Jägermeister and I

 Jägermeister and I

Picture this: Cologne, West Germany, 1973. (Yes, this was before the fall of the Berlin Wall).
The place is the Kölsch Brewery on the Heumarkt, about 200 yards from the South African Embassy, where, every Friday after a strenuous workweek, the staff gather at about 17:20 at the cleanly scrubbed stammtisch (regular table) for a few glasses of that nectar of the gods, freshly brewed Kölsch.

A new coaster is placed before every customer to tabulate the eventual drainage caused by the diminishing supply of beer - 1 pen-stripe = 1 glass. No snacks are served. No wives, husbands or other strangers are allowed (mainly because somebody had to drive these drunken sods home).

Being German, plenty of over-loud oompah music and local German recording artists are heard or not. After about 2 or three rounds of beer, the drought starts. Suddenly, without warning, everyone is deathly parched and in need of immediate sustenance which arrives in the form of and is accompanied by raucous shouts of “Rosenkrantz!” Now every coaster sports a cross in addition to the pen-stripe. Rosenkrantz is a round of shot glasses on a round tray and resembles a ring of roses. But this is not Ring-around-the-Rosie, however, the effect is remarkably similar in that after a few rounds of that Rosie, all fall down.

It was not always clear who actually and eventually pays the tabs and who decides that enough is enough, but true to tradition, next Friday that cleanly scrubbed Stammtisch is awaiting its patrons.

Then there is Tequila and the worm. But that is a different story.

19 September 2015.

Inspired by a post by Heidi.