As we headed to the afterbar, we took a short detour to the East River. Brooklyn Bridge Park lies between the two bridges and offers a stunning view of the Lower Manhattan skyline. As were were all on the waterfront, I think we had it pretty well covered. After posing for some pictures like some idiot tourists, we moved on and headed for the Henry Street Ale House.
Along the way, we passed near Kevin's old haunt at 66 Water Street. Seeing an opportunity, I asked Kev to decide whether the joint would (or wouldn't) be worth stopping at for a quick pop. After mulling it over for 200 or 300 milliseconds, he admitted that it might, in fact, be worth stopping at. However, it was "P" who provided the most compelling argument for dropping in, saying simply "I'm thisty!!!" How can you argue against logic like that?!?
We were greeted by the comely barmaid, Olga, who instantly recognized Kevin from the days when his office was at the end of the block. Despite Kevin's hedging, it was clear that this place was actually an ideal spot for DNO activities: It was relatively quiet, had plenty of table space and a couple dozen taps of drafty delights to try. Tempted as I was by the Hoegarden's tall and slender blue and yellow tap handle, I'd already had a few hefeweissen; I opted instead for the local brew, Brooklyn Lager. Its fresh and forward hops nearly knocked me to the floor, but somehow, I soldiered on. I tried to convince the others to stick to our original plan of "one beer, then hit the next joint," but by now, beercosis† was setting in and we stayed put. For my next and final round (the sixth, if you're counting), I settled into a nice
Old Peckerhead Old Speckled Hen.
Kevin, who had switched over to club sodas long ago, agreed to be our DesiDry. We trudged up the hill to his New York City office Oh yeah, like I'm going to say where! to pick up the car. After getting the nickel tour of the place—including the incredible swag, floodlights on the floodmaps, a NASCAR-approved pit-stop and nude wrestling on TV—we headed to the Brooklyn Bridge to observe how three lanes of traffic could be made to merge into one. "Not the car! Please not the car!" Though it seemed as though we were frozen in time as we prepared to cross the East River, when you're with good friends, extra time together is a bonus. The views of Manhattan made it all worthwhile. Soon, I found myself stumbling in front of my apartment tower. As I waved to my friends through the darkly tinted glass, I knew this would go down in history as another great Dad's Night Out!
We never did make it to Henry Street Ale House...
(n., bir ⋅ co′ ⋅ sis,) A state of semi-narcoleptic shock induced by consumption of significant quantities of draft ales. In this condition, there is some loss of brain cell tissue—but it's not any of the really important stuff. (from the High German bier, a fermented beverage made from barley malt and hops, and the Greek narcosis, a dreamlike state).