Măneciu-Ungureni is a village that is so small it has no official street names. As in many of Romania’s other remote communities, there are so few roads that, with time, they shed their names in favor of local signifiers, becoming known simply as Main Street or Church Street.
Overlooking the Ciucaș Mountains, this untamed tract of central Romania is renowned for its alpine scenery, serene skies, and fresh air. It is not unusual to see wild horses, while the dramatic views and rare wildlife make it a destination for hikers. And while Măneciu-Ungureni is little known outside its immediate proximity, it has a deep relationship with good beer.
Today, on what used to be known as Bodeni Street, an odd structure interrupts the architectural continuity of the old village houses: a gray yet jubilant little mountain brewery called Zăganu. (It has made enough of an impact that the mayor plans to rename its location to Brewery Street.)
Zăganu started under a different name in 1996, as one of a group of independent microbreweries financed through a special European project. Until its closure in 2011, that brewery, Generis, produced two types of beer, a Pils and a Dark Lager, mainly on draft. Distribution was mostly within its own county, with few customers in large urban centers like Bucharest.
The brewery lies at the foot of Zăganu Mountain. A century ago, a bearded vulture of the same name used to roam the skies in the region. Once an endangered species, the Zăganu vulture was hunted to extinction. The name is fitting: Like the vulture, many small breweries across Romania have slowly vanished in recent years, pushed to the brink by various pressures. Some became insolvent and were left to crumble, while others were swallowed by bigger fish, bought by one of the large beer producers on the market, especially multinational brands, which make up roughly 95% of Romania’s beer market.
Zăganu Brewery is an exception. One of its two founders, Laurențiu Bănescu, fell in love with the story and the symbiotic relationship between brewing and the region’s deep respect for nature and local enterprise. He saw the importance of reviving and transforming the brewery, and the difference it could make both near and far.
“I felt like the story of the bearded vulture portrayed perfectly the struggle that craft beer producers faced at the beginning,” he says. “It was perceived more like a fad, rather than a sensible business endeavor.”
Zăganu was born over a beer, naturally.
In 2012, disenchanted with corporate life, Bănescu quit his job working for one of Romania’s big breweries. “I knew the odds were stacked against the little guy, because, until then, I was part of the problem,” he says.
At a friend’s birthday party, he came across Alexandru Geamănu, an old acquaintance, who was also in the middle of a professional change. “I went to him, enquiring about any jobs at his company. He told me he’d quit. Then, I asked him what he thought about opening a microbrewery with me,” Geamănu says. “He started laughing. But the next day, I went knocking on his door, and he then realized I meant business.”
A lover of craft beer, Geamănu was working in advertising when he decided to escape the boundaries of employed life and branch out into entrepreneurship.
“When I tasted that first beer, I remember that we both felt like we did something real. It was right there, in front of us. All our lives, we had sat in front of computers working aimlessly. For the first time, our work materialized into something you could taste and enjoy.”
For this, the pair needed money. They put together their personal savings, which meant selling off an apartment and a high-end television. After a long-awaited bank loan was finally approved, they bought the brewery site in 2013, with an investment totalling close to €250,000 ($281,000). It took eight months for all the permits and authorizations to be sorted out. Zăganu’s official opening was on October 1, 2013.
When the founders tasted their first batch of beer, all that hustling, uncertainty, and hard work paled in comparison to what they had managed to create.
“When I tasted that first beer, I remember that we both felt like we did something real. It was right there, in front of us,” Geamănu says. “All our lives, we had sat in front of computers working aimlessly. For the first time, our work materialized into something you could taste and enjoy.”
After a two-hour drive from Bucharest, photographer Cătălin Georgescu, Bănescu, and I arrive at the brewery on a gloomy September morning, only to find everyone in a frenzy, despite the early hour. The night before, the label-maker shorted out, cutting power to the entire brewery. With bottles unable to be labeled, boxed, and sealed, the day’s shipment is not ready to leave as it usually does.
Luckily, the issue is quickly resolved: The village electrician and Geamănu make a detour and return with a new label-maker. Trucks begin to arrive shortly after. As factory workers are unloading the shipment, kegs and bottles of Zăganu sail off to their final destinations at retail outlets and other venues across Romania.
Before the owners took over and bought the decaying brewery in 2013, the country had witnessed a growing interest in new types of beer. By the mid-1990s, 16 independent microbreweries had been established, part of a locally financed entrepreneurial spur that came about after Communist rule ended in 1989. Back then, many of the beers were German-inspired.
