eventually step away. The last one bought their shares to keep the place going. 

Today, the place still has a slightly improvised feel. But between the laughter, pop songs, and the clinking of glasses, one sound stands out: Quang's cocktail shaker. In fact, while most of the bar seems to run on improvisation, cocktail-making follows a rather different logic. One that begins with a pretty unexpected question.

What do you hate in a drink?

At Den, there is a menu. Or maybe that's just a legend. I don't think anybody's ever seen it. Instead, Quang starts by asking what you hate. He follows a sort of theory of taste, a circular logic of flavors that complement or oppose each other. By knowing what you dislike, he can narrow down the tastes you might enjoy, including those you don't even know you like yet. 

“It's not a regular order, it's a conversation. I start by asking questions to make you curious about ingredients, finding out what you haven't tried yet, and maybe, telling you more about wines, spirits, and different flavors. Through that conversation, I figure out what to make. For me, it improves my cognitive abilities and trains my creativity. For you, it brings more than just a flavor you might enjoy: an experience, some knowledge, something new to discover. It's about experimenting, for both of us.”

Quang's connection with Den started like many others in Vietnam: via Facebook.

Over my many visits, I've been served everything from a super-sour, foamy, bluish floral fizz to a perfectly made lemonade topped with whiskey, a cocktail inspired by berry yogurt, and an amazing creamy tequila-and-coffee take on an espresso martini.

And contrary to what you might expect, Quang doesn't go for expensive or fancy bottles. His spirits are affordable, the garnishes minimal, and the ingredients pretty simple. For him, a cocktail's value depends on what the bartender can do with what they have. Apple and cherry flavors, for example, can combine into something resembling pineapple.

“If I had access to every flavor, it would kill my creativity,” he quips. And perhaps that's the real ingredient in his cocktails: not just what's in the glass, but the person making it and the vision behind it.

Behind the counter

A few days later, I returned before opening hours to hear the rest of Quang's story. This time, the lights are on, and the bar has turned into a classroom.

“My grandfather was a herbal doctor. A doctor heals the body, a bartender heals the soul,” Quang says.  Yet bartending wasn't exactly his calling. After working in restaurants and real estate, he started as a barback, carrying boxes and cleaning. That's where he met his Vietnamese-Canadian mentor from Nha Trang who used to ask “What do you think a bartender should be?” The answer is more of a holistic idea: someone who knows how to take care of the entire bar. The customers, the coworkers, the place, and above all, themselves.

The garland stays on year-round.

He explains: “Bartending is a nighttime profession. It can easily get physically and mentally draining if you don't take care of yourself. It might seem shallow, and I can't really explain it, but when I started taking care of my body and mind, I became a better bartender. How can you take care of others if you don't take care of yourself? How can you be creative if you don't let your mind rest?”

Eventually, his mentor quit, and Quang followed a few months later. A Facebook post led him to Den, where he met the actual owner, the last of the five original founders. The two shared a similar idea of what bartending should be. But behind this idea was also a bigger ambition.

The current owner (left) is the last of the original five.

They often look back with admiration at an older generation of Vietnamese bartenders, feeling like somewhere between the business of selling drinks and the art of making them, something has been lost. It's not necessarily a change they want to condemn, but one that they want to offer an alternative to: one built around creativity, hospitality, and human connection. 

And what better way to keep that alive than to pass it on? 

Next round is on them

From 5pm to 9pm, Den becomes a classroom. The bottles and shakers are still there, but now the students step behind the counter. And they already know the place pretty well, as they were customers first. Phúc, who discovered Den through a friend, was first surprised by the social side of the bar. “I know it's so simple, but it really surprised me. I'd never sat at a bar and talked with people like that. I thought that only happened in Japan,” he recalls.

“I don't teach, I share.”

One evening, Quang shared his vision with Phúc and mentioned that he wanted to train some new bartenders. Phúc asked if he could sign up, and here he is, getting paid to learn something he's become passionate about, with absolutely no professional experience or formal training. “I was just a good drinker,” he jokes. “But I think Quang saw something else in me: curiosity, motivation, and a willingness to learn. He's a good teacher.”

From upstairs, Quang calls out: “I don't teach, I share.”

Some lessons start with something as simple as tasting lemon juice, others with a crash course in oenology. After 7pm, the apprentices join Quang behind the counter, serving drinks, chatting with customers, and becoming part of the very community that first brought them here.

Quang doesn't plan on changing the entire bartending industry in Vietnam. But he hopes to at least show that there's another way, starting with a little community, in a little alley of Saigon. One where the job isn't just about selling bottles or making cocktails, but also about meeting people, sharing knowledge, and building connections. 

And somewhere between the Christmas decorations, the never-ending conversations, and the cocktail lessons before opening hours, I think that vision is already taking shape at Den. A place where people come for a drink, and somehow end up finding their people.