I missed out on one of my closest friend’s wedding in Boston.
An offer that would have me so glamorously trotting all over the globe was left on the table, unaccepted.
Much of my life has to go unlived because I just. can’t. fly.
If you’ve been with me since the beginning of The Delicious Life, this is not news. This is also not completely true, because I did fly to Chicago for a mini-vacation and culinary tour of the Midwest. However, that was a long time ago. Two years is practically half a generation in blogtime. Besides, I was mealstoned for almost the entire flight back after indulging in a little pre-flight deep-dish pizza.
And yes, I know you will callerID star69 redial call my bluff by referring back to last Spring's last-minute trip to Vegas with my Mom, but I had no choice. It was a life or death situation, and by life or death, I mean I thought I was going to plunge to my death every time Maverick up in the cockpit of the 28 passenger warped metal pigeon we were flying decided to slam on the brakes so that some phantom bogey would fly right by. Pharaoh’s Pheast Buffet at the Luxor is a whole different type of death.
The point is, I can’t fly. It’s not “won’t.” It’s “can’t.” What made a Chicago vacation and a wedding in Vegas more important than family, friends, and a fabulously wealthy future? Nothing. That’s why phobias are irrational. However, I know that this irrational fear will have to reverse itself at some point. It has to. How on earth will I ever get to Germany for Oktoberfest?!?!
What a stupid question. I can just go to Red Lion Tavern in Silverlake.
Then again, Red Lion Tavern is all the way over in Silverlake, which, by Delicious standards, is still far enough east that it requires a passport.
The atmosphere is like a Disneyland version of an Oktoberfest garage sale. There is "stuff" everywhere to remind you that absolutely hell yes, you are in a German establishment. If the Von Trapp Family Singers came Conga-ing out of a corner clad in liederhosen and signing Edelweiss, I wouldn't have been too surprised. Except that the Von Trapps were Austrian, I know.
We were in the "beer garden," which indoors, isn't a garden at all, but what feels like an attic. It definitely contributed to the garage sale vibe of the place. I am not a beer drinker, but apparently Red Lion is a good place for someone who is. Since I wasn't going to priss out with some fruity version of beer, I focused instead on the menu.
It seemed the entire menu was made of four-legged animals in every form. Naturally, we went with the easiest thing to share with a large group that was standing up in the bar area: sausages.
My friends, as much as I may have bemoaned the traffuck on the drive to Silverlake, as much as I didn't appreciate the Old World "charm" of the decor, as much as I would rather quaff a sample cup of three day stale urine than a mug of beer, I fell all over myself for the plate of sausages that came to the table. The sausages were cut up into 1" lengths, pierced with toothpicks, and accompanied by a sloppy mess of mustard, pickle spears, and sauerkraut on a side plate. I think it was the 1970s hors d'ouevre presentation that put me over the giddy edge. I have no idea what types of wurst were on that plate. I didn't care. The way I was attacking the plate, I must have looked like I hadn't seen a sausage in years.
Keep your comments about my love life to yourself, please.
The kraut was delicious, but what other opinion would you expect from someone whose cultural cuisine is based on pickled, fermenting cabbage? I am not sure if Red Lion is distinct in their serving, or if this characteristic of all Germans, but the kraut was served warm. The only thing that could possibly have made the sausage better was a little Hot Cock.
I don't need to fly to Germany. I wouldn't want to, anyway. I doubt Germany has sriracha.
Red Lion Tavern
2366 Glendale Blvd @Brier
Los Angeles, CA 90039