Bar Review Honfleur
The following were visited one stormy night October 2026. I recommend them all.
Le Fontenoy - cafe with terrace on the street: 38 Rue de la République, 14600 Honfleur
Mamie Louise - excellent & quirky French burger restaurant: 52 Rue de la République, 14600 Honfleur
La Taberna - Spanish style bar / restaurant: 6 rue de la Ville, 14600 Honfleur
L’Albatros - Bar overlooking Le Vieux Port: 32 Quai Sainte-Catherine, 14600
The Approaching Storm
There was fin de siècle almost après moi la deluge quality about this night.
Storm Austen was closing in during the evening by announcing itself by first whispering and then roaring through the trees, by the sudden sporadic but violent downpours, by umbrellas turning inside out and then, as the night wore on, the mayhem inflicted upon the harbour cafe marquees that line the Vieux Port scattering canvas, chairs and then tourists.
I chose this evening to take my coat off later on and prance around in a tight black Boss T-shirt. The performance of the artist, solo travellor and single guy.
Whilst others chose a night in their hotel room dusting off books, trying French TV and - oh why not, we’re on holiday, perfunctory sex - I was out and about dodging the oncoming gale. An ideal night to bar hop in Honfleur, brush the rain from my notebook and write in the rain-splattered covered terraces of bars whilst slaying pints of Affligem, bottles of cidre, thimbles of calvados and other drinks forgotten but remembered on the morrow.
Aperitif and Entree
A pre-match warm up is provided in Le Fontenoy Bar. Sat outside in the covered plastic terrace on a busy street leading away from the port, a young man in a suit parks his car and escorts a suitably matched young lady to the table next to me. They order pints and watch in horror as some oaf tries to squeeze his 4*4 into a tiny space next to their car. Much to my disappointment, the 4*4 manages the tight squeeze without any bumps. Damn! I love street theatre. I pay the bill, brave the rain and head to Mamie Louise.
Mamie Louise is a French burger bar - elevating burgers to French levels of culinary craft. It’s an eclectic place like someone’s over-dressed front room; been coming here since pre covid. They jazz up the burgers and give them all French names. I have the Louise - patty, cheese, bacon, salad etc and drink a bottle of local cidre.
It’s a couples type place. Hemmed in next to me are a young couple on a date. He wears a tight white T and studies the menu with his left hand whilst placing his right hand on his knee flexing as hard as he can. His trophy date doesn’t seem overly impressed by the ridiculous peacocking. I notice they don’t talk much.
Neither do the older couple opposite. He’s let himself go - all loose jeans, slovenly hoodie and chain-store trainers. She’s smartly dressed in a tight pink sweater, hair well styled and dyed, still attractive. She faces me and whilst meeting my eye, does not linger. Maybe she’s distracted by flexi boy next to me. Dunno. She deserves better than her slobby husband anyway.
Fortified by a departing calvados with my cheesecake and cafe, I hit the night as the winds begin to howl.
Honfleur Bars on a Rainy Night
It’s out of season and many restaurants and bars have decided to shut up shop for the year. As Honfleur relies on tourists for its trade, this makes sense but limits my options. I find a cocktail bar - La Taberna - in a backstreet which has just three occupied tables inside:
Boring couple - tourists, possibly English - in matching Kagoles and sturdy trainers - nursing a small beer and a smaller wine and no conversation. They don’t stay long.
A loud table of five middle aged women and one older bloke sharing a ludicrously large platter of seafood and bottles of wine.
The attractive barmaid and her boyfriend lighting cigarettes in the smoking room terrace.
I go back there to vape and am joined by one of the seafood women. We have a confused conversation which goes on just long enough for me to start thinking, yeah, I would. When she rejoins her table I’m joined in the backroom by a middle aged guy in a beanie. He rolls a cigarette.
“Vous êtes français?” I ask.
“Nah, Scottish, pal.”
“Ah, I’m English.”
“I could have told you that.”
“Why?”
“Cause you’re fucking half-cut mate.”
We find this funny and return to his table as Spandau Ballet’s True blares out.
Sam and Jock own a camper van and go away 48 weekends a year. This weekend, they’re in Normandy. Tonight, the night of the storm, Honfleur. They drink cocktails. They’re obviously on a mission tonight now the van is parked up. We chat and they seem friendly enough but I decide to move on to see if I have other options elsewhere. Single man’s eyes.
A Nightcap at the Old Port
The storm is getting worse and cafes and bars are shutting their doors early. I walk along the Quai Sainte-Catherine by the Vieux Port and find Cafe l’Albatros. Seems to be Honfleur’s hip spot and is pretty busy. I secure a high table outside on the covered terrace overlooking the port. The wind blows and the rain falls but I’m dry here.
Next to me is a table of locals; three girls and two guys in their late teens / early twenties. The attractive blonde has several empty shot glasses in front of her. She’s animated, always offended, forever on the verge of leaving. She doesn’t. Chin fluff guy - her date? - stays calm nursing a small red wine which never seems to empty. He’s all reasonableness biding his time.
The blonde looks at me. She holds my gaze. I’m caught. She looks away first. I read somewhere that this is a power move. It feels like it. She gets into another argument and brushes past me into the bar.
