Lesson: Avoid The Cooler That Says "Grab Bag"

Sometimes we have experiences in life that teach us valuable lessons. Here's one I learned two Sundays ago...

I was out with Ben, Aimee, Steve, and Andy; we had just left Tonic where we saw The Workdogs play their first show in many years. Frontman Rob K had long since moved to Hawaii and not done much under the "Workdogs" moniker, but he was back in New York to play a select number of shows. After the show, the five of us stopped in at DBA (1st Ave, 2nd/3rd St) for a few drinks.

On the bar toward the back, there was a cooler marked "Grab Bag - $3." The whole cooler was full of ice, and the beers were well submerged, so it was a total mystery what we were getting ourselves into, but we were all feeling adventurous, so we each ponied up three bucks and randomly grabbed a bottle. Steve and I wound up with the same kind, a beer from New Haven called Belle Dock. Ben got some variation of Dogfish Head, and Aimee and Andy each got something different too (sadly, I can't recall the names of theirs).

I can say, without equivocation, that Belle Dock is the worst beer I've ever tasted in my life. Ever. It tasted like sour beer mixed with a splash of sweet wine, with Ovaltine stirred into it. Now, I love beer, wine, and Ovaltine, but the flavors all mixed together yielded this face:



We passed our respective beers around for mutual sampling, and they were all downright terrible. There wasn't a single beer that tasted even remotely good, and we determined that they were all undoubtedly spoiled (the bartender did mention that the beers that went into the Grab Bag cooler usually had been on their shelves for years, and some of them were without labels.) Even before spoilage took hold, I doubt any of the beers was any good (except maybe the Dogfish Head).





After our tasting, we all paid tribute to Belle Dock:



...and sat down at a large round table in the front corner of the place. Terrible beer aside, we all hung out and talked about the show, music in general, whatnot...



We hung onto the beers and each of us had a few more sips to see if finishing them was even possible. It was universally determined that it wasn't. I don't know when this happened or whom was responsible, but a large quantity of the remnants got poured into a community glass in the middle of the table. And there it sat. No one touched it.

Over the course of our conversation, Steve and I started passing our iPods around. Ben wound up with mine and started making requests. One of them was:



There are some songs to which Ben can't resist rocking out if he's in the mood, and this was one of those nights. He treated all of us to an air drumming show for several songs. Pay attention to Aimee's waning patience:







At the end of his rock-out, Ben was so incensed by the power of rock-and-roll that he did the unthinkable:



...and chugged the amalgam of four kinds of disgusting, spoiled beer.

Later that night (after the obligatory San Loco trip) I walked to the Astor Place station with Ben and Aimee. We had ridden uptown for one stop when Ben insisted on getting off the train. I stayed on and rode home. I hung out with them the next night and Ben regaled me with the story of how he practically re-enacted the vomit scene from "Team America." I was kinda glad I wasn't there to see it.


*****N*T*G*****

Never hesitate to comment!