“In 2011, when the old brewery closed, I couldn’t let it disintegrate. I came around and took care of it, showing potential buyers around. Nothing stuck, until these two boys came around and we just clicked. From then on, things felt and moved naturally.”
Later, a period of contraction saw a number of those breweries go bust, including Generis. But its brazen leader stayed on: Ileana Drăghici, Romania’s first female master brewer, now also runs brewing operations at Zăganu.
“In 2011, when the old brewery closed, I couldn’t let it disintegrate. I came around and took care of it, showing potential buyers around,” she says. “Nothing stuck, until these two boys came around and we just clicked. From then on, things felt and moved naturally.”
Small and sweet of disposition, Drăghici gives the impression of a relaxed retiree likely to spend her golden years gardening or making jam. Instead, she is a striking presence on site, and a feisty general when it comes to brewing.
“I prefer to pay for a nanny to help me with my granddaughters than let go of this,” she admits. “I enjoy it too much.”
Drăghici is a chemical engineer by training. In another life, before embarking on her brewing journey, she was heading a pyrotechnic office, making weapons for Romania’s military during the Communist era.
“I think it’s because I worked for the army that I’m a stickler for rules and for doing things the right way. There’s no cutting corners here,” she says. “Everything I tell people to do is written down. Nothing is hearsay. Because, at the end of the day, I am responsible for what goes on around here.”
As Zăganu started to become a household name on the small yet emerging Romanian craft beer scene in 2015, the owners realized they needed to venture beyond their rural community.
“By opening a bar, we thought we could interact directly with our clients. Anyone who had a good experience with Zăganu naturally became an ambassador for our brand,” Geamănu says. “We like to talk to people. We sometimes made mistakes, but we owned it.”
After a year and a half of searching for the perfect location, the pair found a site in the capital city of Bucharest. It opened its doors in August 2017.
The bar lies on Victoriei Boulevard, a famed, historical artery that passes through much of the capital’s center. A former bank branch, the location was given a complete renovation to impart an industrial yet homey feel to the space. But Zăganu Romanian Craft Beer Bar & Bistro is more than just a taproom for the brewery. Rather, it’s a place where all Romanian craft beer comes together.
Bogdan Bazaoache, Bănescu and Geamănu’s partner at the bar, says that its diverse tap list makes it a draw for beer lovers. Since it opened, it’s become one of the city’s go-to places for both local and visiting craft beer aficionados. There are those who are in Bucharest just for a city break and stumble upon the bar, and then there are those who come especially for the beer, its people, and atmosphere.
“We serve around 35 Romanian craft beer labels,” he says. “Just 10 are Zăganu.”
Bănescu, who knows the importance of competition in the context of the big beer players, preferred a different approach with Zăganu’s Bucharest location. “We opened the bar thinking that it wouldn’t be just a place where we sell beer, but also a place where we can educate the client about beer. Our mission is to help fellow microbreweries and promote local initiatives, like we’ve been helped at the beginning. The market is too small to fight over it—we embrace collegiality.”
The bar became a blueprint for Bucharest’s consumer explosion, which has been flourishing on the boulevard over the last few years.
“Since the bar opened, I’ve noticed there’s a truly dedicated community around beer in Bucharest. They taste it, discuss it, they don’t go out and drink beer just anywhere. It’s something I thought happened only when it comes to wine.”
“The client is becoming more sophisticated. People want to experiment, try new things and are willing to pay more for a quality beer, rather than just go to a restaurant with basic food, which sells beer you can find at any corner shop,” Bănescu says.
Anda Mancaș is the owner of A1 Bar, across the street from Zăganu, one of the early pioneers in the neighborhood. Her bar has become an emblem for consumer success on the boulevard. She was also one of the first to reach out and help Zăganu when it was starting out.
“Since the bar opened, I’ve noticed there’s a truly dedicated community around beer in Bucharest,” she says. “They taste it, discuss it, they don’t go out and drink beer just anywhere. It’s something I thought happened only when it comes to wine.”
And, because all good things take time, the Zăganu owners started slowly. With two beers in their repertoire at the time—a lighter Pilsner and a Brown Ale called Brună—they went on a tasting spree of Bucharest’s locals.
