Cold Beer, Hot Bar

I just got back from lunch and the bottom of my pants are now soaked. Guess my hasty efforts to avoid the inevitable rain-soaked ends (rolling up my pants while ducking under a crowded awning) were thwarted again. Next time I’ll have to tight roll them like it’s 1988.

I have to say though, I’ll take some rain after the Sahara-like conditions we had last week. Besides it being 90+ degrees for two days in a row, humidity was in full effect. It was not a good look for anyone.

B and I decided to get drinks after work on Thursday. Cold drinks in an air conditioned bar sure beat cold drinks in our stuffy condo - which was tolerable if you wanted to sit around naked in your underwear with the fan aimed at you on high (it’s a good thing B and I have no shame whatsoever, b/c this is how we’ll be spending the summer).

Cold beers make everything better. Or so we thought. We arrived sweaty and thirsty after riding the train one stop instead of walking (I wasn’t lying about that humidity). We had never been to this bar before, except in passing. That was our first mistake.

We go into the bar and heat hits us like a punch; I was literally hit in the face with hot, stifling air. The host shows us our seats and we look at each other before we sit down, silently conversing “Do we really want to do this?” Before we could turn around and get out of there, a waiter appeared and we hesitated. That was our second mistake.

If I have one curse, it’s being overly polite. I’ve walked out of places before if nothing on the menu interests me, or if it’s way out of my price range, but only if no one has acknowledged me. A server was literally at our table, waiting for us to sit down so he could take our drink order. Damn manners; we couldn’t walk out now. That and the fact that he was holding some cornbread for us that looked too good to pass up.

If you’re in New England and looking for some German fare, Jacob Wirth’s is the place for you. The food was delicious. Unfortunately, I don’t think we’ll ever make it back. After having a waiter pry me from the chair that my sweat had securely glued me into, I think I’ll skip going there again. They have some odd traditions in Germany.

Our waiter sure was sweating. If he wasn’t nervous enough about it clearly being his first time waiting tables, the heat emanating off B and I was enough to make anybody sweat. But he did make things right after charging me $11 for a beer that was marked as $6 on the menu.

Well, not exactly. The beer I wanted didn’t have a price listed. I asked our waiter, in hopes of avoiding some egregiously priced beer. He told me it was $6, which I was fine with. I was also fine with the fact that it was the size of a forty, and made B’s $6 beer hang its head in shame. What I wasn’t fine with was seeing it rung up as $11 on our check. That’s exactly the reason I asked the price ahead of time.

Hey, a high cost of living is the price of living in Boston, right? Hell no. I don’t make a habit of frequenting bars that serve $11 beers. Those type of places aren’t really my scene. They usually frown upon the flip-flops and BYOS(nacks) I sneak in. And I prefer to drink my $2 Bud Light sans judgement.