As she does so she knocks into a glassy eyed older lady coming out who stops at my table. She asks me, in French: “Was there anyone here at my table?” Something random anyway. Still, the act of saying something to a stranger, I found, often trumps what is actually said. A confusing franglais conversation follows. Her questions are enigmatic. My answers are ponderous. I ask her to sit down but she has deep riddles in her eyes and goes back in.
She’s attractive, of a certain age and had clearly been giving le vin a bit of a pounding tonight. Inside she rejoins an older man. Are they on a date? Is he just an interested friend? I look through the bar window from my seat and our eyes meet maybe two / three times, each time holding our gaze just slightly longer than socially acceptable.
The bar is playing 80’s classics. We’ve now got Simply Red ‘Holding Back the Years’ which I never liked much but I do tonight.
The storm is picking up intensity and the bar staff rush outside to take down the pavement marquee which - to the amusement of everyone on the terrace - has been threatening to be blown away for the last half an hour. Sheltering there were five or six male French teenagers. Shouldn’t they be out looting and burning stuff? All dressed in black hoodies. Some sort of rebellious uniform? The uniformity of their dress is lost on them though and they sit down next to blonde girl and her mates. This gives blondie another opportunity to walk out. She gets so far as standing up and then sits down. Perhaps another round is coming. Her companion’s red wine remains undrunk.
Moonlight Shadow - Mike Oldfield
A Cocktail of Chaos
Things start to look good when the older drunken lady walks onto the terrace with her date. They perform an elaborate dance with her trying to get him to go home and him alternating between trying to stay, persuade her to come with him and straight out trying to kiss her. She evades all this and at last he reluctantly leaves. She looks at me. I look at her. Could this actually happen?
“Tim, you fuckin’ twat!” shouts the Scottish guy Jock from the earlier bar. He and his partner have followed me to the Albatros. For fuck’s sake! Wrong time. Wrong time. I was just about to… Bollocks.
“Do you mind if we join you?” Sam asks and she and Jock sit at my table. The French lady - let’s call her Estelle now she’s a lead character - sits at a nearby table. Clearly she’s local and begins chatting to some people. Fuck!
Jock and Sam tuck into some more cocktails. I look across at Estelle and my eyes signal her over. Not ideal - what with these two at my table - but you take what chances you can. However, she walks over.
Of the three Brits, I speak the best French - a low bar - but she’s on the opposite side to me and so her conversations tend to be either with Sam (best places to visit, best restaurants to go to) or with Jock who has found himself a Google translate App. He finds this funny and passes his phone back and forth with Estelle. I’m annoyed at this exclusion and ask Jock what’s so funny.
“I just typed in, will you go back with Tim tonight and she said no.”
“For fuck’s sake! I was getting to that.”
“Well, she said no mate. Probably out of your league anyway.”
Wanker.
I get my revenge when an obviously gay friend of Estelle’s comes over and starts hitting on me. I have, despite Storm Austen, taken off my coat and am just wearing a tight black t-shirt. So, I guess I’m a good first choice over Jock who’s a bit dumpy and lumpy and anorak’d up. Knowing he doesn’t speak French, I tell the guy that Jock likes a bit of cock on holiday - pédé en vacances and all that. The gay guy starts flirting with Jock who’s no idea what I said but is pissed merry and happy to chat with a friendly local.
Men At Work - Down Under.
Estelle and Sam swap WhatsApp numbers. Estelle doesn’t ask for mine but Sam wants my number so we can all meet up tomorrow. I give it to her and she calls immediately. I type Random Girl In a Bar Honfleur as her name to much hilarity before discreetly deleting it. She asks about my notebook. I tell her I’m an author working on a new story.
Jock asks if he can read my notebook. In response I tell Jock to take one for the team in the toilets with his new mate. There’s probably a free drink in it for all of us. Sam agrees and tells him to do it. Free cocktails after all. Jock though is not happy and though his new friend keeps chatting to him, Jock just stares ahead and blanks him.
The Winner? Austen, of course!
More drinks are bought and events begin to spiral. Beer, porn star martinis, Baileys, sambuca, whisky and coke. Estelle has arranged to meet Sam & Jock at an expensive restaurant tomorrow. Will I come? I say bollocks to that. I have plans. Plateau de Grâce or something. Sam & Jock have a drunken argument and Estelle walks off down the harbour into the night. I call after her but my voice is lost in the wind and she keeps walking.
The storm is now upon us. The boats sway this way and that violently tugging on their moorings. Cardboard boxes left outside the cafes for collection are swept up and dragged into the harbour or slam against walls. Menu boards shake. The trees bend in the wind, branches snap off and leaves fly around like so much autumnal confetti.
The bar is closing. It’s after 1am and I’m pissed and pissed off. This stormy night though in Honfleur is just beginning. The long summer of 2026 is over.
Storm Austen hits Honfleur Oct 2026. Rain and gales across the carpark!
Quotidian Notes & Further Reading
Like some form of migrating bird, I come back to Honfleur, Deauville, Trouville every year.
Read one my earlier articles: An Art Tour of Honfleur & Rouen. It’s my impression(ism).
Perhaps Paris is your thing? Read my guide to getting to the Bastille from Gare du Nord.
I was recently in Prague. My Prague Quintet dissects the city from nights out, comedy clubs, museums, The Castle.
