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Idiots and Sausages

Dateline: Rosamunde, 6:35pm
Last night, before the Oktoberfest festivities started, I went over to Rosamunde to grab some Italian Sausage Sandwiches, because we knew that if we didn't have some food in our stomachs before the drinking commenced that we would get quite drunk… quite quickly. Anyway, I volunteered to wait in line while Janet held our seats at the bar.
Fast Forward: 2 minutes
Little chicky comes into Rosamunde with a container full of french fries and asks Jeff if she could have some ketchup for her fries. Here's the conversation (as I remember it&#41 in its entirety:

  • Chicky: Excuse me, like, can I have some ketchup for my fries?
  • Jeff: What?
  • Chicky: I need some ketchup for my fries.
  • Jeff: Need? Why didn't you get some where you got those fries.
    On further analysis, these were not fries at all, but roasted potatoes from Ali Baba's Cave
  • Chicky: They didn't have any.
  • Jeff: Twenty-five cents.
  • Chicky: What?
  • Jeff: Twenty-five cents.
    You see, Jeff only has imported, German ketchup… which is expensive. Considering that she never offered to buy anything there… I think he was fully within his rights here.
  • Chicky (asking boyfriend&#41: Can I get a quarter?
  • Chicky's Girly Boyfriend: Sure (extracts quarter&#41
    Chicky then proceeds to throw the quarter into the tip jar and saunter over to the ketchup on the condiment table. Chicky then takes about half of the squeeze bottle's worth of ketchup and pours it into the top of the potato carrying vessel.
  • Chicky (turning to Jeff&#41: Thanks [then she picks up a potato, douses it in ketchup and shoves it down her gullet] Eeewww! This isn't ketchup!
  • Jeff: It is. It's curry ketchup.
    Chicky then turns around and walks out the door. Girly Boyfriend follows closely behind, chuckling.

Don't know about you, but transcribing that banter just made me smirk again. Just a note to any yuppie tourists who are "slumming it" in my neighborhood.

  1. Ali Baba's does not serve "fries" they serve roasted potatoes. In addition, the schwarmas are not "Wraps"… they are a traditional sandwich which have been made for hundreds of years… and the wrapping material is not a tortilla, it's a lavash. Not everything is a freaking yuppie "World Wrap."

  2. If you are going to ask a favor of a shop owner, buy something first! If you want some curry ketchup for your roasted potatoes, buy a few pickles or some cookies before asking… I mean come on, a shop owner has to make money somehow!

Is this really a smirk or a scowl? Smirk? Scowl? Smirk? Scowl? Smirk.

Posted in Smirks.


Oktoberfest Continues

Well, it’s Thursday morning and as I sit at my desk, getting ready for another day at work, I can’t help thinking about last night’s Oktoberfest festival at the Toronado.

All over the United States, bars are throwing Octoberfest Celebrations. For most of these bars, the “Celebration” consists of a night of $1.50 Budweisers and 1/2 price Jagermeister shots. Sometimes you get free munchies. But Oktoberfest at the Toronado is a completely different beast.

Let’s take a quick look at Oktoberfest in Munich. There, Oktoberfest is a celebration of the release of that year’s batch of Marzen Bier. You see, in Germany, they have a number of seasonal beers. In the summer, the breweries release their Weiss (or Wheat) beers. Hefe-Weissen (or Kristall-Weisen) beer is light and refreshing… the perfect drink for the hot summer months. In the winter, they release the Dopple Bock beers, heavy, dark and full of enough alcohol to keep you warm as you walk [read: stumble] home. The Marzen Bier is the traditional harvest-time beer. Oktoberfest celebrates the harvest… and what better way to celebrate the harvest than with a liter of fresh, sweet beer!

Munich’s Oktoberfest celebration consists of the large breweries setting up beer gardens, large tents that seat thousands of people. People sit down and hear live music, eat large amounts of sausages and pretzels… oh, and they drink beer by the liter sized stein. It’s a celebration of life.

Unfortunately, aside from a few cities (like Fredericksburg, TX)… most American towns can’t support this type of grand festival. American urban design usually doesn’t allow for this sort of central park, and those which do have regulations against public drinking.

However, Spaten selects a number of large bars all around the country and sets up mini-Oktoberfests. The usual places are large bars, like the Winking Lizard in Cleveland (one of my favorite bars), which can seat upwards of five hundred people. They bring the beer, drop off a gross (144) of free 1/2 liter glasses, put up some posters and leave. The bar then sets up whatever promotion or special it wants.

At the Toronado, Spaten takes the celebration very seriously. A number of Spaten executives (including members from both Spaten USA and Spaten Germany) come in ahead of time, bringing wall hangings and posters. They work with David (the owner) to set up an Oktoberfest which is as traditional as can be expected in the Lower Haight district of San Francisco. Like they have for the last three years (and probably longer, but I have only been to the last three Oktoberfests at the Toronado), they bring that year’s commemorative half liter glasses and many kegs of fresh Spaten Oktoberfest (Marzen) Bier. They also bring in an Ommpah Band to play traditional German drinking songs and this year they arranged for free Rosamunde sausage with every 1/2 liter of Spaten purchased.

