One of the joints I used to meet my English friend (who married the popular girl) downtown was called Volks. It was on Trinity Place all the way downtown near the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel. Now it was a big time lunch place. Back in the late seventies and early eighties a lot of people in the back offices would go tie one on at lunch since they were so bored posting stock transactions. Computers were just coming in and it wasn't all trading all the time. It was a lot more relaxed. So a lot of people could get away with a liquid lunch.
Now as the name implies, Volks was an old school German joint which made it different than the run of the mill Irish joints we used to hang in. They had a full menu of brawts and schetizel and all that stuff. But what was really on the menu was the Spaten Munich wheat beer in the tall 22 oz. glass. You see they sold the wheat beer by the bottle and it just about fit in their tall glasses if you poured it perfectly. The bartender would put a slice of lemon in it and pour it out in one shot. Now there is a trick to it much like pouring a Guinness. His gimmick was if you could pour it yourself with all of it in the glass on the first shot you got the beer for free.Of course he wouldn't let you do that with the first drink when you had a chance. It would always be three or four beers into the night where you over confident and half in the bag since you downed all of that beer in about fifteen minutes when you just got in and was really parched.
Now since it was a lunch place the regulars would come in for one or two after work on a Friday but head home to Staten Island or whatever. So we would roll and start pounding the beers and the bartender wanted us to stay and spend because he could keep the bar open and maybe make some more money. Plus we were monster tippers and big spenders so they were always happy to see us.
Anyway, one day in the spring I got there and was feeling pissed because of stuff at work. My buddy was having his usual marriage problems and we just started pounding the beers. In a basically out of control way. The kitchen was already closed so all we had to eat were pretzels. We spent about four hours in there drinking fit to beat the band. Finally we started to slow down and they decided to close the bar. We staggered outside to get a cab back to Brooklyn. But as I was walking I slipped on the two inch curb and fell flat on my back right in the gutter. Didn't get hurt because when you are that drunk nothing hurts you. I looked up at my buddy and said "Sister Mary Francis was right all along, I ended up in the gutter."
Then I got up and we kept on drinking.
8 comments:
One good German drinking story deserves another. In the of '91 or '92 I went with friends to an annual festival called The Berg (mountain). It's a lesser known equivalant to Munich's Oktoberfest (to which I've never been), except that it's held during the spring. During this time many shops in the student town of Erlangen close, and hang a simple sign "der Berg ruft" (the mountain calls) to explain all.
Take a look at that photo: there isn't much room for anything but your beer mug and the entire purpose is to drink and get sloshed. And get sloshed we did. (Note to self: get off your ass and convert hundreds of negatives to digital photos)
Actually, the particular beer served in those mugs is not the normal potent German stuff, but is watered down to about normal American standards. Still, one got a volume discount. This invariably led to frequent urination, and it was here at Bergfest that I first learned the French term le piss blanche. This was evident in abundance in the men's restrooms, which were really nothing more than covered sheds with an enormous double-sided trough to pee in.
Anyway, a good time was had by all (actually not remembering many details here). I do remember afterwards staying at the apartment of a German friend, and proposing (unsuccessfully) to my girlfriend, but that's a different story.
LOL, you guys. I love your stories. This is a great regular feature here, Trooper.
I'm not tellin' mine. The picnic table would only reappear. Hee.
The next day (hangover) was a trip to a local restaurant to enjoy a regional specialty Hachse (pig's knuckle). Mmmm, it was so good it fell off the bone
I was watching the Food Channel and the Diners, Dive in and Dives guy had a German restaurant in of all places Arizona that looked great. Full of old white people clinging to their religion and guns and eating a lot of meat. Good Stuff.
Darcy you got to follow the tags. That was one of the first comments I ever made on the Internet. I said I was going to write my autobiography that I was going to call "Rememberance of Things Pabst." I have doing it one post at a time.
I always wanted to go to Octoberfest but never made it yet. Plus I have become more of a wine drinker these days. But I still would enjoy it very much.
Unfortunately, not having been a drinker, I remember every single thing that's ever happened to me.
Damn Blake, that must suck. Heh.
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