“With a bottle of Zăganu Blondă and Brună in hand, we started roaming the streets of Bucharest looking for potential partners,” Geamănu says. “We would go to bars owned by friends, people we knew, or places we used to go out. They would try it out and we would provide the story behind it.”
The friends who helped out Bănescu and Geamănu at the very beginning realized that Zăganu had a special story to tell. “I first met Laurențiu and Alexandru as customers at the bar. At that time, homebrewing was just becoming a trend. Then, one day, they came to me with their idea: a microbrewery of craft beer,” Mancaș says. “That was the first time I heard the term. When I tasted the beer, I knew they would be a success. It was that good. The second lot they ever sold was to me.”
The first batch went to Bogdan Tănăsescu’s pub. A beer connoisseur and co-founder of Bucharest’s leading craft beer pub, 100 de Beri, or 100 Beers, Tănăsescu is an old friend who advised Bănescu and Geamănu when Zăganu was no more than scribbles on paper.
Starting out as an entrepreneur, especially in the craft beer scene in Romania—a barely emerging market, where the money, the interest and the culture are scarce—is no small feat.
“No one realizes that entrepreneurship begins first and foremost with a lot of physical work. For the first two years, Alexandru would carry the kegs of beer to the pub himself,” Tănăsescu says. “Going to the office, handling logistics, weekly trips to the brewery—this is a full day’s work. And it’s not like you’re just jumping on the Autobahn in Germany. It’s Romanian roads. It’s doing this four- or five-hour round-trip once a week, getting there and making sure everything runs smoothly, talking to people, placing orders. It’s hard work.”
“We are not in a heavily polluted area. Here, water means water.”
A Măneciu local, Drăghici, who is involved in every aspect of the brewing operations, believes Zăganu’s location plays an important role in the quality of its beer. Fermentation lasts anywhere from 21 to 45 days, depending on the recipe. Brewing takes place once a day, five days a week. With each batch taking up to 14 hours, two shifts are needed.
“It’s not really a nine-to-five job,” she says. “Sometimes, people have to leave at midnight. We don’t rush the beer.”
When Bănescu and Geamănu bought the brewery in 2013, it consisted of a 10-barrel, three-vessel system and 15 25-BBL fermenters. That setup is still in place, with five additional 25-BBL and six additional 42-BBL fermenters added since then. Investments increased the annual fermentation capacity from 3,350 BBLs to almost 6,700 BBLs in 2021. When bottling became a bottleneck, the founders purchased two six-head bottling machines from Wild Goose Filling in the U.S.
In the eight years since, a filtration system, several brite tanks, a new CIP station, a whirlpool, an Alfa Laval centrifuge, one temperature-controlled truck, and two cold rooms have been added. Maintaining quality while increasing production and sales has been the top priority.
To go by Zăganu’s growing and versatile customer base, the effort and investment have paid off. “Zăganu is the local brand that’s the strongest on all selling-point segments,” Tănăsescu says. “They have the highest number of installed drafts in locals—over 80 in Bucharest and hundreds across the country—and the highest market penetration from a retail point of view.”
Out of roughly 40 craft breweries that have recently opened in Romania, Zăganu has honed its identity as one of the country’s pioneers, while also being one of the few to become a household name. With craft amounting to just 0.2-0.3% of the country’s total beer production, that success story has become important for other emerging brewers in Romania.
“We started on this journey out of sheer frustration that there wasn’t a single Romanian quality craft beer on the market like what we found abroad,” Bănescu says. “Countless countries are booming with local, quality craft beer. We wanted to revitalize this market in Romania as well.”
Liviu Drăgan is an office manager at an IT company. In his spare time, he creates content for a craft beer YouTube channel, Craft bROs, with his friend, Albert Vrăbiuță. Their project was inspired by Zăganu, he says.
“On a rainy Friday evening, we got together and decided to come up with an idea. At the end of the night, we sat down for a last beer, resigned to the fact that we couldn’t find something. While drinking, I was staring at that Zăganu bottle and thought to myself: You know those cooking shows on Paprika TV? There’s nothing similar on craft beer in Romania. Let’s do that!”
In rural Romania, there is an exodus of people leaving to find better jobs and livelihoods in bigger cities, or abroad. High unemployment is an unfortunate reality. Only 56.4% of Romania’s rural workforce is employed, and serious-minded jobs are hard to come by—especially when it comes to jobs that are not under-the-table.
For workers in Măneciu, job stability, security, and a regular paycheck are paramount.
