So last night my friend had her birthday celebration at Wurstkuche. It's basically a hipster's sausage paradise. When we drove up, there was a line down the street. I was confused. Hipsters wait in line? Now I have been here during my lunch hour, usually choosing to walk away from a line that’s less than half as long as it was last night (yea, that's right "less than half" that's as math-y as I get guys). But here we were on a FRIDAY night, with tons of hipsters choosing to wait in line for two hours for what amounts to a glorified hot dog. It's good, but come on. Nothing (edible?) is that good. I felt like it was the hipster-response to Pinks (please note the completely different color scheme between hipster/tourist links, I enjoy it immensely), which got too trendy to be ironic. So here is where everyone came, assumedly to satisfy both their need for bratwurst with their desire to stand in unnecessary lines. I mean, to steal a line from Shawnakah, the only thing I might wait in a 2 hour line for is something served off Ryan Gosling's body (cause I mean, come on, he's THIS adorable too). And only if while in line I could also randomly scream "It wasn't over, and it's STILL not over" at thirty minute intervals.
Ok fine, I am committed to this project, but clearly not that committed, I don't wait in lines for much, especially food I would not crave if I was somehow at the height of a pregnancy while also PMSing somehow (aka a modern (horrible) medical miracle). So we go in the back way instead, no lines, no fuss. Say our hello to the Bday girl (hey Lisa Loeb! miss you!), and head to the bar. It's a good bar, no shortage of the appropriate beers. I dream of the day I will arrive here and order the $250 Methusalem of Duvel, but last night, I chose based on the most important aspect of any beer. Alcohol content of course. With my 10.5% St. Bernardus ABT 12 properly in hand, I look around at the crowd. It is a perfect blend of plaid and t-shirts. I like it here. I can get used to it. Everyone is friendly as they try to pass by you for a beer, ask you if you're waiting for the table you're standing by before grabbing a coveted seat to eat their long-awaited food, and the server compliments my dress (flattery gets you everywhere with me, it's true). But, alas, as quickly as we arrive, it's time to leave. Everyone is eating, and we are not, and therefore Taco Bell is calling our names. I’d never had TB before either, not sure whether that's ironic or not. Hard to say. But even if it is off-topic, I needed to memorialize this moment in (my) history.
I enjoyed my Crunchwrap Supreme., and sausages await another day. I'm sure there is some deep meaning in that, we'll explore it next time though...
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