I’m having an Alameda El Torrero IPA in a glass that’s been in the freezer.
This is not the ideal way to drink a beer-let’s just get that out of the way from the start. Even if you want a lager, unless it’s a summer day there’s just no reason for a glass that’s been in the freezer. In the case of this beer, almost all the other flavors or scents are stolen by the cold and I’m left drinking a beer with a bitter aftertaste.
Moreover, why am I at Zach’s anyway? They do hot dogs and fries. Their selection of beer is limited at best, though the choices are never displeasing. There’s an ice skating competition on one of the TVs. It’s not a pub.
There’s also hockey playoffs on two other televisions, which are located in areas that allow visitors to ignore them. Promo posters for Radiohead, Maktub, Neil Young and My Morning Jacket. A portrait of Bill Hicks above a 90’s era jukebox. A staff that gets why you’ve arrived. So there’s something here but that’s not why I’ve come.
I’ve come to Zach’s Shack because it is part of the drinking culture. Sure, you can come in, get a good hot dog/sausage, beer, fries, call it good. But you’d be missing the point.
The point comes when it’s 1:45 am and your night isn’t quite done yet. When you’d get another beer if you could but really, really what you need is a basket of french fries. There’s no sense in lying to each other about this. Those nights happen. Oh sure, maybe less than they used to, maybe a bit more for some of my readers but they do happen. It’s late. You’ve been walking a bit and the drinks have overwhelmed you-not in an evil way but in a; I’m going to sleep on my friend’s couch tonight, way.
Before that, however, the Universe needs to provide me with fries.
So Zach’s Shack exists so we can make that final pilgrimage to remember the day, burn our fingers on hot fries and smile once more before we go home. Maybe you have a pint, maybe you share a pint, maybe you’ve had enough. It’s all good to me-and I’d bet all square by them, too.