Florin Georgescu is in charge of the “hard” stuff at Zăganu—bottling, carrying kegs, and sanitizing carts. He’s been here for eight years, despite some tough going in the early days. “Before I used to work here, I had to manage without a work permit. When various bodies would come in for inspection, everyone would run, since no one had one. Now, I have peace of mind. All my extra hours are paid for, people are hard-working. I don’t plan on leaving anytime soon.”
Zăganu’s 12 employees have all been at the brewery for at least three years. There’s not a heavy rotation of personnel. People tend to stay.
44-year-old Voinea has been around even before Drăghici arrived in 1996, when the original Generis brewery opened. That’s not his real name, but the nickname just stuck. “I got here when the factory was being built, working in construction,” he says. “The former owner noticed I was hard-working, so he told me, ‘You stick around.’”
Voinea is shy, though he has over 25 years’ experience in beer production. He barely wanted to talk to me, but he did want to share a sense of pride in how Zăganu has evolved. “I never figured I’ll end up staying here for so long, but I’m proud of it. This is like a second home to me. I can’t see myself anywhere else.”
This sense of local pride, that here is a success story—that Zăganu grew out of a small village in the Ciucaș Mountains and is now a nationally recognized brand—is prevalent among the workers at the brewery.
“There was this lady from Belgium who came in Măneciu for a mountain trail run and when she tasted our beer, she said ours was better than Belgian beer,” Drăghici says. “That’s the greatest compliment, because we know the patience, the attention to detail, and the hard work we put into brewing.”
Walking around the brewery, I am joined by Bănescu and Geamănu, who take turns driving to Măneciu on a weekly basis. This time around, the incident with the label-maker required both of them.
Their responsibilities complement each other: Bănescu is in charge of marketing and sales, while Geamănu manages production and supply chains. The two are friendly and outgoing, working side by side with the employees, helping to move kegs, carry boxes, or label bottles. They rarely seem to miss the opportunity to crack a joke and put people in a good mood.
The office, which they both share with Drăghici when they’re around, is small, dusty, and filled with cliché framed quotes lining the walls. There is a time-lapse quality to the place, almost a romantic nostalgia for a different time, when things were easier. The brewery is not so far away from the buzz of the capital, yet it has a contrasting tenor to its lifestyle.
The passion for beer is palpable here. While Bănescu inspects every single bag of malt, making sure everything is in the right place, and Geamănu unloads truck shipments, Drăghici has some personal time with her product, giving us a peek at the still-premature beer hibernating in the two massive conical fermenters overlooking the front of the brewery.
When it comes to thinking of a new recipe, the process seems chaotic, yet streamlined.
“They let me know that they would like a new beer. I ask them what kind. We experiment with different ingredients, ranges of temperature, fermentation, until it gets closer to what we all had in mind. We don’t stop until we are all on the same page. Then, the recipe is written down and we stick to it religiously,” Drăghici says.
Zăganu started simple, with two flagship beers in 2013. It currently brews 10 beers, not counting a special made in October 2021 for its eighth anniversary.
“Zăganu has a medium range of products, but they cover the entire taste palette, from a light Lager to IPA, Pale Ale all the way to dark beer, Red, a full-bodied Stout, an Imperial IPA and an India Pale Lager. With a relatively limited set of reference points, they managed to cover the entire market. That’s a very smart move,” says Tănăsescu.
On a Sunday afternoon, crowds spill over Bucharest’s Victoriei Boulevard, which turns into a pedestrian zone on summer weekends. The Zăganu bar is vibrant, full of life and laughter.
Bazaoache shares an ambitious vision for how Zăganu will evolve in the future. “In the next few years, I see Zăganu becoming even bigger. Increasing our presence in locals and festivals all over the country, maybe even opening a second bar. I am optimistic.”
When I ask about expansion plans, Bănescu remains hopeful, yet reserved.
“We don’t have the capacity, nor the interest to export at the moment. Our main goal is to expand our brand into as many parts of the country as possible.”
But his mood changes visibly when he talks about the future of craft beer.
“People are starting to perceive beer differently in Romania, and there are more and more crazy people like us who go into this rollercoaster of a business, because they want to brew differently. We pioneered this trend almost nine years ago, but it’s gone off ever since. People are making and will continue to make craft beer for a long time in Romania. Of this I’m sure.”
Words by Malina MindrutescuPhotos by Catalin Georgescu
