beer me

James drove up to San Francisco for another extended visit on Thursday, so I met him at Toronado after work. We arrived around 5:30 and settled in at the bar for our usual beers (Russian River Pliny the Elder for me, Russian River Damnation for him), not realizing that we were a mere 30 minutes away from the official unleashing of Oktoberfest. Toronado gets pretty busy on a normal Thursday, so once you toss in gallon-sized beer specials, free bratwurst, and an oompah band you are definitely asking for mayhem.

Looking back, I did find it odd that the woman tending the grill next door at Rosamunde had been wearing Lederhosen when we'd stopped in for a quick vegan sausage to go with our beers. She was talking to two other customers and one of them informed her that she'd recently discovered that Lederhosen actually means "song pants" and not, as she'd previously believed, "leather pants," because (she averred) it turns out Leder actually means "song." Now, usually I am the last person who would butt in on a stranger's conversation, but this piece of linguistic misinformation was so egregious that I found it in myself to set aside my introversion and general contempt for humanity in order to explain that Leder did indeed mean "leather," and that this word had evidently become confused in some poor person's mind with Lieder, which means "songs." To German ears, by the way, these two words sound as different as, say, later and leader do to a native English speaker.

Drinking Russian River beer at Toronado is always a little nostalgic for me, because it reminds me of possibly the most debauched wedding I have ever attended, as well as the ensuing possibly worst hangover I have ever endured. The connection is a little more convoluted than you might think. For one thing, there was no Russian River beer consumed at that wedding; rather, the wedding took place something like 18 years ago at the Cilurzo Winery in Temecula, and the groom was friends with Vinnie Cilurzo, the son of the winemakers (hence the location of the nuptials). Vinnie later got into brewing, and as I understand it he has since evolved into some kind of microbrewing GOD and in 2002 acquired Russian River Brewing Company and the rest is history or whatever. I have always loved Pliny the Elder, although I have to admit it pains me to order it because everyone, including Vinnie himself I believe, pronounces it where Pliny rhymes with "tiny," when actually Pliny should rhyme with "tinny" (and "Vinnie," come to think of it). The beer is so fucking delicious, however, that I am willing to defile the memory of my two years of Latin study under one of my favorite professors of all time in the whole universe just to get my hands on it. (Sorry, Eliot, if you are reading this. If it makes you feel any better I am still a huge fan of the ablative absolute.)

Updated to add--In honor of Oktoberfest I am going to subject you to a picture of me in Bochum, Germany in 1974 wearing a traditional Dirndl dress. That's my dad's dad with me.