Sigh. Now it’s Thursday and the celebration is over… but the Oktoberfest will still be on tap for a few days more. So, it looks like I will have to make another trip to the Toronado before the week is done.

Prost!

Posted in The Barfly Chronicles.


Optical Illusion

Not only that, but there was, as there is every year, a genuine German Oompah Band who marched into the bar already playing their first song. As they played, every so often between songs they would stop and toast the crowd and everyone in the bar would yell “Prost!” Then they would drink half of their liter of beer in one gulp. Kirsten was the bartender, who we hardly ever get to see since she seems to only work the afternoon and Friday night shifts. She’s cool, with blue hair and attitude in an indirect, subtle kind of way. She offered to do an Underberg with us practically as soon as we sat down.

Scene Witnessed: Guy and girlfriend with an unidentifiable accent. The Accented Girlfriend wanted Hefeweisen, but was obsessed with what size the glass had to be. Presumably, she wanted it to be small (“Is that the smallest? The smallest?” she kept repeating.) Kirsten, holding up a Hefeweisen glass: “they come in this kind of glass.” The Accented Girlfriend: “Ooohh. Is that the –” Kirsten, interrupting her: “but I can give it to you in a regular pint glass.” Kirsten, a couple of seconds later: “Do you want any one in particular, no probably not.” accurately sizing up the cluelessness of these people who weren’t even paying attention to her question as she went to pour the Hefeweisen of her choice (there are 3 different ones on tap.) “Is this IT?” asks The Accented Girlfriend as she takes her beer. Avery told Kirsten that she should have served it to her in a shot glass.

Though the Hefeweisen glass looks larger, there’s only a difference of about 0.4 of an ounce between that glass and a regular pint glass, don’t ya know. Another person asked for a pitcher of beer, something which I don’t ever quite understand. If you get a pitcher for, say, four people, you essentially get four glasses of beer, right? So why don’t people just order 4 glasses? If there’s less than 4 people in your party, there’s a good chance that the beer in the pitcher will get all warm, and while that’s probably OK for Budweiser, it’s just a shame for a good microbrewed beer. Maybe it’s a cost-effectiveness thing, in which case they should just go to some sportsbar that accepts coupons torn off the bottom of their paper menu.

Posted in The Barfly Chronicles.


Archived Smirk

I was watching public television late one night a long time ago. All the lights were off because Avery was sleeping, and I ended up watching a show about smart animals. One of the animals was a grey parrot who could communicate with people. He could tell the differences in shape, color and material of different objects. He could identify a keychain and even say "keychain" — not just "key" or "ee-ayn," but "keychain." all sounded out and everything! He also said "I want to go home now." I thought for sure no one would believe me. Last night, on the horrendous  Guinness Book of World Records TV Special "Guinness Prime Time," lo and behold, there was that parrot! His name, we have learned, is Alex, and yes, he said "keychain" again, much to my excitement. He has also learned to say and understand the words "shower" and "wool," among other things, which was so damn cute I almost shed a tear. I have no idea why this bird affects me so.

Posted in Smirks.


Oktoberfest

Woo boy! Tonight was Oktoberfest night at the Toronado. Now I know that you are thinking… ooh… Oktoberfest.. like every other bar in the country doesn’t have an Oktoberfest! The difference is that at the Toronado, the night is sponsored by Spaten, the German brewery that makes the best Marzen (also known as Oktoberfest or just Fest at most bars) beer in the world, sponsors the night. Spaten brings in the kegs, anniversary glasses and buys the sausages from Rosamunde. The

Toronado is just a beer hall that attracts the only people in San Francisco that would appreciate the joy of fresh Spaten Oktoberfest Bier.

Anyway… I polished off a full 2.25 liters of Spaten (one pint, three commemorative half liters and part of Janet’s half-liter). Janet had 1.25 liters (one pint, a full liter and another half of a commemorative half-liter). Last year, Janet and I won a ceramic Spaten liter stein and a Spaten T-shirt. This year, there was no raffle… instead we got tickets that went towards a free beer bratwurst from Rosamunde. Mmm. Beer Bratwurst. Needless to say, my dinner consisted of one Italian Sausage, two Beer Bratwursts a pickle and some potato salad. Janet had an Italian Sausage and some pizza.

Posted in The Barfly Chronicles.


Waiting…

7:30 am. Waiting for a bus
Well, after getting up and dragging myself out to the bus this morning, I made a startling realization: There are no buses coming!
7:35 Waiting for a J-Church
That’s better. Just as I got to the corner where the new Rite Aid is being built (which, I might note is right under an AIDS hospice… tres tacky), I noticed a J-Church coming up Church Street. Yay. Then I was able to get a seat. Double Yay. Fast forward 5 minutes. Powell Street Station. A vagrant comes on the bus. Afore mentioned vagrant starts urinating in his pants. Yuck. Then said vagrant pulls out a handkerchief, and starts dabbing at his pant legs. Double Yuck. Then the vagrant smells the handkerchief and puts it back in his pocket. Triple Yuck.
I really need to get a job that I can walk to.

Posted in Muni Chronicles.