German chickens dance

Let me make this very clear, I love beers. I like the light fizzy beers, I like the stout and dense beers, I like the thick and creamy beers. I don't discriminate. I love beers. Where I am from there is a large German influence, and I think this might have had something to do with it.

When James and I visit northern Kentucky we often go to Hofbrauhaus in Newport. I love the food - schnitzel and pretzels and saurkraut, you get the idea, and the beer is amazing. I like the Oktoberfest atmosphere and would probably eat there every night if my wallet and my gut could handle it.

At the Hof.

One weekend while in Louisville, James and I, along with a group of our friends, were looking for something new to do. We had worn out the bars and it was a nice weekend. We wanted something outside. It just so happens that one of these friends had read a sign off the side of the interstate earlier that day advertising a Biergarten at our local German-American Club.

It was decided. We would attend our local Oktoberfest celebration in honor of our German heritage. We all set out together towards the club, nestled in a neighborhood not far from our own.

When we arrived we realized we were not the only group of friends to have made this decision. The parking lots were packed and we made our way to the music and lights of the festival. We paid our $6 fee to become official members of the German-American Club for the year, which also covered the cost of our admission for the night.

When we pushed our way through to the main area we saw what it was all about. There was a covered area with a live band blasting away on an accordion. People sat at picnic tables all around, pitchers of beer in the center. Lines were formed at various kegs and beer stands. The area was lined with tables and vendors selling authentic german steins. The smell of pork and pretzels filled the air and every other person was wearing lederhosen. It was a glorious sight.

We all lined up to try out some new beer and grabbed some pretzels to snack on. We took over an empty picnic table and set ourselves up with our food and some extra pitchers of beer to get started. It was a lively night. The band was playing loud and people danced unashamedly in the center of the ring for everyone to see. The weather was perfect, the music was fun, and the beer was cold.

One pitcher turned into two, two pitchers turned into three, and three pitchers turned into... well, I don't know we lost count. We ate and drank and did the chicken dance every time it was played. I am not really sure what is so German about the chicken dance, but you hear it every time you are at a biergarten and no one else really seems to question it... so... (to the tune of the Chicken Dance) it's a little bit of this and a little bit of that and shake shake shake, now turn around... la la la laaaa da da da daaa daaaaa...

By the time we had gone through at least 8 pitchers and 6 chicken dances we had started a fun new game. We watched as the groups of people at other picnic tables tried to stack their pitchers as high as they could without them all crashing to the ground and bouncing all over the place. We had plenty of building material so we got to stacking. If we successfully reached our full height we started sneaking pitchers from other tables and adding them to the top of our tower. Someone would stand on the table to reach the top before they would all come tumbling down, crashing all over the table and people around it, only to be met with cheers from the surrounding tables.

This went back and forth between the tables for quite a while, each table trying to make a taller pitcher-tower than the other, in a strange, impromptu beer pitcher jenga. After we got tired of this our friends, who had recently returned from an extended stay in Germany, decided to teach us a fun new drinking game they had learned from some other internationals. If it were simple to explain I would give instructions here, but trust me, especially after a few beers, you need to see what I am talking about in order to fully understand.

We sat in a circle around the picnic tables, our arms all crossed over each others and overlapping. The game consisted of a serious of hand slaps, fist pounds, double taps, and double slaps, all signifying something different. Each hand gives a direction to the next hand, who then has to read the direction and respond accordingly. At any time someone can change the direction or skip someone. When you screw up the rhythm of the game, you drink. Thus, the more you drink, the more likely you are to break the circle and be made to drink, thus making this a viscous cycle. The game was overwhelmingly entertaining, not only for us, but for the people around us who had started to gather around our table and watch the game. People cheered and clapped when the circle was doing well, squirmed and squealed when someone was taking too long to make their move, and let out giant sighs when someone inevitably missed their move.

We stayed almost all night. We had quite a beer pitcher tower by the time we left, and we had accomplished our night's goal - to try something new.

Every day when I am driving down the Watterson Expressway I pass by the German American club and check to see when their next biergarten is going to be. We haven't been back, yet, but we definitely need to. Oktoberfest is the best time of year, and German is the best kind of beer. I am already craving pretzels and kraut.... mmm. If you are in the area and you haven't become a member of the German American Club, you need to look into it. No need German heritage necessary.